A crash from her sister’s bedroom brought Liz Cantrell bolt upright on the couch. She was alone in the apartment she shared with her sister and had been seated with her feet tucked beneath her, trying hard to be interested in the movie on the television with no success. She muted the sound and listened.

A floorboard creaked.

No way was that from the blustery January wind outside her second story apartment.

Someone was definitely in Jillian’s room.

Alarm flooded Liz’s veins.

“Please, Lord,” she whispered as she fumbled to grab her phone from her sweat pants pocket.

A thud and then a man’s deep growl jolted her into action.

No time to call for help. She had to get out of there. Fast. She jumped to her feet and hurried to open the apartment door. The hinge squeaked as loud as a shotgun blast.

Thunder rumbled through the apartment.

Not thunder, but feet. A tall figure, wearing a plastic masquerade mask like those worn at Mardi Gras time and dressed all in black, rushed out of Jillian’s room. He had Jillian’s big burl-wood jewelry box—thankfully not their mother’s special jewelry box-- in his gloved hands, spilling the contents of Jillian’s costume jewelry on the floor as he ran toward Liz.

Adrenaline fueled her fear. She whirled away and ran for the stairs leading to her family’s antique shop, her slippers snagging on the old carpet. The walls of the stairwell seemed to close in on her. She hated dark, confined spaces.

She pushed through her anxiety to scuttle down the stairs as fast as she could. The man came after her, breathing down her neck like a monster from a horror flick, adding to the fear tightening her chest and constricting her throat.

Before she reached the bottom of the staircase, the burglar grabbed a handful of her hair. With a painful jerk, he brought her to a halt and pushed her face first against the stairwell wall. Pain exploded in her cheek and radiated through her head. Would he kill her? Rape her? She squeezed her eyes tight, tensing her body in preparation to fight back and sent up an urgent prayer. God, help me! Help me, please.

“Where’s the necklace?” her attacker growled in her ear. His hot, stale breath made her gag.

“What?” Liz struggled to process what was happening. Why had this man broken into her home? What was he talking about? “What necklace?”

“Come on Jillian, Travis bragged to me he’d lifted it from Santini’s shipment to give to you. Since Travis is so stupid to not keep his mouth shut, he doesn’t deserve it. And neither does Santini, the pig.” He pressed his weight into her, his knee jamming into her thigh, his elbow crammed into her back at the tender spot below her ribs. “Give it to me or I’ll kill you!”

His words beat into her, almost paralyzing her with terror. He thought she was Jillian. What would the man do when he realized she wasn’t Jillian but rather her sister? Kill her then go after Jillian? She couldn’t let that happen. She had to protect her little sister.