Page 45 of Hold Your Breath
“There’s no wind.”
“It had to be the wind.” Lou released her death grip on his arm and shuffled in the direction of the door, holding her hands in front of her. “The alternative is too freaking scary.”
“I’ll get it.” Catching her, Callum gently tugged her behind him. She grabbed a fistful of the back of his coat and followed him the few steps to the door. He opened it slowly, peering around outside before stepping forward to allow Lou out of the shed.
Although it was a relief to escape the darkness, standing outside felt almost as nerve-racking. Her gaze darted around the snow-covered ground, looking for tracks of some kind or any kind of evidence to prove or disprove that someone had been here…though she wasn’t sure yet which she preferred.
“Do you think he was here last night?” She examined the packed snow around the shed entrance, looking for a boot track matching the ones under her window.
“Could be.” Callum closed the door behind him. “Or he could’ve done this two nights ago, and we just didn’t notice. When was the last time you ran your generator?”
“Three days ago?” She squinted in thought. “Maybe four? I know I didn’t turn it on yesterday, so the propane line could’ve been cut at the same time as the honey thing.”
Cocking his head, he looked at her. “But you don’t think it was.”
With a shrug, she moved around to the other side of the shed, still looking for tracks. “I’m probably being paranoid—”
He interrupted with a snort. “Are you paranoid if someone’s really after you?”
Her smile was more pained than amused. “Something woke me last night—or this morning, I guess. It’s just a feeling, but I think he was out there.”
Callum waved her toward the front door. “Let’s eat and then go to the clinic. You can call the sheriff on the way to Connor Springs.”
Climbing the porch steps, she asked, “Shouldn’t we wait for Rob to get here?”
“He knows the way, and you don’t lock your generator shed.” With a disapproving look, he added, “You probably should.”
“It has a lock,” she protested. “I’m just not exactly sure where the key is.”
He grunted, and she resisted the urge to make a face. Callum was the only person she knew who could fit a reprimand into a single wordless noise.
“Eggs,” he said, “and bacon. Can’t waste bacon.”
“Definitely not!” she agreed with appropriately theatrical dismay, and then laughed when he gave her a look. But her laughter died as Callum headed into the house, leaving her alone on the porch. Lou paused, skin prickling, and twisted her head to scan the trees. She couldn’t help but wonder if someone was there even now, watching. Waiting.
Wanting to hurt her.
* * *
It was still fairly early when they reached the VA clinic. A few people were scattered around the reception area, but there was still a sleepy feel to the place. She and Callum exchanged a glance, and he headed toward one of the waiting people, a man about HDG’s age, who was frowning at the news playing on a TV mounted to the wall.
Lou made her way to the check-in desk. “Excuse me.”
The tired-eyed receptionist with a nametag reading “Tina” gave her a smile. “Good morning. Checking in for an appointment?”
With a shake of her head, Lou said, “I’m actually here about my uncle. He had two toes amputated recently—well, several months ago—and I wanted to check if he was showing up for his aftercare appointments.”
“Did he sign the waiver giving you access to his records?”
“Of course,” she lied.
“What’s his name?” Tina asked, tugging the computer keyboard closer.
“Grant Dutton,” she said, giving her grandfather’s name.
After typing in the name, Tina asked, “Is that D-U-T-T-O-N? I’m not finding anyone by that name.”
That was because her grandfather had never been in the military, and he definitely hadn’t visited the Connor Springs VA clinic. “He, um, has some mental-health issues, so he sometimes uses a different name.”
