If someone watched from inside the house, they’d see me coming. But what could I do about that? I calmed myself by deciding that I was overreacting, that no crazy man was chasing after us, that Blake wasn’t answering simply because he was involved with whatever questions he was trying to answer. Once he had those figured out, he’d be his old self. Jovial, teasing, loyal.

I took my keys out as I approached the back door. But before I put the key in the lock, I tried the knob, which turned freely. The door opened.

I felt like an intruder in my own house, trying to sneak in quietly. But why? What if Blake sat at my desk, looking for whatever he wanted to find, my calls ignored for some innocuous reason?

When I stepped into the kitchen, I called his name. I heard nothing, just the sound of my own voice.

I closed the door behind me, and I couldn’t help but think of the night before when I had stepped into another house. It too had been quiet.

My heartbeat quickened. As the rain on my forehead and the sweat on my back dried, it grew cool, and I felt a chill despite the humid air outside. I looked in the corner of the kitchen. The baseball bat sat there, and it was a no-brainer for me to reach over and pick it up. It brought a measure of comfort, and I was more than happy to take security wherever I could find it.

“Blake?”

Nothing.

“Blake?”

I took slow, cautious steps, trying to be quiet. But since I’d already called out, it didn’t matter. If there was anyone in the house, they either couldn’t respond or didn’t want to.

Neither possibility was comforting. And I thought about turning around and leaving.

But I didn’t.

I turned the corner and went down the hall to the office. For some reason, the office door was closed. I closed the door from time to time when I worked in there and needed to block out the noise from Henry or Amanda’s book club. But if no one was in there . . . why was it closed?

“Blake?”

I took a deep breath and gripped the bat tighter with my right hand. With my left, I turned the knob and pushed the office door open. As it swung wide, I braced myself, jumping into a batting stance, ready to swing at someone who might be on the other side preparing to charge at me.

But the office was empty.

I scanned the room, taking in every corner as quickly as I could. Under the desk. Behind the small file cabinet.

Nothing.

There were no closets in the room, nowhere else to hide. I even looked at the ceiling in case someone waited to drop down on me. But I saw nothing except the long crack in the plaster I needed to patch.