13

Slade cracked the sedan’s window and shifted into a more comfortable position. It had been months since he’d run overnight surveillance, and the long hours had taken a toll. If he was on a routine protection detail he would call in Ryder or another team member for a shift change; he desperately needed to stretch his legs, and he could use a bathroom break. As it stood, he’d have to wait it out at least another hour.

His thoughts turned to Skylar and the moments before he’d bolted out of her condo. The discussion they’d shared in her living room had become personal, and when he’d touched her hand, his initial attraction had turned into something tangible.

He’d even been tempted to kiss her.

Good thing he hadn’t. She’d spent the better part of last night fearing for her life, and a large portion of that time included fearing him. She probably would’ve ducked away, or smacked him. As much as he’d like to think his ego could take the hit, he liked Skylar and didn’t relish the idea of being rejected.

A dog barked from somewhere behind Skylar’s condo, commanding Slade’s full and immediate attention. He straightened, picked up the binoculars. No lights glowed beyond her curtain covered windows, and no one lurked in the shadows outside. He hadn’t seen any trace of Barnes, Mayhew, or their van.

Could be a coincidence. The dog could have targeted a raccoon or other animal. But the hairs on the nape of Slade’s neck stood on end, telling him otherwise. He set aside the binoculars, grabbed the flashlight, and stepped out. The crisp air invigorated his senses as he took long strides across the street and into the yard. Skylar’s condo was an end unit situated next to a side street, which made it easy to conduct a quick, thorough search.

Motion sensor lights illuminated the small yard as he rounded the backside, checking windows and doors. Nothing suspicious caught his eye. The dog settled its insistent barking slowing to occasional muffled growls. But that didn’t quell Slade’s unease. He might be overreacting, but he’d trust his gut. He’d check in with Skylar.

He dialed her number. A standard, canned greeting sounded as the line immediately went to voicemail. Had she turned off her phone? Or had someone done it for her?

Apprehension tightened his chest. He approached the backdoor and knocked, hard. “Skylar, it’s me.”

No response.

He pounded a fist against the wood. “Are you all right?”

Still nothing.

His concern skyrocketed. He tried calling again with the same results. He aimed the flashlight toward the door. He could break one of six small glass window panes, reach in, and release the deadbolt—

Slade’s gaze zoned in on the slight gap between the door and the frame. No marks or abrasions marred the wood, but the deadbolt no longer sat nestled in the strike plate. He tested the doorknob. It turned easily in his hand. His internal alarm blasted a warning. Had someone duplicated a key and gained entry? Then again, a woman living alone would guard access to her keys. Perhaps she’d unlocked the door from the inside. But why? Had something or someone scared her away? Why hadn’t she run to him?

Withdrawing his gun with one hand, he shoved open the door with the other. “Skylar?”

No answer. Heart beating wild, he strode inside. In the living room, the sofa cushions had been straightened, the afghan neatly folded. The mail that had been piled on the kitchen counter had been sorted into stacks.

Slade bypassed the main living space, stepped down the hall to the bedroom only to find it empty. The queen size bed was made, a duffle bag and purse sat ready and waiting on the satin comforter.

There were only a couple more rooms in the condo, but he didn’t give up hope.

He checked the bathroom. Water droplets covered the shower curtain and ran in rivulets down the mirror while scents of fruity shampoo lingered as if she’d bathed only minutes ago. The remaining rooms—a spare bedroom and laundry area—were also vacant.

Slade scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaling pent-up breath. With no signs of forced entry and nothing to indicate Skylar had been under duress, he could only come to one conclusion: she’d left of her own volition. But why? Where would she go without her bags?

Unless she planned to come back.

Hayworth. The answer came on a winged whisper as if spoken by an angel.

Of course. She’d sneaked out to visit her uncle. It all made sense: her insistence on going home, the close proximity to Hayworth’s house, her refusal to allow Slade to remain inside overnight.

Slade ground his teeth, snatched her bags off the bed, and stormed out with no doubt in his mind that Skylar Hart, the sweet, gorgeous strawberry blonde with the seductive green eyes, had played him.