Annie sighed heavily. No wonder she’d no taste or tolerance for alcohol. She had hoped for better from her relationship with Layla. But – oh, and this was hard to admit, even to herself – they didn’t get on. Unable to break down the wall Layla had put up between them, Annie had lashed out in frustration, saying hurtful things – things that she didn’t mean and wished she could take back.
You’re always working, don’t you know how to have fun?
That colour doesn’t suit you.
Can’t you do something with your hair?
Annie turned on to her side, berating herself.
Stupid.
She knew that her criticism would only make Layla withdraw further behind that big, invisible, fucking wall.
Clunk.
She stiffened, every sense alert.
There! Somebody was definitely moving about downstairs.
Probably it was Layla. But Layla was such a deep sleeper, usually. Even as a child, she would lay immobile all night, her bed as neat in the morning as it had been the night before. And Rosa, their ancient housekeeper, was never downstairs at night; she had her own little self-contained apartment at the side of the house.
What if it’s neither of them? What if someone’s broken in? suggested a tiny voice in her brain.
Her heartbeat was deafening. She wanted to put the light on, to drive back the darkness. But that might alert whoever was downstairs if they glanced up and saw the strip of light under her door. No lights then. Instead, she reached for the bedside drawer.
Max’s side.
Banishing the thought, she slid open the drawer, groped inside, felt the cold hard outline of the Smith & Wesson revolver there. It was loaded. It was an old, old gun, but effective. Scary to see, scary to shoot too. It kicked like a mule. But she wasn’t going to be firing it, she just wanted to frighten the shit out of any intruder and send them running for the hills.
She sat up, mouth dry, pulse accelerating, felt in the darkness for her robe and slipped it on, belted it. Then she took hold of the gun. Barefoot, she crept to the door that connected her room to Layla’s, and turned the key to open it.
She grasped the doorknob, twisted it. Pushed the door open and passed inside. She could hear more noises coming from downstairs. She knew this house, every creak, every moan it made while the wind howled around the eaves, every protest the old floorboards uttered when someone stepped upon them.
Someone was moving down there, quietly. But not quietly enough.
Still in darkness, Annie crossed to the bed. ‘Layla!’ she hissed, and shook her daughter’s shoulder. Layla turned and Annie could see her eyes in the dimness of the moonlight opening wide, her mouth opening too. Annie clamped a hand over it. ‘Hush,’ she said urgently. ‘There’s somebody downstairs.’