He armed himself with a golf club, dismissing her suggestion of the police. “And say what?” he scoffed. “That shadows scared us?” He strode the hallways, club raised. His shoes betrayed him, tripping over a rug. She stifled a laugh, half-crazy with nerves.
Marco dimmed the kitchen light, leaving the dining room glowing. From inside, the contrast cast shadows across the ceiling like prowlers circling. She whimpered. He squared his shoulders. “This house is ours,” he declared shakily. The chandelier above tinkled, every crystal disagreeing. He tightened his grip on the club.