She opens her closet. In the dark shadows he is there.
Maybe it was the expectation of seeing her Armani collection that makes the face obscene. That or the fact he shouldn’t have been there at all.
Probably the latter.
They make eye contact.
A slight smile forms at the corner of his wrinkled lip less mouth. It grows matching the fear working its way through the woman’s brain.
A brain that was positive it knew what to do in just this situation. She trained in the ju jitsu. She knows she should go for the eyes, those humorless orbs that look so hungry, so happy to see her fresh from the shower.
Maybe her perfect brain that majored in economics and made her one of the editors of the Yale law review, who bought mace and made sure to replace it as soon as the expiration date passed, would know to at least scream and make noise.
She wants to scream.
Maybe it would have made a difference.
This isn’t his first rodeo after all.