Every Breath You Take Excerpt
Her thumb was on the vacuum switch when a door slammed somewhere. Lindsay froze. She’d started to work in the guest rooms at the front of the house. She hadn’t reached the master suite in the back yet.
   Was someone there? Edging toward the kitchen, she grabbed a knife from the magnetic strip next to the sink.
Sometimes squatters jimmied up a window and crawled inside a summer house for a couple days. They might be on their way from Chicago to Mackinac Island. Or they could be local kids, horsing around. Oh great. Lindsay’s pulse pounded in her throat. Steps echoed on the hardwood. The squatter wasn’t being shy, that’s for sure. Did he have a gun? With the exception of burglaries in empty homes, Gull Harbor hadn’t had a crime since she could remember. But these were crazy times.
   Her grip tightening on the knife, Lindsay backed against the kitchen door. She fumbled with the knob, eyes trained on the doorway to the master suite. If she could just get outside. But where had she left her car keys?
Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. The footsteps sounded louder. Closer. Bigger.
   “What the hell is going on?” The guy was tall, ripped and frowning. Barefoot with a two-day beard. Yep, he looked like a drifter all right.
    “I already called the police,” she lied.
   “Good to know.” Yawning, he slumped against the doorframe. Unzipped jeans slid lower on his hips.
   “They’ll be here any minute.” Her hand worked the door knob.
   “Really? Why?” Pushing off from the door, he held out a hand. “You better give me that knife.”
   “Like heck I will.” Lindsay took a fierce stance she’d seen on TV. “You’re in real trouble, mister.”
   “Hand it over before you hurt yourself.” He stayed put.
   “Don’t come any closer. I warn you.” She made a shaky circle with the blade. “I’m dangerous.”
    The guy didn’t look convinced. “If you’re going to stab me, you better take the safety case off first.” He ran a hand over his two-day stubble. Was he laughing at her?
   She dropped her eyes to the knife, its blade shrouded in hard plastic. “Oh.”
   Meanwhile, a musky male scent rolled over her. Lindsay had forgotten that men could smell so yummy. She swallowed. Her knees weakened. This was so wrong, given the circumstances.
   “Look, I own this place.”
Lindsay almost dropped the knife. “Mr. Phelps?”
“Right. Tanner Phelps. And you must be...” He waited.
   Her lips opened and closed. It shouldn’t be this hard to get out her own name. “L-Lindsay. Lindsay Swanson. Your cleaning service." 

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