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After searching the rambling house, Maureen returned to the living room. She saw bright red footprints on the gray carpet. |
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Someone had followed her into the house! |
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A chill spread goosebumps over her skin. She turned, watching the bloody tracks wind their way through the room toward the kitchen. |
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One set of tracks. One intruder. |
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She clamped the tire iron between her knees, rubbed her sweaty right hand on the side of her sodden shorts, then gripped the bar again. |
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Whoever made them had been damn sneaky. She hadn't heard a sound while searching the house. She hand't felt the presence of anyone. |
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From the feel of the house when she first came in through the window, she'd been sure it was deserted. Somehow, she'd known that nobody was here. But the Harleys had been left out front, so she'd gone ahead and searched and found nobody. |
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But damn it, someone had come in after her. |
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Someone awfully stealthy. |
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That can work both ways, Maureen thought. She started to follow the bloody footprints. Her heart raced. Her stomach felt fluttery. Her skin crawled as if a basketful of spiders had been dumped on her head. With her left hand, she reached up to where her |
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