Irish Sex Fairy: Ellora's Cave

out if she knew about that. She’d be picking her up and driving her to the psychiatrist herself. Which. She. Did. Not. Need.
Keara’s throat clogged and her chest tightened. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“Keara…”
“’Night, Paige.”
She clicked the phone off and dropped it to the butter-colored upholstery beside her. She tipped her head back and blinked at the ceiling, eyes stinging. Damn.
She could call Monica.
But no. Monica had gone away to San Diego for the weekend with the new guy she’d been seeing. And she couldn’t call Essie. With her new baby, she might be awake in the middle of the night. But if she was asleep and Keara called and woke her up—again—she’d kill her. She’d made that mistake once before. Besides, if her friends all talked about how she kept phoning in the middle of the night, she’d never hear the end of it.
She padded on bare feet out to the kitchen of her condo in the Los Angeles high-rise. She ran some cold water, then held the cool glass to her sweaty forehead. Her eyes fell on the bottle of pills sitting on the counter. She could take those and sleep. She picked up the container.
There was no shame in using medication, the psychiatrist had told her. And yet, she really didn’t want to take drugs to solve her problems. Hell, she didn’t even understand what her problems were. God! She clutched the bottle in her hand and closed her eyes. She was fine. Totally fine. Tell that to her body, though, which betrayed her time and time again, with a speeding heart, tight and trembling muscles and a stomach constricted with nausea. And she’d been doing so well. No dreams, no flashbacks for a couple of weeks. What had triggered that nightmare tonight?
A noise alerted her ears. A scrape against the glass doors leading out onto her balcony. She lived on the third floor of the building, which wasn’t likely to be a target for a break-in, but recently she’d found herself wishing she lived in the penthouse, twenty stories above.
It was nothing. Wind or something.
Then she heard it again.
Her heart, which had been slowing its beat, picked up speed, blood surging through her veins. She stepped out of the kitchen and focused on the curtains drawn over the sliding glass doors—not opaque enough to completely blot out the city lights, nor the shadow moving on the balcony.
Her stomach lurched. Oh dear God. There was someone on her balcony. Her living room shifted around her and adrenaline flashed through her body. She lifted a hand to her throat. Stared at the window. She had to be imagining it. Nobody could climb up three stories. Nobody would climb up three stories.
But another scraping noise outside the window, like someone was working at the lock, had her reaching for the telephone. Crap, she’d left it on the couch. She scurried over and grabbed it off the sofa, then fled to her bedroom on trembling legs. She shut the door and leaned against it. Fingers shaking so hard she couldn’t hit the right buttons, she finally managed to punch in 9-1-1.
“Nine one one, what is your emergency?”
“Someone’s breaking into my condo!” she hissed into the phone, fingers gripping it so tightly they hurt. “Please, send the police, quickly!”
The operator asked her questions and kept her on the line while she leaned against the door, shaking inside and out.
“The police will be there soon,” the voice on the phone assured her. “Stay calm, ma’am.”
Calm. Calm? Shivering in her sleep shorts and tank top, Keara kept the phone pressed to her ear. She moved silently to the far side of the armoire, slid down onto the floor where she couldn’t be seen from the door. She dropped the phone to the gray Berber carpet beside her, bent her knees, wrapped her arms around them.
The marble floor of the bank lobby was cold and hard beneath her bottom as she slid her shaking arms around bent knees and hugged them …
No! She wasn’t in the bank. She was at home in her apartment. She focused on her bedroom. The bed skirt was crooked. She’d tucked it up under the mattress on one corner when she was making the bed. She’d have to fix that. Hell, what was she thinking?
With knees pressed to chest, her heart thumped painfully and her lungs expanded and contracted against them with every shallow breath. In. Out. In. Out.
Please, please let them get here quickly. She laid her forehead on her knees, shoulders hunched up around her ears. And waited.
She pictured someone on the balcony trying to get in, her ears attuned to the sound of breaking glass or the familiar scrape of the door opening.
The security buzzer sent her nerves on another blastoff. The police. Please let it be the police.
She scrabbled for the phone. The operator was still there. “Is that the police?” she demanded.
“Yes, that’s the police. They’re at the entrance to your building.”
“Thank God, thank God.” It seemed like an hour since she’d called them. She climbed to her feet on unsteady legs and stumbled to the security system, but as she went to buzz them in, she paused. How did she know it was the police? What if it was someone else trying to get in?
She knew in her head that was crazy, but…she pressed the intercom button. “Who is it?”
“LAPD.”
She hit the button and let them in. Moments later they pounded on her door.
She peered through the security peephole on her door and saw two uniformed officers. Fingers still shaking, she unlocked the door and let them in.
“Someone’s on the balcony!”
The female officer stayed close to Keara while the male officer walked straight to the doors and yanked the curtain aside. He peered outside, then flicked open the lock of the door and slid it open.
Keara gasped and tensed. He didn’t even have his gun drawn. Who knew what kind of nutjob could be out there?
He stepped out onto the balcony, turned his