It was probably nothing.

And yet her skin crawled beneath the frigid spray; tiny goose bumps of fear pebbled her smooth, wet skin.

“It’s all in your mind,” she muttered, but turned off the water anyway and stood, shivering and dripping, while her ears strained to hear anything out of the ordinary.

There was nothing. Just the steady drip of water from the showerhead, the soft rumble of the heater, the strains of Christmas music drifting from hidden speakers-and farther away and muted, the quiet hum of traffic in the city. But nothing else. No sound of a shoe scuffing over the thick carpet of the presidential suite, no rattle of the room-service cart, no click of keys in the lock…nothing out of place.

Sluggishly, she clicked open the glass door and reached for her robe.

“Mama…”

A tiny voice. A girl’s voice.

Kat’s heart clutched. She froze.

No! It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t believe it. No toddler’s voice had spoken. Her mind was playing tricks on her again…that was it. The drugs and booze had combined to-

“Mama?”

Oh God.

Kat’s knees nearly buckled.

Frantically she stepped out of the shower and nearly fell on the slick marble as the notes of “Silent Night” filled the room. “Baby?” she whispered.

Barefoot, leaving a trail of water, she stumbled toward the door, somehow managing to force her unwieldy arms through the robe’s sleeves. Get a grip! You’re hallucinating again and you know it. There is no baby. Your daughter is not in any of the other rooms. Grab hold of yourself! Grasping onto the doorjamb, she peered into the bedroom. The king-sized bed was rumpled, a small impression visible on the comforter where she’d fallen asleep earlier. Her near-empty glass was sweating upon a bedside table near two empty bottles of pills.