Page 37 of Fight or Flight
“What?”
Fear knotted inside her. “My notebook is gone!”
Tyler stared at her.
“You might as well know, since you have to do that doctor-patient confidentiality thing, right? You cannot repeat what I am about to tell you.”
“Whatever you tell me stays between us, Katherine. Personal and professional.”
“Sit.” She plopped on the edge of her bed and patted the space beside her. Tyler sat next to her.
“I’m an author. I write books.” Her leg shook uncontrollably. She pushed her boot into the plush carpet so he wouldn’t see how nervous she was.
“That explains how you’re able to work from home. I wondered if you worked or were just filthy rich.” He laughed. “I’m teasing about the rich stuff.”
“You shouldn’t, because I am what you said. Rich. Oil rich. Not sure about the filthy part,” she added, her voice laced with sarcasm. “My family left me their fortune and their business. I have people who take care of that part of my life. I don’t involve myself in its functions at all. I don’t have time, even if I wanted to, since I have my writing. And now, someone has my notes for my newest book. Someone has been in my house!” She raked a hand through her hair, twisting the ends around her fingers.
“Okay, then let’s call the police. Let them search the property,” Tyler said.
Katherine stood up abruptly. “No! I don’t want to call the police.”
Tyler spoke up, sounding a bit exasperated for the first time that evening. “Why? If someone broke into your home, you were here when it happened. Your life could be at risk, Katherine. I know a couple of officers I can call. They’re discreet.”
“No, Tyler. No police, discreet or not.”
She took a deep breath, sure he thought she was some criminal who was hiding out. She had to clarify her stance on the police. “Look, Tyler, if you think I’m a . . . fugitive or whatever, I’m not. I have my reasons for not wanting the police here.”
“Can you share them?”
“I don’t know if you’re a book lover. It doesn’t matter. I’m K.C. Winston, the author. I choose to keep it quiet, as I don’t want or need any publicity of any kind.” There. It was out.
He appeared astounded. “You’re serious? You’reK.C. Winston?”
She raised her voice enough that Sam and Sophie came running to her side. “Why would I joke about my career?”
“Does anyone else know this?” Tyler asked.
She nodded, her thoughts all over the place. Frustrated, Katherine walked over to the window to see if there was a car or someone on foot, but it was so dark, she couldn’t see beyond a few feet. The outdoor lights only covered the outer perimeter of the property surrounding the house.
“I have an alarm,” she said, putting voice to her thoughts. “Though it hasn’t been on today. I leave the French doors open all the time.” Had someone slipped inside her house while she was in the kitchen? The shower? While the dogs were outside? She tried to force herself to remember if she’d heard anything unusual while she’d been busy prepping dinner, but she didn’t recall anything. Nothing had seemed odd or out of the norm.
“Do you think someone could’ve come inside, possibly hid, then slipped away without you knowing?” Tyler asked.
“I’d like to think not, but I can’t be one hundred percent sure. This place is huge. It wouldn’t be hard to find a hiding spot. Maybe when I was upstairs taking a shower? This is crazy. What would motivate a stranger to take my childhood stuffed lamb and the spiral notebook with my book, outline, and notes? Damn.”
Her biggest fear was the public finding her here, then all the accompanying publicity about Adam’s death and the men who’d killed him and maimed all those people in Boston. Her parents’ tragic ending. It would be a frenzy, with reporters and people prying into her life. No, she did not want her private or professional life made public. If she were being completely honest, her fear of leaving her safe space worried her more than the public knowing who she was and where she lived. It would force her to acknowledge publicly that she suffered from mental illness. Ernest Hemingway. Virginia Woolf. They both committed suicide. Sadly, there were those who already thought authors were just plain crazy. Jack London, the author of one of her favorite novels,The Call of the Wild, had also purportedly killed himself. She didn’t want K.C. Winston lumped into the insanity category. Not that her work was remotely comparable to theirs, but that’s where her mind was going. She paced the length of her bed, while Tyler remained seated.
“I don’t need this now. It’s crazy. I guess it’s fitting, when you think of it. Crazy author. Crazy break-in,” Katherine said.
“You’re truly K.C. Winston?” Tyler asked again. “I know a kid who reads your books. A former patient of mine.”
Katherine stopped, standing in front of him. It didn’t matter who she was at this point. “Why would I lie to you? Doc Baker knows. That’s why he calls me K.” She watched him, a range of emotions changing him from the Tyler she barely knew to a stranger. Maybe this was Dr. Newlon? Admittedly, it was flattering to know her books were known to him.
“I believe you, Katherine. I wasn’t trying to imply you weren’t K.C. Winston.” He took a deep breath. “I was thinking. When I took the dogs out and we went to the barn, I told you the horses were fine. But looking back, I don’t believe they were. I’m not a veterinarian, but I’ve been around horses enough to know their normal body language. Both horses kept flicking their ears. Numerous times. It’s possible they saw someone then.”
“I don’t understand.” She sat beside him on the bed, what little fight she’d had in her sizzling out like a deflated balloon.
“I read once that when a horse moves their ears back and forth, more often than not, it’s an indicator of fear, anxiousness. For humans, our hearts race,” he explained. “Our antennae shoot up. Doc and Carson would know better, but they’re not here. It could just be something Carson’s horses normally do. Are you sure you didn’t hear anything? Did you leave the room?”
