Page 75 of Lights Out

I forced myself away from her. “Last I checked, raccoons don’t know how to cover cameras.” She sucked in a breath as I strode toward the open doorway. I paused to take what might be my last look at her, memorizing the sight of her standing there in her rumpled pajamas, hair falling loose around her, lips swollen from my kiss. “Get the gun, Aly.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you know where all my weapons are.” She paused halfway to her nightstand and turned to point at me. “And don’t you dare get hurt.”

“I’ll try not to,” I said. “But just so we’re clear, I’m the only masked man you asked to break into your house, right? I wouldn’t want to go kick the shit out of some innocent guy over a misunderstanding.”

She looked past me, expression contemplative. “Masked men? No. There was that shirtless jump roper and a firefighter or two, though.”

My spine stiffened. “Woman, you better be joking, or we are about to have our second fight.”

She threw a pillow at me. “I’m kidding. Get out of here, psycho, before I change my mind and go with you.”

I turned and shut the door on her whispered, “Please be careful.”

For you, always,I thought.

The Christmas tree Aly still hadn’t taken down lit my path through the living room. I briefly debated unplugging it but discarded the idea; the person outside might notice the light cut off and know someone was awake and waiting for them. My best chance to avoid injury was catching them off guard.

I moved closer to the far wall, out of sight from the back door, and slowly made my way toward the kitchen where it was located. The sound of the knob rattling was the death knell of any hope that this was an animal. Someone was outside Aly’s house in the dead of night, picking her lock.

The rage that burned through me was so intense I started shaking. I was going to fucking murder them. No. Wait. That could end with me in jail, and then I’d only get to see Aly during visiting hours.

Not if you don’t get caught,a helpful little voice offered.

I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time to have an internal debate with my intrusive thoughts. There was nothing to say this wasn’t just a simple home invasion. Crime rates were average in this part of the city – not as high as some parts but not as safe asothers. Aly’s car wasn’t in the driveway because she’d taken an Uber home. The person on the other side of the door probably thought the house was empty. It was only my catastrophizing brand of generalized anxiety that made me immediately assume it was something more nefarious.

I focused on the door, plastering myself to the wall as I neared it. Once the potential burglar got the knob unlocked, they’d realize there was still a deadbolt, and I didn’t want them to break Aly’s door and rouse the whole neighborhood with the noise. Slowly, silently, I reached out and painstakingly slid the bolt free.

Now I just had to decide what to do when they tried to enter. Stand here with a gun pointed right in their face, or hide somewhere nearby and jump out at them from –

The door flew open.

I reacted instinctually, all thoughts gone from my head, my body moving on its own thanks to the years I’d spent practicing martial arts. My fist pistoned out as a man wearing a balaclava like mine stepped into view. I threw my full weight behind the punch, picturing my knuckles moving through his head like my first karate teacher taught me all those years ago.

My fist crunched into his face as I cold-cocked him, and he collapsed in the open doorway like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

To ensure he was out, I hauled him up by the shirt front and shook him. His head bounced around in a boneless way that was hard to fake. I lowered him carefully to the floor and shut the door behind him, relocking the deadbolt in case he had a partner waiting nearby. Between the balaclava and the large backpack he wore, this was looking more and more like a home invasion.

The sound of an indrawn breath drew me up short.

No. She. Didn’t.

I clenched my jaw and turned to see Aly standing not five feet away with her gun pointed at the intruder. Of course, she hadn’t listened and stayed put in her room.

I narrowed my eyes at her, but she was lasered in on the unconscious man and didn’t see the censure in my gaze. “We are 100% about to have our second fight.”

Her face was pale in the darkness, her expression drawn with what looked like genuine fear. Instead of some snarky response, she motioned at the man with her gun. “Take his mask off.”

“Aly,” I said, wariness snaking up my spine.

“Do it,” she bit out.

I reached down and yanked the man’s balaclava free.

God. Fucking. Damnit.

It was Bradley Bluhm.

His face was still swollen from his previous beating, and his nose was now ruined, too, blood gushing down his mouth and chin, but there was no mistaking the rapist – and most likely murderer if the cops were correct in their suspicions – that Aly had a run-in with last night.

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