much worse, the real kind.
She parked in her little garage and let herself into the house. She loved her cottage. With only two bedrooms, one she’d transformed into an art studio, the place was cozy, warm on nights like these, and safe. At least it always had felt that way.
Now every part of her life felt uneasy.
She switched on the light and stepped into the kitchen. The window over the sink stared at her like an unblinking eye. She pulled the blinds, crossed her arms over her chest and tried to rub warmth through the jacket sleeves.
She was being ridiculous, freaking herself out this way. And over nothing. Sleep. That’s what she needed. A good night’s sleep and the morning light would make the world look much different. Tomorrow she would be able to put everything back into perspective. The man who’d followed her … Gray … Jolie’s nerves … she just needed sleep.
She passed through the dinette and the living area, turned down the hall to the bedrooms and shivered, despite herself. A draft seemed to be moving in this part of the little house. She switched on the hall light. The flow of air seemed to be coming from her studio. Strange. And the door stood open.
A door she always kept locked.
Her heartbeat launched into double time. She reached out a hand and pushed the door open farther. Curling her arm around the doorjamb, she felt for the light switch and flicked it on.
At first she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Shreds of canvas hung from her work easel. Red paint pooled on the floor. The glow of the moon sparkled on shattered glass.
A gasp caught in her throat, and she turned to run.
Chapter Four
“Here you go, dear.” Angela Kendall pushed a mug of tea into Natalie’s hands, plopped down on the kitchen chair next to her and studied her niece with concerned brown eyes. “It will calm you, make you feel better.”
Natalie wrapped both palms around the hot mug, grateful to have something to hold on to that would help to steady her shaking hands. The scent of chamomile wafted toward her. The tea her aunt pulled out to soothe any trauma Natalie faced, from her love life woes to the nightmares she’d had since she was six.
Natalie hated chamomile tea.
Aunt Angela leaned toward her, the kitchen light glinting off the few strands of gray that threaded her brown hair. “Is the tea all right, honey?”
“It’s great.” Natalie gave her aunt what she hoped was a grateful smile and dutifully lifted the tea to her lips. She took a sip of the dreadful brew and then returned the cup to the table. “Thank you.”
Angela gave her a smile and ran her hand over Natalie’s arm in a comforting caress. When Natalie had burst into the main house in a panic after finding the broken window and slashed paintings in her cottage, her aunt had been wearing her bright pink bathrobe and matching pajamas, ready for bed. Somewhere between soothing Natalie, alerting Uncle Craig and brewing tea, she’d changed into an orange sweater and jeans, combed her hair smooth and dashed on a bit of mascara and tinted lip balm.
The woman was nothing short of amazing.
Natalie was lucky to have her, back when she was six and her aunt and uncle had taken in orphaned Natalie and her three older brothers as their own and now. But as much as she appreciated her aunt’s nurturing, this much coddling made Natalie feel as if she was once again a weak, traumatized little girl.
Uncle Craig walked back into the kitchen before Aunt Angela had a chance to urge Natalie to take another sip. “Ash is bringing a couple of patrol officers with him.”
So now the whole St. Louis Police Department was going to get involved? Natalie supposed it made sense, but she still felt like hiding her face. “I’m sorry for all this.”
“Sorry? Why should you be sorry?” Uncle Craig’s eyes flashed blue fire. “You didn’t break into your own cottage and vandalize it. The person who did this, that’s who should be sorry.”
“That’s right, dear,” Aunt Angela chimed in. “How long before Ash gets here?”
“He was getting into the car when I hung up.”
The grandfather clock down the hall chimed loud and slow.
Natalie glanced around the kitchen. The room was immaculate, as usual. Beautiful cabinets, gleaming countertops, and just the right decorating touches. Yet nothing was stuffy or showy. She didn’t remember much about the house when her parents lived here, but since her aunt and uncle had moved in to take care of Natalie and her brothers, the house had felt like Angela. Warm, well cared for, welcoming.
She choked down another sip of tea for her aunt’s sake. She hated being so needy, so clingy. She wanted to feel strong for once in her life, confident that she could stand on her own feet. That she could love as an equal and have that love returned. She wanted to forget that night twenty years ago. That night that chewed at the back of her mind.
Before she knew it, Ash was striding into the kitchen. He wore jeans and a simple shirt. A leather jacket spanned his broad shoulders and muscular chest. With his light brown hair, glinting green eyes and confident swagger, it was no wonder he had been known as the Casanova of the St. Louis PD. That is, until he fell hard for Rachel and their unborn child and realized all he really wanted was to settle down.
He immediately crossed to Natalie. “You okay?”
The concern in his voice made her throat feel thick. She managed a nod.
“Uncle Craig said someone broke into the cottage?”
“That’s right,” Craig answered.
Natalie forced her voice to function and filled her brother in on how she’d sensed the draft and found her studio door open and the window shattered.
“Did you notice if anything was missing?” he asked when she’d finished.
“I don’t know. I ran out.” She had. Like a scared little girl.
“You did the right thing. There’s always a chance the intruder could have still been there. When the squad car gets here, I’ll go out and take a look around.”
Her throat closed. The paintings. She hadn’t even thought about the fact that her brother and his fellow officers would need to investigate. And when they did, they’d see the shreds of her canvases littering the floor.
Would Ash realize what the images were? Was she ready for him to see what she’d been painting?
“Is that okay?” He narrowed his green eyes.
She forced a nod.
“What’s wrong?”
The disadvantage of having a cop for a brother. He could sense when she wasn’t being totally up front. “Nothing. I’m just a little shaken.”
“You can stay here tonight, honey. In fact, you can move back in. We’d love to have you. You know that.”
She
