Free Behind A Twisted Smile (Dark Minds Book 2) by Faith Mortimer Page A

was forcing him out of my thoughts. I had to forget him—it wasn’t worth wasting time on him.
    We rolled to a stop outside my door, and Jon switched off the engine before turning to me.
    “This is my place,” I said inanely and gave him a tremulous smile.
    “You okay?” he said, stroking a finger gently down my cheek.
    “Sure. Come on, I make a darn good nightcap.”
    He got out of the car, walked round and pulled me to my feet while I was still fumbling with my seatbelt and picking my handbag off the floor. “That sounds like a great idea.”
    Inside, we shed out coats on the floor, forgot the nightcap and grabbed each other.
    “You’re so beautiful,” he said, once we had come up for air. “Oh yes, it was a good idea all right.”
    Later, I crept into the kitchen, uncorked a bottle of wine, picked out two glasses and returned to my bedroom. We snuggled under the covers, drinking from each other’s glass, giggling like teenagers, and the next time we made love it was more than gorgeous...it was perfect.
    ***
    “I really must go,” Jon said in the early hours of the morning as he struggled into his shirt. I lay back admiring his bare chest before he did up all the buttons. He had lost weight and it suited him. “Please don’t think I’m making this up, but I have to get home to let Tango out.”
    Of course—his dog. We had both forgotten, and Jon looked forlorn when he told me the poor thing would be lying at home with his legs crossed.
    Fully dressed, he sat down on the bed and stroked my face. “It was a lovely evening. I hope we can do it again. What about tonight?”
    “Definitely,” I said and then lay back against the pillows feeling delicious and decadent and molten with desire as I watched him pause in the doorway and blow me a kiss goodbye.
    “I’ll ring you,” he said before disappearing.
    I don’t know what woke me some time later. The night was very dark; I could only see a faint light in the room. I lay as still as I could, listening to the night sounds, and thinking that my breathing sounded loud in my ears. The window was open a fraction, and I heard the distant traffic as it rumbled along the main road. A whistle from a passing goods train hooted as it tore through the station. A dog barked further along the street. A rasping sound like a shoe against brick scraped along the pavement right by my house. I sat up and felt for the bedside light switch, then paused as I thought better.
    It was probably a cat, but I wanted to be sure.
    I decided against turning on the light and instead scrambled from the bed, dragging a dressing gown round me. Slowly, I parted the curtains an inch or two and peered down into the tiny front garden, my breath fogging the glass. The nearest street lamp was three doors away, making my area poorly lit. I had fitted an outside light for when I came home in the dark, but I invariably switched this off when I went to bed. Perhaps I ought to have left it on.
    As I stared, I listened hard, and this time, there was no doubt. Someone had just trodden over my shingle bed. There was no mistaking the familiar crunch of the gravel. I pressed my nose against the glass, and then I saw him. I say him, but it could have been a her, as the person was dressed in black, including the balaclava pulled across his face.
    The figure was moving quickly, making erratic and sweeping gestures at the walls of my home, and as I watched for those few seconds, I caught a familiar sound and detected a smell which reminded me of fresh paint. In a flash, I realised what the trespasser was doing, and I felt my temper rise. How dare he!
    Without another thought, I turned away from the window and raced across the carpet towards the stairway. I tried to keep my movements as quiet as possible because I wanted to confront him before he finished and scarpered.
    Later, on reflection, I should probably have called the police first, but I doubted they would have arrived in time to apprehend