Chapter 30

Pete Hancock slumped into the worn leather of his living room armchair. With a forced chuckle that failed to mask his unease, he tried to dismiss the words in the letter as nothing more than a joke in poor taste. But the laughter died in his throat, strangled by the crawling dread that had taken residence in his gut since the moment he"d torn open the envelope.

The house creaked and groaned around him, a symphony of unsettling noises that kept his nerves frayed. He listened intently as branches, like skeletal fingers, scraped against the siding with every gust of wind. A sudden crash from outside jolted him upright; a trash can toppled over, its contents spilling onto the pavement. His heart raced, and he sprang to his feet, darting to the window to peer into the darkness.

His heart pounded as he scanned the darkness, anticipating what he might find. But there was nothing except the debris swirling around in the gusts of wind, creating a symphony of chaos and fury. No one was watching from the shadows; no faces peered through the windows above; it was just him and the storm"s wild dance.

"Get a grip, Hancock," he muttered, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. "You"re just being an idiot."

As he paced back and forth, his mind raced through memories of past relationships. Most had ended without any animosity, just the gradual fading of attraction or incompatible goals. But one face kept resurfacing in his thoughts—a woman with piercing green eyes and fiery red hair. What was her name again? Tiffany? Or was it Teresa? He didn't recall. But they had dated for a few weeks, more than what he usually did with anyone. He had liked her. The sex had been very good and intense, and she was so beautiful he decided to keep her around for a little while… until he got bored with her, which happened pretty quickly. Especially their arguments, oh, boy, there had been a lot of heated ones. He could still feel the intensity of their arguments and the passion that once drew them together. Yet now, it only brought up painful emotions and doubts about her true intentions. The idea nagged at him, refusing to be dismissed easily.

Tiffany, that was her name—definitely. He remembered clearly now. She was crazy as a bat.

Or was it Brittany?

She"d had that look. The one that could flip from adoration to something darker in a heartbeat. Even now, the memory of her gaze sent shivers down his spine. When they"d parted ways, her anger had been palpable, a storm much like the one raging outside his home. Could it really be her behind this twisted game?

A floorboard creaked upstairs, slicing through the cacophony of the wind. Pete"s breath hitched, his pulse thundering in his ears. The primal instinct of fear drowned out rational thoughts. Was it just the house settling, or was someone else here with him?

He couldn"t stand the uncertainty. Survival outweighed skepticism as he bolted across the room, not daring to look back. His movements were swift, fueled by adrenaline, as he reached the hidden compartment behind the bookshelf. With practiced ease, he retrieved the gun, the cold metal a familiar weight in his hand.

Now armed, Pete faced the shadows of his home, every sense heightened, ready for whatever—or whoever—might come.