He is there, she told herself as panic rippled over her. He must have been there the whole time, ever since I got home. He's been watching me, watching from behind the chair. For Jesus Christ's sake, there's a strange man in my living room and he's hiding behind the fucking chair.
Okay, girl. Don't lose it now. Don't lose it.
With effort she stayed in control. Just barely.
She tried to determine her options. She could attempt to get into her bedroom and lock the
door, then call the police. But suppose he heard her making the call and came after her. The bedroom door was only cheap plywood; anyone could break it down. Response time in this neighborhood was eight or nine minutes at least. Too long.
All right, then. She would make a run for it. Yes, even though she was wearing only pajamas and a robe. She would get out the front door and run, run like hell.
