Play It Again (4 page)

“Shit,” I mutter, sitting up and rubbing at
the kink in my neck. My muscles ache, my back is stiff. I’ve gotta
stop falling asleep like this. I’ve got a bed. A comfortable bed.
When was the last time I slept in it?

Last week?

The week before that?

A month ago?

Shit, I don’t even know.

My cell phone beeps again and I groan,
reaching for it and checking the display, and I feel my eyebrows
knit together at what I see there.
Piper’s house. Rear door
motion detected.

Suddenly fully alert, I tap the screen,
unlocking the phone and accessing the security system app. My foot
beats restlessly against the hardwood floor as I wait for the video
feed to load, watching the words
acquiring signal
flash on
the screen.

It feels like hours, although it’s probably
only seconds, before the image finally begins to load, pixel by
goddamn pixel. I narrow my eyes, scanning the small image on my
screen. The motion lights above the French doors have been
triggered, lighting up her back patio and standing there, hand on
the door handle, face pressed up to the glass, peeking in, is a
man. I can’t see his face, or anything identifying for that matter.
He’s covered head-to-toe in dark clothing, with what looks like a
wallet chain dangling from his jeans, and a hood pulled up over his
head.

“Shit,” I mutter again, shooting up from the
couch. Fire hits my gut, and it makes no sense. I knew at some
point someone would be sneaking around her place and I’d get the
alarm, but goddamnit, if actually seeing the bastard there doesn’t
piss me off.

Scooping up my keys and wallet off the coffee
table, I head for the door, grabbing my shoes off the floor and
yanking them on, and then I bolt out of my apartment.

Not waiting for the elevator, I head for the
stairs, jogging down the six flights with my cell phone in hand. As
I move through the stairwell, I thumb through my phone for Wes’s
number, tap on it, and bring the phone to my ear.

He answers on the second ring. “Yo.”

“A motion alarm is going off at Piper’s,” I
say. “There’s a guy standing at her French doors. Looks like he’s
trying to get in.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he says, his
voice dry with sleep. “I thought this was just a vandal.”

“Me, too,” I say as I hit the lobby. I cross
it with a few long strides and push my way through the doors. “I’m
heading there now. You busy?”

“On my way,” he says, sounding more awake.
“You want me to call Jase?”

I hesitate for a tick, before responding.
“No. Let him sleep. He needs it.”

“Got it,” Wes mumbles as the sound of fabric
rustling hits my ear. “See you in a few.”

“Later,” I say and then thumb the screen,
ending the call.

Outside my apartment, I jog over to my truck,
and haul my ass up into it, starting it up, and then I take off in
the direction of Piper’s house.

A few minutes later, my phone beeps again,
the display now reading:
Piper’s house. Front door motion
detected.

Piper

A stream of subtle beeps fill my ears, and
disoriented, I open my eyes.

I’m on my stomach in my bed surrounded by
pillows, one tucked on each side with my arms curled around them,
holding them close, two under my head, and one under my belly. The
lights are off, the room, dark, aside from an annoying red light
that keeps flashing from somewhere.

Half asleep and out of it, I roll over and
push the pillows aside, sitting up. A glance at the clock tells me
it’s nearly five o’clock in the morning, and I scrub at my face,
blinking rapidly, trying to clear the sleepy haze clouding my
head.

The beeping persists, growing steadily
louder. It takes a few moments for the source of the sound to sink
in, but when it does, I’m suddenly wide awake.

Oh shit. It’s the motion detector, not a full
alarm, but a somewhat subtle warning that someone is close to a
door or window.

Slowly, I shift my eyes to the screen and I
swallow thickly, reading the warning flashing there.
Rear door
motion detected.

Oh shit.

Rear door motion detected.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Someone’s here. Someone’s at my back
door.

My panic surfaces quickly, and instinctively,
I grab a pillow, hugging it to my torso. I can feel my anxiety
rising, closing up my throat. My heart pounds, thumping in my chest
painfully quick.

Okay ...
Don’t panic
, I tell myself.
You can handle this. Just get up, and pull up the camera. It’s
probably just a raccoon, or a stray cat. There’s nothing to worry
about.

Right, okay. Nothing to worry about.

I let go of the pillow and get out of bed. My
nerves are a frazzled mess as I cross the room, silently pleading
to the monitor to let this be a false alarm.

Carefully, I touch the screen just like Vance
showed me, pulling up the video feed for the rear door, and what I
see there makes my panic resurface, rising up my throat like bile.
There’s a man, or at least I think it’s a man. Tall, lanky, and
dressed in black, with a hood pulled up over his head, hiding his
features. His hand is on the doorknob, rattling the French
doors.

After a moment, he lets go. He doesn’t
retreat right away, standing there staring at the door, before
shoving his hands in his pockets, and stepping out of sight of the
camera.

But the beeping doesn’t stop and moments
later, the monitor flashes again, this time reading:
front door
motion detected
, and I quickly pull up the front door video
feed only to find the man now standing at my front door. He shakes
the doorknob, before throwing his hands up in the air.

My heart stalls, rendering me motionless,
before it starts pounding so hard it hurts my chest. This alarm
system was supposed to make me feel safer, but oh my God, seeing
someone outside, trying to get in … I think I prefer not
knowing.

I need to do something.

I need to call the police.

I start to turn away, going for my phone,
when the man on the screen shifts, looking up, and I catch a
glimpse of the face.

My brow furrows and it takes a few seconds
for recognition to settle in, but when it does, I sag in relief,
nearly collapsing onto the floor.

It’s Jimmy.

I blink at the screen. What the hell is he
doing here at five o’clock in the morning?

No. Scratch that. What the hell is he doing
here at all? He should still be in Denver, working a photo
shoot.

My heart is still pounding, my stomach, still
in knots, as I make my way through the house, toward the front
door, flipping on lights as I go. It takes me a moment to disarm
the alarm, having to enter the code three times before I get it
right.

“Hey, Pipes,” Jimmy says as I pull open the
door, grinning. “Something’s wrong with my key.”

He steps past me, strolling into the house,
kicking off his shoes as he goes. I watch him incredulously as he
moves straight for the kitchen, pulling the fridge open and
sticking his head in. I want to be mad. He just scared the
daylights out of me. But I can’t drudge up the emotion, when all I
feel is relief that it’s him and not someone actually trying to
break into my house.

Rolling my eyes, I lock the door and reset
the alarm, before I follow him, asking, “What are you doing here,
Jimmy?”

He pulls his head out of the fridge, raising
his eyebrows. “I sent you an email.”

I shake my head. “You didn’t send an
email.”

“Well, I meant to,” he says, giving me a
bashful look as he pulls out a carton of eggs and milk from the
fridge, setting them on the counter, and then moves over to the
bread box, opening it and retrieving a loaf. “Why did you change
the locks on me?”

I’m about to tell him that I didn’t change
the locks on him exactly—maybe even remind him that he doesn’t
actually live here, and he was supposed to give me back my keys
when Kim and I returned from Mexico last month—when I’m distracted
by the sound of a vehicle pulling into my driveway.

Vance

Every light in Piper’s house is on when I
pull into the driveway, and fire hits my gut once more as I imagine
her inside, nervously studying the monitors, looking for the
asshole that’s been messing with her.

Turning off my truck, I don’t wait for Wes,
snagging my phone off the seat and folding out. I shut the door
quietly, before striding toward the house, careful as I scan the
property in the shadows of predawn, noticing that everything looks
untouched. Whoever it was must have bolted when she turned on the
lights.

As I approach the front door, my phone begins
to buzz again, this time the motion sensors picking me up, and with
the quick twist of the knob, I find the door locked.

I hesitate for a moment, slowly lowering my
hand from the doorknob. I fiddle with my keys, fingering the one
for her house, before sticking it in the lock and letting myself
in. I only make it a step into the house when I hear a man’s
laughter coming from the kitchen.

She has a goddamn man over.

My jaw ticks and my hands twitch as a mix of
irritation and something that I don’t particularly want to give a
name to, washes over me. It feels slimy and slippery and I don’t
like it one bit. I’m possessive over my family, that much is true,
but Piper isn’t family so I can’t justify why the guy in the
kitchen makes me want to throw him down and break each bone in his
face one by one.

I feel myself growing hot, and I take a deep
breath, trying to keep my anger down.

I don’t have a right to be mad.

I should be relieved that she wasn’t alone
when the alarm went off.

But I’m not.

The steady beeping of the alarm begins,
signaling that the door is open, and I close it, before moving to
the panel and punching in the code quickly, quieting the alarm.

“Vance,” Piper says from behind me. “What are
you doing here?”

I turn to her, my jaw tightening when I see
how she’s dressed. Tiny little black shorts, showing off lots of
leg, and a tight light blue tank showing off too much cleavage.

My gut reaction is to tell her to put some
damn clothes on, but I manage to swallow the words down.

“Morning, Piper,” I say calmly, keeping my
voice steady as to not betray my irritation.

She regards me for a beat, her brow wrinkling
in confusion. “How did you get in?”

I smirk at her, stepping away from the alarm
panel, jingling my keys in my hand. “I used my key.”

She stares at me, the panic in her eyes
dissolving into confusion. She doesn’t respond right away, her gaze
shifting from my face, her brow furrowing as her eyes fall to my
key ring dangling from my finger.

“Your key,” she says slowly, her eyes coming
back to mine, quickly flaring with annoyance. “When exactly did I
give you a key?”

Slowly, I stroll over to her, pausing right
in front of her, so close, her breasts graze against my chest. I
don’t answer her question because her tone tells me that any answer
I give will definitely be the wrong one, so instead, I bring my
lips to her ears, keeping my voice low as I ask my own question.
“Who’s the guy in the kitchen?”

Piper tenses, her body suddenly so rigid that
it trembles slightly as a shiver passes through her. It surprises
me that she doesn’t step away, instead, her body seems to tilt into
mine, leaning closer.

I don’t know what to make of it.

She smells so goddamn good, like sunshine and
sweetness.

My hands itch to wrap around her waist, my
arms wanting to pull her closer, make sure she’s okay, but I force
myself not to.

When she doesn’t answer, I ask again. “Who is
he, Piper?”

“Jimmy,” she says softly. “He’s a
photographer I use regularly.”

“Jimmy,” I repeat, confused. “A
photographer.”

Piper nods. “Yes.”

I take a step back from her, needing to put
some distance in between us before I end up wrapping her in my
arms. “What’s he doing here?”

Piper narrows her eyes, watching as I fold my
arms over my chest, and she places a hand on her hip. “What are you
doing here?”

“Your motion sensor alarm went off,” I grind
out, irritated. “So I came over.”

Piper just stares at me.

And stares.

And stares.

She’s waiting for an explanation. I can see
it in her eyes, but I don’t know what else to tell her.

Her alarm went off and I came over.

It’s as simple as that.

When I say nothing else, she lets out a sigh,
and realizing that I’m not going to elaborate, she casts a
disbelieving look my way. “Please tell me you’re not watching my
house, Vance.”

I stare at her and she tilts her head to the
side, staring right back at me. She doesn’t look entirely put off
by the thought of me watching her house, but she also doesn’t seem
happy about it either.

I decide not to answer.

“You didn’t call,” I say.

“Um … no, I didn’t,” she agrees.

“I told you to call me anytime,” I continue.
“Your alarm going off, with all the shit that’s been happening,
seems like a pretty good time to use that number, don’t you
think?”

“Well, yeah,” she says, “but it was a false
alarm.”

“A false alarm,” I repeat, narrowing my eyes.
“Piper, I saw the guy trying to get into your house.”

“Piper?” Jimmy the photographer calls as he
steps into the doorway of the kitchen, hesitating as he glances
between us. “Do you guys want breakfast?”

My eyes slice to him and I stare, taking him
in. He’s in black jeans with a wallet chain dangling at his side, a
black hoodie, has dark brown hair with frosted tips, a lip ring,
and an eyebrow ring. He’s tall, maybe only an inch shorter than my
six-foot-two frame, but he’s skinny.