Angels Fall

locked, she told herself. Hadn't she locked it herself? Still, what harm did it do to check? The back door was locked, too. Of course it was. But…
    She eased her way to the back of the house, checked the locks. For a moment she studied his kitchen chairs. She wanted to prop one tinder the doorknob, and had to argue with herself against it.
    It wasn't as if she was alone in the house. She was with a big, strong man. No one was going to try to break in anyway, but if someone did, Brody could handle it.
    She made herself turn away from the door, from the chairs, and leave the room.
    "Problem?"
    She didn't shriek, but it was a close call. She did stumble back, slam a hip painfully against the doorjamb. Brody came the rest of the way toward her. "Maybe you are clumsy."
    "Ha. Maybe. I was just…" She trailed off, shrugged.
    He'd heard her leave the bedroom and figured she had to pee. But the steps had creaked under her feet. Curiosity had him dragging on his jeans and going down to see what she was up to.
    "All locked up?'" he said casually.
    "Yes. I just wanted to… I need to check that kind of thing before I can sleep. It's no big deal."
    "Who said it was? Is that my shirt?"
    "Well, yeah. I can't go walking around naked."
    "Don't see why not. But since you didn't ask if you could borrow it, which is pretty damn rude, I think you'd better get your ass back upstairs and give it back to me."
    "You're absolutely right." Everything inside her relaxed again. "I'm so ashamed."
    "Ought to be." He took her hand, walked her back up the steps. "How would you like it if I paraded around in your clothes without permission?"
    "I don't think I would. Although, it might be strangely fascinating."
    "Yeah, like anything you've got would fit me. How do you want the door?"
    She just stared at him, and wondered he didn't hear her heart go thud at his feet. "Closed and locked, if that's all right."
    "Doesn't matter to me." He closed it, locked it. "Now give me back my damn shirt."
     
    DREAMING WOKE HER, a jumble of images, a quick pain. Her eyes flashed open. She wasn't in the storeroom; she wasn't bleeding. But the shadows and silhouettes of this room were unfamiliar, and had her heart skipping until she remembered.
    Brody's bedroom. Brody's bed. And Brody's elbow digging like a pickax into her ribs was oddly comforting.
    She was not only safe, she was damn near spectacular.
    He was a stomach sleeper, she noted as she turned her head to study him. And a sprawler. During the night he'd worked her over to the edge of the bed, leaving her a stingy triangle of mattress. But that was fine. She'd gotten several solid hours of real sleep in that miserly space.
    And before that, she'd gotten good use of every inch of that bed.
    She eased out of what bed she had and was vaguely disappointed that he didn't reach for her. Just as well, she told herself as she gathered up her clothes. She had things to do, including fixing breakfast with the limited supplies in Brody's kitchen.
    She crept out of the room and into the bath across the hall. When she pushed the lock button on the doorknob, it popped back out. After several tries she stood there, clothes bundled to her breast, staring at the knob.
    How could it not lock? There was a lock on the bedroom door, but not the bathroom? That was ridiculous, that was just wrong. It had to lock. But no matter how she pushed or twisted, it didn't stick.
    "I don't have to lock the door. Nobody broke in and murdered me last night, no one's going to break in this morning. Brody's sleeping right across the hall. Three minutes in the shower, that's all. In and out. It's all fine."
    His bath was twice the size of hers, with a standard white tub and shower. Dark blue towels that didn't really go with the mottled green pattern of the countertop. But still, nothing fancy, nothing strange. She stared at the door as she backed up to turn on the taps.
    She liked the smooth, sealed log walls, the floor tiles made to look like slate. He should have gone for gray towels, she thought, or tried to match the green in the countertop.
    She tried to concentrate on that idea, and the simplicity of the room while she backed into the shower.
    She grabbed the soap and raced her way through the multiplication tables. The soap squirted out of her jerking hand when the knock sounded on the door.
    Psychos don't knock, she told herself. "Brody?"
    "You expecting someone else?" He opened the door, and a moment later, tugged the shower curtain