“Cal said you have some issues with some windows in your house?”
She pivoted on him, eyebrows raised. “Cal?”
“Deputy Thibodeaux? Said you have one window swollen shut and another you can’t lock?”
“Not real crazy about him telling everyone my business,” she muttered.
“He meant well. Said he spent a good amount of time at your place, giving it a look. Said you worried you had a squatter.”
“Yeah, really not crazy about him telling everyone that, either.”
“He was telling me because he thought you might hire me to take a look at those windows.”
She sighed. “Can’t hire anyone just yet. I got the lock fixed, at least.”
His eyebrows went up. “You fixed the lock?”
“I…got those little brackets you screw on to keep the window from being raised. I did that with all the windows.” At his skeptical look, she continued. “I went around to all of them and made sure they were secure. Except the attic one, since I’d have to climb two stories to do that.” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “Should take me about half an hour to clear all this up, if the raccoons haven’t come back.”
He grinned at her. “They’re too smart for that, now that they have books to read.”
Despite her exhaustion, she grinned back.
She was so tired when she was finished cleaning, she practically staggered to the car. She was glad Samson had stuck around because she was too tired to pay attention to her surroundings, and there were still two bikes—and two bikers—in the lot down the way. She didn’t know if they’d been waiting for her, but when they saw Samson, they took off.
He circled her car, inspecting it with a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing I can see, but I’m going to follow you home.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“It’s not far, and it will make me feel better. I won’t stay, just wait until you get in, then I’ll head home.”
She wanted to argue, but really, right now she just wanted to go home and go to bed. She nodded, started her car, and pulled out of the crushed shell drive, his truck behind her more reassuring than she wanted to admit.
When she got to the house, she parked in the driveway. Once she staggered to the door, she waved, and Samson drove off. She locked the door behind her, sure that not even a ghost could keep her awake tonight.
Eight
Sam pulledup in front of the Benoit mansion against his will, with his mom beside him. He hadn’t wanted to pop in on Erielle like this, but his mom had been wanting to come bring her some food, and his parents had had another fight this morning, so he felt like he needed to get her out of the house. So he’d offered to bring her over.
The dumpster had been delivered, and sat kind of crooked in the driveway. The front door of the house was open, and boxes sat at the top of the steps, leaving a narrow path into the house. As he put the truck in park, Erielle appeared in the doorway, hauling a box, craning her neck to look over it as she staggered to set it down beside the others.
Forgetting about his mom for the moment, he hopped out of the cab and hurried up the steps to take the box from her.
“You’re going to hurt your back,” he chided, taking it and—hell, this girl was strong—setting it gingerly on the porch in a new stack, since the old stack seemed a little unsteady.
When he looked up, he saw the horror on her face.
“I didn’t hear you come up,” she muttered, and tried to backtrack into the house. “I’m not really ready for visitors.”
She looked past him to the truck, and he heard the door close as his mom got out.
“Mom just wanted to say hi, and bring you something to eat. Something you can heat up easily,” he added.
He watched frustration and indecision play across her face, her lips tightening before they spread in a smile meant to be welcoming. It didn’t quite meet her eyes, but at least she was being polite to his mom, who hurried forward.
