pretty.
Oh, for the love of God almighty...
She did know Juliette’s name. Which didn’t automatically guarantee that she was a friend. She might have known the house would be empty tonight and the place would be a good target.
Juliette’s business was just starting to take off. She was even getting some press about it. Who knew what kind of riffraff news of her success might attract? Though Chelsea Allen didn’t look like riffraff.
“Please hang up,” she pleaded again.
Ethan shook his head and gestured to the window behind her. “When you visit friends, do you always enter through the bathroom?”
Her eyes flashed before she glanced over her shoulder in the direction he pointed. “Of course not. It’s just that...”
A frustrated little growl gobbled up the rest of her words. Ethan half expected her to stamp her foot or to turn around and scale the wall in an attempt to leave the way she came in.
But instead, she put her hands on her hips and apparently tried to turn the tables on him. “If Juliette is not at home, what business do you have in her house? Who are you?”
He frowned at her tone. “I’m the one who’s asking the questions here, and as soon as the sheriff arrives, he will take over for me.”
“No! I’m sorry. Please hang up. I mean, you do realize that calling emergency services could keep them from responding to a true emergency, don’t you? Just call Juliette from your cell. If you’re in her house you should have her number. Right? She will tell you that we’re friends and that I’m absolutely welcome here.”
Ethan hesitated. She had a point. But before he could disconnect, the operator picked up.
“This is 911. What is your emergency?”
“Hey, Joyce, it’s Ethan Campbell,” he said. “False alarm on that 911.”
Chelsea finally drew in a breath after she heard him retract the police call. Ethan Campbell. So that was his name. Chelsea racked her brain trying to recall if she’d ever heard Juliette mention him. Campbell... Sounded familiar. But the way he was glaring at her as he talked to the sheriff’s dispatcher addled her mind and made it difficult to remember her own name, much less her college friend’s list of boyfriends past.
“Nope. Everything’s under control, but hang tight. I’ll call you back if the situation changes.”
Pinned by his midnight blue gaze, she stood frozen, weighing her options. At least she had enough sense to realize most of the choices sponsored by the fight-or-flight adrenaline rush weren’t very practical...or smart—like grabbing the phone out of the guy’s hand and tossing it into the toilet or scaling the wall and going out the way she’d come in.
Both plans spelled disaster.
If she did the grab and flush, Ethan Campbell would probably lock her in the bathroom and call the sheriff from Juliette’s landline. The last thing she needed was for the police to show up. Because where the police went, media usually followed.
Of course, if he locked her in the bath, she could climb back out the window. But she wasn’t a gymnast or a contortionist. So she wouldn’t be very fast. She wasn’t even remotely athletic. It had taken forever and every ounce of strength she’d possessed to hoist herself up and climb in the window. Her muscles were still shaky after being taxed the first time. She’d be deluding herself if she thought she was capable of using that route for a speedy and successful getaway.
Bloody hell, if she did escape, where would she go?
A chase would ensue; the cops would be on her heels.
Maybe she could simply push past Ethan and make a run out the front door. That seemed like the least shady option. But there was no getting around him. He was a big guy. Being tackled and held by those rugby-player arms and pinned by those shoulders might have been quite nice under other circumstances. But right now his considerable bulk filled the doorway, blocking the only other viable exit, eliminating that option.
“Yeah, I thought I’d caught the burglar at the Lowell place,” he drawled into the phone.
Burglar? Did she really look like someone who sneaked into homes and robbed people?
“Turns out it’s a woman claiming to be a friend of Juliette’s. Sit tight. I’m going to call her to confirm...No. I don’t need backup. I got this.”
Finally, they were getting somewhere.
He seemed to be quite familiar with her friend. Against her better judgment, Chelsea wondered why Juliette hadn’t talked about this Ethan Campbell. He was tall and rugged and handsome—if you liked big, brooding, broad-shouldered men with Texas drawls.
And who in her right mind wouldn’t find a guy like him attractive?
He’d be even better if he wasn’t holding her hostage.
She reminded herself of that, and the fact that he seemed to be pretty well connected to the local authorities, which could be a problem. A big problem if he pressed her for personal information. That would mean she’d need to leave again because she couldn’t take the chance of word getting out and Bertie tracking her here. Celebration was too small of a town to hide from a bloodhound like him. She was running out of options of where to go. Unless she wanted to hole up someplace alone. If she blew it here, it meant she’d have to go home.
That wasn’t an option. At least not right now.
“If her story doesn’t check out, I’ll call you back and have you send the sheriff out.”
Ethan was nodding at something the dispatcher was saying on the other end of the line.
“Joyce...” More talking. More nodding. “No. Joyce...It’s fine...”
“Yes, I’m sure...No, I don’t see anyone else with her. She’s alone.” He turned his gaze back on Chelsea. “Are you alone?”
Chelsea nodded and instantly regretted it. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. But if she hadn’t they surely would’ve dispatched the authorities.
“Her car’s out in the driveway...No. I didn’t get the license number. It was dark when I got here. I wanted to make sure the perimeter was secured first.”
Was the guy a wannabe cop or something?
More listening. More nodding. Chelsea strained to see if she could hear what the person on the other end of the line was saying, but all she could discern was a low hum of an indistinct feminine voice.
Ethan backed into the hallway and flicked on the overhead light. Now Chelsea could see a collage of black-and-white photographs housed in a multipaned black frame hanging on the wall behind him. One of the pictures was from Juliette’s days at St. Andrew’s, and as if by some miracle, there was a shot of her and Juliette and a group of their schoolmates huddled together at a Sussex rugby match.
“Good
