Page 104 of A Stop in Time

“Calm down.” My tone is placating. “I’m just making certain.”

“Is that all you need me for?”

“That’s all.”

50

DANIEL

Early Thursday morning

I shoot upright in bed, already palming my gun. Flicking the safety off, my eyes frantically scan the room.

“Fuck.” I breathe out the word in the silence, still surveying my surroundings, but lower my gun.

I never sleep this hard, but I guess my body needed some solid rest.

I turn to the spot beside me where Mac’s burrowed beneath the covers but stop short. My eyes track the way the sheet and comforter are bunched, but there’s no head on the pillow.

When I yank the covers back to find an empty space, my gaze flies to her bedside table, where her phone still sits, then to the adjoining bathroom. The door is open, but it’s dark and noiseless inside.

My head whips around as I strain to hear any sound of her moving around outside the bedroom. Daylight barely breaks through the small slats of her blinds, so I know it’s still early.

“Mac?” No response or sound of movement greets me.

I slide off the bed and grab my jeans, setting my gun down to quickly tug them on. Picking up my weapon, I hold it at my side while uneasiness riddles at me. Carefully, I exit the bedroom and scan the small kitchen and living area, but they’re vacant, too.

“Mac?” I still get no response.

Dread crawls over my skin as I pad to the door and pull it open. Hushed stillness greets me while some birds chirp in the distance.

A sense of urgency has me descending the stairs quickly, my bare feet nearly soundless on each step. Once I reach the bottom, I survey my surroundings. My car’s here, and the doors to the building remain locked. Where the hell is she?

The instant the question replays in my head, I’m bombarded with a thousand icy cold fingertips tracing down the length of my spine. It’s what has my feet moving as I circle the back side of the building.

Not quite reaching my knees, the grass is longer and denser in some patches, interspersed by dry, dirt spots. It’s what has me nearly stumbling over the body that’s sprawled in one of the taller, grassy areas.

“Jesus Christ!” I scan the entire circumference, wondering how the hell this happened, but don’t sense a goddamn soul.

Dropping to my knees beside Mac, whose body lies deathly still, I check her breathing and pulse. They’re both at least steady. As for the rest of her…

Blood is smeared from below her nose and extending to her chin. I flick the safety back on and tuck my gun in my waistband before checking her for more injuries.

I know she said she sleepwalks, but what in the motherfucking hell…

“What the fuck happened to you?” I mutter under my breath. My eyes drift over her clothes, peering closer. “Did you sleepwalk and run into somebody who tried to hurt you?”

When I pick up each of her hands in mine, both sets of her knuckles are raw and barely scabbed over. “And you fought back before they could do worse?”

We’d been naked beneath the covers, lying in the dark, talking about nothing much at all before we’d fallen asleep. But now, she’s dressed in a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top. I can barely tell what color her clothes are, though, because they’re fucking drenched in blood.

Smears of red cover her thighs and lower legs. Scanning her body again, I struggle against letting my emotions overrule logic. I force myself to keep my cool, but as I run my hands over her, they shake so hard I’m surprised my bones don’t rattle.

Mouth like a fucking sandbox and my heart racing, I examine her, my fingers gently prodding her body. When I don’t detect any internal injuries or broken bones, the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding rushes out in relief.

Hesitation and dread attempt to suffocate me when my hands move to the waist of her shorts. Even though her clothes don’t appear torn like someone’d yanked on them, stretching out the fabric, I’ve got to know. Because, Jesus Fucking Christ, if somebody forced themselves on her, I’ll hunt them down and make them pay. They’ll need to be identified using goddamn dental records once I’m done with them.

“Baby, I gotta know. Are you hurt?” Nervous sweat beads at my hairline as I gently ease down the waistband of her shorts with shaky hands. “Did somebody hurt you that way?” When I see her cotton panties still in place and intact, my shoulders lose a fraction of tension.