Free Skinbound by Anna Kittrell

father.
    “You sure?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Okay. Goodnight.” He gave her hand a light squeeze. “I’ll wait until I get the all clear.”
    Darcy nodded and climbed from the truck. She twisted the key in the lock and pushed the door open, turning to wave to Cabin. After his taillights disappeared, she flipped on a light and stepped inside.
    She halted, letting out a gasp. Her knees nearly buckled. Someone had been in her house. And that someone had been enraged.
    Furniture was overturned. The stuffing of her favorite chair spilled out from the sliced upholstery. Brown, gelatinous chunks clung to the walls and floor. Dark red smears—God, not blood, she hoped—stained the white couch cushions. Glass from broken lamps and trash from the kitchen lay scattered. A nightmare. Fishing her phone from her pocket with trembling fingers, she dialed 911 and backed from the house onto the porch, shivering despite the warm night air. The dispatcher assured her she’d send someone out immediately.
    Who could have done such a thing? Why?
    She expected tears, but everything inside her seized, and she was just numb. If tears were there, they refused to fall.
    In what seemed like hours, she heard sirens. The sheriff’s cruiser pulled to a stop in her driveway. He climbed out of the vehicle and lumbered toward her.
    “Are you all right, Darcy?” His face scrunched with concern.
    She nodded, unable to speak, and pointed to her front door. He offered a soothing pat to her arm. “You stay out here. I’ll go take a look.”
    The sheriff disappeared inside. His curses carried to where Darcy stood on the porch.
    She turned at the sound of another vehicle, relief flooding her. Cabin’s truck. Almost before it came to a complete stop, he bailed out, standing by her side in a matter of seconds.
    He took hold of her arms, his gaze searching her face. “What happened? I saw the sheriff heading this way and I had a feeling…” He took in a deep breath and released it. “Are you okay?”
    She opened her mouth to speak. Her lip quivered, and the pent up tears fell. Cabin drew her into his arms, murmuring gentle words and stroking her back. Somehow, face pressed against his chest, she managed to tell him what happened. His body tensed, but he continued to comfort her.
    The sheriff came out, shaking his head. “Scumbags. I’ll get some fingerprints and we’ll do what we can. You ask me, there’s too much meanness going on around here lately. Never did find that Malcolm fellow, but I’d damned sure like to have a chat with him.”
    Darcy stared, eyes bulging, as Sheriff Watkins wiped a gloppy red substance from his fingers onto his handkerchief.
    He caught her gaze and chuckled lightly. “Meat loaf,” he explained, sniffing the handkerchief, then holding it out to her. “Seems as if the weirdo raided your fridge and flung leftovers all over the place.”
    “Darcy? Dear God, what happened?”
    Scarlett’s strident voice cut through the air. Darcy stepped out of Cabin’s embrace and waited as her sister rushed up onto the porch. Scarlett pulled her in for a tight hug. “What’s the matter? What’s going on?”
    Already weary of explaining, Darcy once more recounted what happened.
    “Malcolm,” Scarlett bit out. “He’s never going to stop. This is my fault.”
    A part of Darcy wanted to agree, to blame Scarlett for leading a maniac to her town—to her home .
    “It’s not your fault,” she whispered.

Chapter Six
    Although Darcy would never admit it, she was more than a little disappointed when nap time rolled around and she hadn’t heard from Cabin. She slid off her shoes, then padded between the small mats in her sock-feet, bending to rub a restless child’s back, or smooth a bunched blanket, mindful of where she was positioning her derriere.
    She folded her legs beneath her on the colorful area rug and hugged a stuffed bear to her chest. The second hand ticked steadily, competing with the soft lullaby that cooed