“Stick with the mice. Or better yet, any rats hanging out here, okay?” She bent down to pet the tabby’s soft head, but he was having none of it. Focused on the bird, he ignored Brianna who, at the mention of rats, thought about her shower the night before. Letting herself outside the garden gate, she walked along the narrow path between the neighbor’s fence and the side of her house to the area around her bathroom window. She was an inch or two too short to see inside, but anyone near six feet tall would be able to see over the window’s ledge and view the interior.

Had someone been out here last night?

Her skin crawled at the thought of it.

The crepe myrtle seemed undisturbed . . . but the fronds of a fern were twisted, a few flattened, as if stepped on. A cold wash of fear spilled down her spine.

Had there actually been someone standing here in this very spot, peering through the window, watching as she showered?

“No way,” she whispered as St. Ives crept around the corner to move stealthily through the foliage. The cat stopped at her feet and looked up to meow at her. “Hey, buddy.” Bending over, she picked him up, catching him squarely this time. Holding his furry body against her chest, she walked to the front of the house where her small front yard ran into the sidewalk. There was a short wrought-iron fence around the front of her property with an unlocked gate leading to the front door. Anyone could have stepped through or climbed over, but who? And why? What kind of perv?

She didn’t want to think about it, but vowed to keep her blinds closed and windows shut at night. That would pose a problem in the bathroom, where steam built up when she showered. Maybe it was time to fix the exhaust fan that had given up the ghost six months earlier, and install motion detector lights outside the house. Or she could go to a local shelter and rescue a dog, a big dog that would cause any prowler to think twice about trespassing. She was definitely warming to that idea, as long as the dog got along with cats; well, at least with one overweight yellow tabby.

“That’s a must, isn’t it?” she said to St. Ives, as if the tabby could read her mind, or understand her words. “But it could be time to expand the family. What do you think? Hmm?” She buried her nose in his soft fur and he began to purr as she carried him inside and made a mental note to install the lights and fix the fan.

For now, the dog would have to remain on her wish list.