Page 145 of Fame and Obsession

You’re not as smart as you think you are…Phoebe.

She’s communicating in real time.

A blast of cool air hits my skin, and I rub the goose bumps scattering across my upper arms. Where’s the damn breeze coming from? Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the curtains over my bedroom window sway in the wind.

Fuck.

I know all the windows were shut and locked earlier.

Weren’t they?

Running to the pane, I wrap both hands around the frame and slam it back down, locking the top. I step back and stare at it, then on a whim, pull back on the lock once more, ensuring it’s shut tight.

Julian and I had been in here the whole night. Gage had to have opened it before we arrived, and we didn’t notice. Besides, he wasn’t coming back until morning, and I hadn’t left the room.

Except to shower.

Grabbing one of Julian’s button-up shirts from the bedside chair, I tug it on and unlock the bedroom door, slowly peering outside into the darkened room. “Gage? You home?”

Fumbling just outside my room for the light switch, I curse as my hand runs across smooth paint. I pull the shirt tighter and an involuntary shiver slithers down my spine.

Something isn’t right.

“Come on, Pheebs. You’re acting like a five-year-old,” I mutter, attempting to calm my frayed nerves. I try hard to convince myself I’m being paranoid, but I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched.

Maybe I’m paranoid, but I’m not stupid. Reaching back into my room, I grab my stun gun. This is why the laws in this state are a crock of shit.

With each footstep, the wood creaks, slicing through the stillness. Two more cautious steps and I come to a dead stop as something shuffles in front of me.

I freeze, my choppy breaths echoing as the shuffling moves closer.

“Gage?” The vibrato of my own voice bounces off the walls as the last hiss of the G carries through the air.

Commanding my body to obey, I twist toward the kitchen. That’s when the murmur floats through the room, a string of sounds linked together in a sinister exhale.

My name.

“Hello, Phoebe.”

I jump, and the stun gun falls out of my hands and rolls across the floor. Shit! Shit! Shit! I hold my breath, my chest burning as the lights flicker on and illumination fills the room. Feeling and warmth drains out of my body in one gush of disbelief as my eyes shift from her face to the glint of the steel in her hand.

“Tanna?” There’s no way I can fight her off—not with me being pregnant and her with a knife.

I won’t take the risk.

Thoughts of Julian run through my head… Visions of the phone call he’ll get. He’ll be robbed of the right to hold his child and forced to shoulder the burden of burying another person he loves.

Instinctively, I drape a hand protectively across my stomach, as if a shield of bone and flesh would deflect any harm. I stare at her cold, emotionless face, backlit by the hum of the muted kitchen light.

Attempting to placate her with normalcy, I say the first thing that I can think of. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the studio?”

“Are we really playing this game?” she says, twirling what appears to be an eight-inch hunting knife in her small hand.

Playing dumb isn’t an act. I’m legitimately confused, and adrenaline is making coherent thought impossible.

“What game? Tanna? What the fuck is going on? What’s with the knife?”

Rolling her eyes, she scratches her temple with the sharp edge, seemingly oblivious to the bubble of blood running down the side of her face.

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