a silent prayer that they didn’t break and cause the whole thing to come crashing down into the house, she watched until the panels slid completely from view. Relieved that she hadn’t broken anything after barely getting in the door, she took her first good look at the giant entry.
She sighed. It certainly didn’t look more cheerful in the light, and the cleanliness factor had actually dropped several points, but it gave her something to do. Manual labor was her preferred method of freeing her mind for thought. This house would provide plenty of thinking projects. And maybe, at the end of her two weeks, she’d have a plan for her career, for her life. Heck, fourteen days of cleaning this place and she might solve world hunger.
She hurried back to her SUV to get the rest of her supplies. Once she had everything inside, she’d go exploring for the necessities—kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and laundry facilities. Mr. Duhon had assured her all the necessary items were functional, so at least she didn’t have to worry about scrubbing her underwear on a stone in the fountain or cooking dinner over an open fire in the courtyard.
Twenty minutes later, she had a pile of boxes and bags just inside the front door and felt less than excited about lugging them farther. The years of college study and sitting at a desk all day had apparently outweighed her morning jogs, especially when added on top of a long, somewhat apprehensive drive.
She glanced around the entry, figuring she’d find the kitchen first, then finally set off down a wide hallway to her left, assuming the largest hallways were more likely to lead to well-used areas. At the end of the hallway, a large arch opened into a spacious kitchen and breakfast area.
The room was at least twenty-five feet square with miles of stone countertops and windows framing every wall of the eating area. She looked out at the weeds and vines and froze as a sudden flash of pink azaleas, lush grass and a blooming magnolia tree ran through her mind. She’d eaten here looking out into the onetime beautiful gardens. It was so clear in her mind that it was as if she were looking at a snapshot.
Sighing, she walked back down the hall to begin moving the supplies to the kitchen. What had just happened was something she needed to get used to. She’d been old enough to remember the house when she’d left, but the trauma of losing her mother and her sisters all at once had forced those memories so far back into the recesses of her mind that she wondered if they’d been gone forever. Apparently that wasn’t the case, and being in the house was probably going to bring back some of those memories.
Maybe that was a good thing. At seven years old, she hadn’t been capable of processing what she’d been through on a logical level. Now that she was an adult, maybe it was time she dealt with her less-than-stellar past once and for all. Maybe it was something she needed to do to move forward with her career and her personal life.
The only clear memory she had was of that night—the night before they were sent away. And the sheer figure of her mother, dressed in a long white flowing gown and hovering over her bed.
She shook her head, trying to clear the image from her mind. It had been frozen there for so long, the lone thing she’d carried with her all these years. Logically, she knew that she’d been a scared little girl who’d just lost her mother, but emotionally, she still wondered if what she’d seen that night was real.
As she stepped back into the entry, she heard a noise overhead. Immediately she froze, trying to determine if she’d heard the normal sounds of an old house, or if something else, of the four-legged, undesirable variety, was inside with her. Her pulse quickened when she realized it was footsteps—the two-legged kind.
A single glance at the crack in the front door made her blood run cold. She was positive she’d closed and locked it behind her after carrying in the last of the supplies. But someone was inside with her.
She reached for her purse and pulled out the pistol she’d begun carrying after receiving her first official death threat on the job. Despite the heat and humidity, the metal was cold in her hand. She dug around in the side pocket for her car keys and mentally cursed when she remembered she’d set them on the kitchen counter.
She eased back down the hallway, praying she could get her keys and get out of the house. Surely someone with a legitimate reason to be inside would have knocked or called out upon entering. She could only assume that whoever had come in was up to no good. That was a problem for the sheriff, not an unemployed attorney who had no interest in playing the hero.
The footsteps faded away as she slipped down the hallway and into the kitchen to retrieve her car keys. She moved silently on the stone floor, giving mental thanks that she’d worn comfortable tennis shoes and jeans and not her usual casual wear of slacks, blouse and high-heeled sandals.
All she had to do was make it back down the hallway and out of the house. An athletic scholarship for sprinting had paid for most of her college. If she could get outside the house, she had no doubt she could beat the intruder to her SUV and get away. But as she hurried across the kitchen to the hallway, the pantry door flew open. Unable to stop, she collided with it and went sprawling to the ground, her pistol sliding across the stone floor.
She scrambled for the gun as a dark figure stepped out of the pantry. Panicked, she made a desperate reach for the pistol, which was still several inches away.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A deep voice sounded above her.
Chapter Three
One look at the man and she knew she didn’t stand a chance. He was easily six feet tall, with strong arms and chest. The butt of a pistol peeked out of the waistband of his jeans and she had no doubt he could fire before she could even latch on to her weapon.
This was it. Her life would come full circle in this swamp—birth to death.
“Alaina LeBeau?” he asked, staring down at her with a mixture of aggravation and resignation.
“Yes.” She pushed herself up to a sitting position.
He studied her face for a moment, then sighed and extended his hand to help her up from the floor. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Then why were you sneaking around my house and hiding in the pantry?” The fear she’d felt only seconds ago was speeding away, only to be replaced by aggravation now that she no longer felt threatened.
His green eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t ‘sneak around’ private property, and that’s not a pantry—it’s a stairwell.”
She peered around him into the doorway and, sure enough, saw a narrow set of stairs leading up to the second floor. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“I’m Carter Trahan—Sheriff Carter Trahan—and I’m here to check off one day on my babysitting roster.”
Alaina clenched her jaw, forcing herself to pause before replying to his insulting statement. The last thing she needed was to alienate the man required to check up on her. “Mr. Duhon informed me that you’d be monitoring the residency terms of the will. I hardly need a babysitter.”
He merely raised one eyebrow and gave her an amused smile.
“Well, if you’re done slamming doors into visitors, Sheriff Trahan, I should get back to my unpacking. Next time you check on me, please knock.”
“I did knock … twice. Then I opened the door and called out from the entrance.
