Page 9 of Christmas in Comets Valley
“Abel, I’m so scared. The only way out is the front door.”
“You can do this, Aer. You’re not a fucking quitter.”
“I’m not a quitter,” I mumbled his words of encouragement back to myself.
I took a deep breath and set the phone down on the ground when the pounding sounded at the door again, causing me to jump backward.
“Who are you? What are you doing here? Breaking and entering is a crime, you know!” I shouted as I inched closer to the doorway, rearing the bat behind my shoulder, prepared to strike my unknown visitor's head if needed.
A male voice grumbled from the opposite side of the door. “Open the door, Juliet.Please.” The desperate “please” that escaped from the criminal's lips almost sounded like it was paired with a sob.
If the Comets Valley crime syndicate was praying on their victims by sounding abysmally helpless in order to get their prey to “help” them before making their attack… then this guy was nailing it.
It was probably wrong to open the door for a criminal, especially since this wasn’t my house to begin with, but whoever was on the other side of the door seemed like they needed someone’s help.
Probably a shrink’s, but I’d have to manage in the interim.
Fists rapped against the door again, only this time the knocks held less power, they almost seemed… powerless. Not to mention, my intruder was nowsobbingon the other side of the door based on the sound of it.
I let out a measured breath and inched closer to the door, deciding to take my chances this wasn’t a criminal due to the fact that they knew this was Juliet’s home.
Although, stalkers couldeasilyfind out that kind of information. Hell, anyone with the internet could probably find out this was her house, couldn’t they?
However, if this person was a good stalker, hopefully they’d know by now that not only had she left town, but that someone else was inhabiting her house too.
Wanting a look at my criminal—to make it easier to pick them out of a lineup later, obviously—I ducked to the floor. Lifting my head just enough to peer out of the sidelight, I found a weeping man—scratch that, agorgeousweeping man—slumped against the front door as he wiped the tears out from underneath his eyes.
What the…
My intruder had a clean-shaven jawline and thick brown hair that looked freshly cut. He was sitting, but his legs looked long. I made a rough guess that he had to be six foot… maybe an inch or so more?
“Please, Juliet.” The stranger sobbed into his hands.
I’d come to two conclusions from my initial inspection: First, this man looked like the furthest thing from a criminal. And second, he was probably minutes away from hypothermia because he wasn’t wearing a coat or gloves despite the below freezing temperatures outside.
“Aera… Aera… Aera!” Abel’s voice boomed from the speaker on the floor behind me.
I crawled over to grab my phone and pressed it against my ear. “Abel, I have to go. I don’t think this is an intruder after all. Sorry for waking you.”
“Fuck. Don’t ever scare me like that again. This is the second time you’ve almost given me a heart attack.” The relief in his voice and his heavy breathing sent a twinge of embarrassment crawling up the back of my neck for accidentally scaring him so badly.
That’s what little sisters were for though, right?
“I know, I know,” I acknowledged. “Sorry. Tell Emerson and Scar I said hi.”
“Will do. Call me later.”
Pressing the red circle at the bottom of the screen to end the call, I tossed the phone to the side and then pushed myself off the floor which needed a thorough mopping, by the way. Expelling a steadying breath from my lungs, I gradually inched over to unlock the door, cracking it open ever so slightly.
The last thing I wanted was the man leaning against it to lose his balance and hit his head against the threshold. I was already weary of law enforcement, and the thought of explaining how I concussed my crying burglar seemed like an added nightmare to the one I was already living in.
The man on the front porch flickered his gaze up at me with tears welled in his winter gray eyes. “You’re not Juliet,” he muttered, running a hand over his nose with a sniffle.
“You’re correct…”
“Where’s Juliet?”
“Malibu,” I responded honestly. “We switched houses for the holidays. I’m staying here for a few weeks and she’s staying at my house. We met on a travel home swapping website.”
