Page 7 of A Newport Christmess

I released a heavy breath, unwilling to let him distract me from my irritation. “I can’t believe you had me pulled from the project. Now, everyone in your family’s company is going to think I’m being given special privileges because I’m related to you. That I only got hired because of our connection.” I paused. “And I probably did, but I don’t need others to be constantly reminded of the fact.”

Kade didn’t answer immediately. “I’m sorry, man. I should have gone about this a different way. I won’t do it again ... most likely, anyway.”

“Kade.”

He huffed. “Fine. I’ll refrain from using my entitled card to get you a much-needed vacation in the future. But since the damage is already done, will you stop griping and try to enjoy it?”

I refused to respond to that.

“Come on, Landon. How else am I supposed to measure up to Nikki’s favorite person without going to such great lengths for her happiness?”

Despite myself, I smiled. “You’ll always live in my shadow, Kade. Just get used to it.”

He chuckled. “So we’re good?” There was a smile behind his voice.

“No. But for Nikki’s sake, I’ll try not to kill you when I see you this weekend.”

“That’s an acceptable arrangement, and I thank you for it.”

It looked like I was going home to Newport earlier than I’d expected.

THREE

QUINN

Baked gingerbread pieces filled every surface of the massive kitchen, the oversized dining table, and the three small tables in the living room. Some were on cookie sheets, but the bigger pieces were laid on wax paper with smaller pieces stacked on top of them. When I’d arrived in Newport a week ago, I’d thought the rental Irene Garrity had arranged for me was a bit excessive for one person’s accommodations. But now I was grateful for all the space—at least when it came to baking.

The main part of the house where I was staying—the second and third floor—had a clean, modern look, like those attractive brothers on HGTV had remodeled it. The kitchen was massive and was separated from the large open space, which included a dining area and the family room, by a spacious island that could probably sit almost as many people as the over-sized table if there were more barstools. With the considerable size of everything, I felt a lot like Goldilocks who’d been put up in Papa Bear’s swanky bachelor pad. Even the laundry room and second-floor bathroom were the stuff out of a magazine spread.

Upstairs, there were two decent-sized bedrooms, a bathroom, and a master suite. I’d almost opted to take the first room at the top of the stairs because the master was a bit intimidating, but there hadn’t been a lock on the door, and there was a closet full of men’s clothes, which was pretty unsettling. Besides, if I needed to use the bathroom in the night, I didn’t want to have to walk down a long, dark hallway to get there.

Needless to say, as nice as the place was, I didn’t feel at ease in it by myself. It might have helped to know if someone was renting out the first-floor apartment, since we shared an enclosed stairway that connected both front doors, but, then again, I guess that would depend on who the tenant was. So far, I hadn’t heard or seen anyone come or go, and I’d been paying attention.

As it was, every noise made me pause, and when it came time to go to bed, I kept several of the lights on as I slept. I mean, I also did those things at Ashlee’s when she was gone, but my nerves seemed more volatile here. So volatile, in fact, that I hadn’t listened to a true-crime podcast since my arrival. It was all holiday music and feel-good Christmas movies for me.

I sat on the large sectional in my yoga pants, oversized sweatshirt, and bright-green-and-red-striped fuzzy socks, puzzling together the gingerbread cabin pieces that filled the coffee table’s surface. The hand-drawn blueprint stationed on the floor next to the table helped me get my bearings, and I shifted the large, dense, gingerbread shape in my hand to resemble the correct placement. Once I confirmed the pieces for the cabin fit together correctly, I could move on to assembling all the structures. Which meant, if I started tomorrow, I was two days ahead of schedule. Or was today Friday? Either way, the benefits of isolation and the motivation of a looming deadline had been good to me.

I gave a heavy blink to refocus my strained eyes before realizing the ache wasn’t from my intense focus, but the dimming light. The oranges and blues of the sunset outside were rapidly fading from the darkening sky. Quickly, I switched on another light and moved to the sliding door that led out to the second-floor deck overlooking the street. The handle was locked, and a thick wooden dowel rested on the lower track.

Refusing to dwell on how clearly someone from the street outside could see in, I threw the heavy curtains shut and moved to the nearby window, where I did the same—checked the lock and lowered the blinds—before moving to the others. Will Smith’s character in I Am Legend would have found me a formidable ally with how efficiently I could secure a room at dusk. But I didn’t want to think about that movie right now.

“Jingle bells. Jingle bells.” My voice was artificially loud, which didn’t help with my wavering pitch. “Jingle all the way.”

I thought to check the rest of the house, but since I’d gone nowhere today—or all week, for that matter—and the image of apocalyptic zombies holding jingle bells was now central in my mind, I decided it would be best to wait until I Facetimed Ashlee tonight to do my thorough before-bed house check. Besides, though I couldn’t see it from where I stood, I was absolutely positive the front door to my unit remained bolted. I’d checked it more than enough times to quiet my obsessive tendencies.

Flinging myself onto the overstuffed leather sectional, I flipped on the TV and resumed streaming White Christmas to fill the unnerving quiet and my wandering imagination. When my favorite part came on—where Judy convinces Phil to fake their engagement—I set down the gingerbread pieces, tucked my feet beneath me, and leaned back into the soft leather. This scene was not only comedic genius, it was romance at its finest.

After a few minutes, a distant sound drew my attention, and I paused the movie. In the quiet, I could hear the blood whooshing through my body, but nothing else. Stupid big houses and all their sounds. I lifted the remote to press play when the bang of a door closing stopped me. My pulse quickened. “Calm down,” I whispered to myself. “It must be the tenants downstairs.”

Heavy footsteps ascending the stairs sent me to my feet. Why would the neighbors be coming upstairs? Had they just arrived and mistaken the unit? That must be it. Or perhaps it was a misdirected food delivery person.

Keys jingled outside the door. Then, to my complete horror, the sound of metal on metal, like a key in the lock, nearly stopped my heart. The lock clicked.

I was as good as dead.

Adrenaline now pumping through me, I scanned the room. I needed somewhere to hide. Now. But the open floorplan gave me few options. Without another thought, I dove behind the far side of the sectional, near the wall, only to realize this was probably the worst place to be. I was literally cornered with no way out. Had I learned nothing from all those true-crime podcasts and documentaries? I should have attempted a drop from the second-floor balcony. That, or hiding in the kitchen would have given me a better chance at escape. Not only was there the large island that could have acted as a natural barrier, but it was closer to the only real exit. I was too scrawny a thing to put up much of a fight, but I was quick.

The door creaked opened, and heavy steps followed.