Lenora wasn’t coming back. It was time for Mara to accept it. With a sigh, she hauled her nearly full bucket to the stairs, careful not to let the rainwater slosh over the edge.
    Back on the second floor, she treaded over the worn narrow rug that stretched to the top of the open staircase leading to the first floor. Her steps slowed as a chill wound its way up to her. A draft? Coming from downstairs?
    And another thump.
    Except, no, that wasn’t a thump. More of a slap . . . 
    She gulped, the bucket’s weight like an anchor, her toes curling in the cold. She inched down one step, then another. The flashlight under her arm had ceased to be useful, dangling as it was toward the floor, her precarious grip on it waning. “Cat?” she whispered. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I could use some company about now.”
    Slap.
    Halfway down the steps, she craned her neck to peer past the check-in desk, and a relieved breath whooshed past her lips. It was only the front door, thrust open by the wind, apparently. Had she forgotten to lock it? She never forgot. Maybe she’d been distracted by the storm.
    She crept down a few more steps. She’d survived her second care of the night. Soon she’d be back in bed and—
    A moan. Not the wind but a real moan. A man’s moan.
    And then she saw it, the clump at the bottom of the stairs. The moan was coming from the clump and the clump was beginning to move and—
    Mara reacted before she could stop herself, both arms lifting her bucket, her flashlight dropping free. The man had barely risen to a crouch when the shower of water splashed over him.
    His gasp gave way to a deep-throated groan as rainwater puddled around him. Mara’s flashlight plunked step-by-step to the floor, and by the time it rolled to a stop in front of him, the hulk of a man was standing to his feet with only a slight sway, his white shirt clinging to his skin and clashing with the dark.
    “Was that . . . entirely . . . necessary?” He rasped the words, fatigue clinging to his tone, showing in the way he gripped the banister with one hand.
    “I . . . you . . . “
    He flicked wet hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head. “You gonna chuck that empty bucket at me too?”
    “If I have to.” Her own words surprised her, and a flash of lightning lit the man’s profile just long enough for her to catch the faintest dash of amusement in his tired eyes. It vanished as quickly as the storm’s crackling light.
    Thunder boomed and the front door thwacked against the wall. “This place have a cellar?”
    “A cellar?”
    “A basement. We need to take cover.” He picked up her flashlight, shined it around the entryway.
    “It’s just a thunderstorm.”
    “You’re the only one here?”
    “How do you know—”
    He pointed the flashlight at her gaping robe. “Don’t think you’d be wearing those old-man pajamas around if you thought you were going to have company.”
    “Old-man paj—”
    “But seriously, is anybody else here? If so, we need to wake them up and get down to the basement. If there’s no basement, we at least need to get away from the front portion of the house.”
    “It’s just a thunderstorm. It’ll pass.” She descended the rest of the stairs and slipped past the towering man, intent on closing the front door.
    “I’m telling you, that wind is no joke. Could be a tornado on the way. And you’ve got a tree out front that looks like it could—”
    The holler of the wind cut him off, blowing the bucket from her hands and billowing her robe. And a dreadful crack split the air. That’s not lightning.
    It was her sole coherent thought before the single crack splintered into a thousand whining blows. She heard the shattering of glass and something crashing—
    And the man’s yell from behind as strong arms lifted her from her feet.