If it weren’t for the panic attacks, things might’ve been different. Maybe they would be different in the future. If the panic attacks really did stop. And if I want to have to lie to someone all the time, I thought, remembering Graham’s warnings.

Well, no sense in worrying about that right now.

I let myself in. It felt good to be home. I hadn’t been gone all that long, but the house had that just-home-from-vacation feeling — the smell was a little off, and it was oddly quiet.

I curled up on the couch with a hot bowl of soup and a cold soda. It seemed like a million years ago that I’d last done this very normal thing. It was great.

I’d only slept a few hours the night before, so I was in bed by 8:00, Sniggles the bear tucked under one arm. My own worn, mismatched sheets had never felt so good.

I came wide awake in the darkness, certain that something was wrong. I slid out from under the covers, then smoothed them quickly, making the bed look unused. Opening the top drawer of my bedside table, I pulled out my mother’s old .38.

When Mom was alive, she always stored the bullets separately. Ben’s kids came to the house back then, so loaded guns were a no-no. I no longer bothered with that precaution. I checked by feel to make sure the cylinder was full, then moved as quietly as I could across my bedroom and crouched in the corner behind the door.

Mom had made me go shooting at the range in Frederick a couple times a year. I hadn’t done it much since she passed. It just didn’t seem like a priority. Dorf was pretty darned safe. I carefully settled my finger outside the guard and thumbed back the hammer. It had been long enough since I’d used the gun that these actions were no longer automatic. I couldn’t remember when I’d last cleaned the thing.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Surprisingly, the intruder didn’t sneak into the room. Instead there was a soft knock and a pause before the bedroom door swung open. The light flipped on, and a female voice said, “Beth?” I peeked around the side of the door and saw bleached-blond hair. Kara.

She looked back out the door. “She’s not here.”

“She’s here,” Williams said.

Shit.

I waited until Kara left the room, then stood and moved quickly into the doorway, gun leveled. Putting all the steel into my voice that I could, I said, “Stop.”