Either way, she wished she knew what was going on between her and Garvin MacCrae. It had gone beyond simple attraction, at least for her. But from attraction to what? And what was the point?
Halfway down the walk to her apartment, she suddenly felt a tug of guilt for having abandoned him and Sarah tonight. Not very loyal of her, even if they'd managed without her—even if what she'd done had been right. She'd left not for their sake but her own. She'd felt out of place, something of an intruder. Tonight was a Linwood affair. She didn't belong. Perhaps after John and Cynthia Linwood, Ethan Conninger, and their friends and associates came to terms with Sarah's return, she would feel less ill at ease among them.
Something caught her eye. She didn't know quite what it was, except it was something out of the ordinary.
Light.
There was light coming from the wrong place. Her pace slowed. In her rush to get dressed, not to fall into bed with Garvin, had she left a light on she would ordinarily turn off? She frowned, aware of the quickening of her pulse even as she warned herself not to overdramatize and get too far ahead of herself.
Her bedroom window. That was it. She must have left the overhead on. Feeling calmer, she dug out her keys and unlocked her door. Garvin's presence in her life had thrown off all her routines.
"Blame him," she muttered, annoyed with herself, and pushed open the door. Her life was her responsibility, no one else's. If she was off her routines, it was her fault.
The moment she crossed the threshold into her apartment, she knew something was wrong. Her heart thudded. She clutched her keys in one hand and went still, barely breathing. She scanned her little main room without moving. Nothing was out of place. But something was wrong.
A breeze. She could feel a light, cool draft wafting in from her bedroom. She hadn't opened any windows before she'd left. She knew she hadn't. The light she could believe, but not an open window. That she would remember doing.
Otto. She felt a stab of panic. Where was Otto?
She called him, her voice hoarse with tension and fear.
Nothing.
"Oh, no," she whispered. "No."
Otto had to be all right. He had to be. Her throat tightened, her heart pounded, and a thousand horrible thoughts and possibilities flooded into her mind simultaneously. Not Otto. Please not Otto. He was an innocent. He hadn't done anything. He couldn't be hurt.
Mobilized out of her frozen state, she ran into her bedroom.
Otto was sprawled out at the foot of her bed, motionless. She leaped to his side, collapsing onto her knees, choking back sobs.
Blood. It was smeared on her beige carpet, matted on the dark fur along his forehead and left ear. Annie moaned, tried to rein in her panic.
"Otto, buddy, it's me."
She placed a palm flat on his abdomen, felt him breathing. He made a soft growling noise in his throat and opened his eyes, then quickly shut them again. Stemming tears and hysteria, Annie leaned over him to examine his wound. He'd taken a nasty gash to the head. He could have knocked something over on himself, couldn't he?
Cold air blew in through her window. Glancing up, she saw that it was open, the screen pushed in, the glass broken.
No, she thought. He hadn't knocked anything over. Someone had broken into her apartment, had dealt with Otto, possibly even had been prepared for him.
"My God," she breathed, shaking all over now.
She scrambled to her feet, still mumbling soothing words to Otto, trying to keep the panic from her voice. He'd hear it. Given his sensitivity, he'd know she was upset, and that would only upset him. She raced to her kitchen, got ice and a cold, wet towel. She was shaking, almost blind with fear, anger, panic. But when she again knelt over her dog, she knew she couldn't manage on her own. He needed a vet, stitches. Ice wouldn't do it.
She had no choice.
Holding the towel and ice to Otto's gashed forehead, she grabbed her cordless phone off the floor by her bed and got the number for the hotel where the Haley Linwood Foundation dinner was being held, dialed, had the front desk fetch Garvin, kept herself focused and under control.
Until she heard his voice and burst into tears.
"Annie, what is it? Annie."
The ice melted into Otto's dark, bloody fur. He still wasn't moving. "Someone broke into my apartment...Otto..." She drew in a breath. "He needs a vet. I can't carry him by myself—"
"I'm on my way."
"But Sarah—"
He'd already hung up.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
Garvin gave Sarah two choices: stay and find her own way back or come with him. He didn't explain or give her time to decide. She chose to go with him. He told the Linwoods she was tired and they needed to leave. No one argued with him. John seemed relieved to see his sister depart early and only mumbled a polite, awkward farewell. Cynthia was even less congenial, and they were able to get out of there in short order.