To combat it, she slowed her breathing and quickened her step. And pushed the thought of Leonard Cowan’s suspicious suicide from her mind.
What are the chances …?
A car passed, and then another, both as welcome as rain after a drought, both catching her in their headlights, both disappearing with no more than a quick swish of tires and a red glow of taillights. For one of the few times in her life, Jess found herself wishing for heavy traffic just so she’d know there were other living beings in the vicinity. Instead, after that, she got no traffic at all. Except for the breeze sighing past the buildings and the muffled rumble of activity that was happening somewhere else, there was not even a sound other than the quick tapping of her own heels on the pavement.
Almost home, she told herself.
Slow breaths. Quick steps.
She could see her apartment now, three dark windows on the top floor of a three-story, colonial-blue row house. Apparently Grace, who liked the nightlife, wasn’t yet home. The other windows in the building were dark as well. Was no one at home in any of the other apartments?
A few more minutes, and she would be safe inside. She reached for her keys … and made a terrible discovery.
I left my purse and briefcase in Mark’s car. I don’t have my keys. Or my phone. Or—anything.
Horror stopped her cold. For a moment, as she absorbed the absence of her belongings and exactly what that meant, she stood frozen on the sidewalk in front of her building and simply stared at her dark windows wide-eyed.
What to do?
Her building was the middle one of three attached houses. Its small front yard was dominated by a thirty-foot-tall magnolia with creamy blossoms that gave off the faintest of citrusy scents. The broad, shiny leaves rustled like paper being shuffled as she stood there frowning blankly past the dense foliage. Inky shadows even darker than the night itself stretched between the tree and the building, and between the building and its twin next door. Luckily, she didn’t have to pass through that abyss of blackness to reach her front door. The sidewalk was moonlit, the pavement glowing faintly silver through the gloom. The door itself was solid paneled oak, as old as the building, and painted a deep red that looked charcoal at night. To her, in that moment, it promised sanctuary.
Except she couldn’t get in.
And there was no point in heading for the front door without her keys.
Reality hit: she was locked out. Stuck out on the street. Jess’s pulse kicked it up a notch.
I can wait outside until Grace gets home—assuming she does get home tonight, which she might not—or I can go bang on a neighbor’s door until someone lets me in. Then I can use their phone and call Mom. Or Maddie. Or Sarah. (Her third sister, who was married with two little boys and currently living in her own house on Clay Street, was the only one who was almost certain to be home at that hour. The rest of the gang had varied and unpredictable social lives.)
Or I can call a cab, or …
But she instantly dismissed the next name that popped into her head: Mark. She wasn’t calling Mark.
Whoever she decided to call, banging on a neighbor’s door and asking to use the phone was clearly a better option than waiting in the street for Grace to show or not.
I hate the dark.
Her heart thumped as around her shadows shifted and swayed. The back of her neck crawled. Once again she had the sensation of being watched. She glanced nervously in every direction. There was no one in sight, anywhere. But the night felt alive.
So move already.
Doing her best to ignore the rampaging imagination that had her pulse racing and her heart thudding, Jess turned on her heel and headed toward the nearest neighbor with lights, which was two doors back the way she had come. She hadn’t taken more than three steps when out of the corner of her eye she caught a blur of movement.
What? …
Instinctively she looked in that direction. Her breathing suspended and her eyes went wide as the blur resolved itself into something—someone—rushing at her from the dark behind the magnolia.
“Ah!” Her cry was high-pitched and shrill as she stumbled a little, then started to run toward the house with the lights. It was a man, a solid black figure as featureless as a shadow, she registered in those first horrific seconds as she fled and he gave chase. Then he was upon her, grabbing her jacket, hauling her backward, catching her around the waist.
“Shut up!” It was a rough-voiced growl, uttered as a big, gloved hand clamped down hard over her mouth, cutting off the scream she hadn’t even realized was ripping from her throat. Terrified, she tried to whirl, tried to punch, tried to fight him off, but he was too strong for her, too quick for her. Snatching her clear up off her feet, he clamped her back to his front and bore her kicking and struggling into the grass, toward the deadly shadows beneath the tree.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fighting for her life, Jess discovered that her mind remained curiously detached.
Who? …
No one she knew, Jess was sure.
A stranger. A brutal, violent stranger.
The hand over her mouth blocked her nose as well. It was suffocating her. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely think.
A random attack? Or …
Heart jumping with terror, Jess mentally reeled with the realization that whoever her attacker was, she was in deadly danger. Rape, murder—every horrible fate that was the stuff of her worst nightmares was happening, now.
Leonard Cowan’s suspicious death. Could this be more of the same?
Her blood turned to ice.
Trying to jerk free of that smothering hand, kicking and twisting like a contortionist without any appreciable result, she grabbed at his uppermost arm—it was hard and muscular—with both hands. He was wearing a long-sleeved knit shirt, she registered as she tore at it, and then at the gloved hand that clamped onto her face. His grip didn’t loosen. He carried her ruthlessly, not caring that she couldn’t breathe, that he was hurting her. His indifference to her pain ratcheted her burgeoning panic up to a whole new level. This was no mugging, no attempted robbery, no random street crime, she was convinced.
He’s going to kill me.
In her mind, it became a hideous certainty. Her stomach turned inside out. Cold sweat drenched her. Adrenaline kicked in, rushing like speed through her veins. Reacting with the kind of fierce self-defense that a small person in the land of larger ones learns early on, she bit down viciously on one of his thick fingers, chomping through leather and flesh with all her might, going for bone.
“Bitch!”
Cursing, he jerked his hand away, which was what she had hoped for. She screamed, not the siren scream she wanted but a pitifully thin sound because she had almost no air left. Filling her lungs, she screamed again, a full-on screech this time that exploded from her lungs with the urgency of an escaping animal. It shrilled for no more than a couple of seconds before his fist slammed hard into her side, truncating the sound with brutal force.
The pain was unbelievable, as sharp and stunning as a knife through the ribs. The wind was knocked out of her; she was momentarily paralyzed. The blow, combined with lack of air, made her light-headed. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. His arm around her waist compressed her bruised rib cage like a vice. His hand clapped tight over her face again, only now it was curved in such a way that she couldn’t bite him.
Help! Help! But her cries were all in her head. She had no air for so much as a moan. Not that her screams had done any good anyway: no one had come. No one had peered through a curtain, or opened a door to glance out. She doubted anyone in any of the nearby buildings was busy dialing 911.
Either no one had heard, or, curse of the big city, no one wanted to get involved.
I have to fight.
By sheer force of will she did, sucking in what air she could, forcing her quivering limbs to move, punching and kicking and writhing to be free, battling for her life with everything she had. He maintained his gri
p in the teeth of her efforts, but at least she was making him work for it. His breathing came hard and fast. Against her back, she could feel his chest heave. His muscular body emanated heat. He smelled; she registered that he smelled. Sucking in, with every desperate flaring of her nostrils, the scent of body odor inadequately masked by some kind of sickly sweet cologne, Jess felt a surge of nausea. She heard a frenzied drumming in her ears and realized that it was the frantic pounding of the blood in her veins.
I need air.
Thrusting both hands back toward his face despite her weakness, despite the pain it caused her, she clawed for his eyes. He was wearing a silky-feeling ski-type mask, which impeded her efforts, and she, a nail-biter, didn’t have much in the way of claws to begin with, so she couldn’t do enough damage to help herself. She tried something else.
“Fuck!” He jerked his head back as she gave up on the clawing in favor of slamming her fist hammer-like into his nose. The solid thunk as she connected was satisfying but didn’t so much as loosen his grip. They were almost even with the tree now, and she feared that the darkness behind it was his goal. Or maybe he was bent on carrying her into the night-cloaked passage between the buildings.
I’m running out of time.
Fueled by abject fear, she struggled with panicked strength. No luck. Then, in a flash of cunning, she took deliberate, focused aim and drove the sharp heel of her pump into his right knee.
“Shit!” His leg jerked back, but still he didn’t let go.
He’s wearing long pants, some kind of heavy cloth. Too thick to …
Instead he violently shook her from side to side, like a vicious dog with a kitten in its teeth.
Her shoes flew off, but her head swam so much that she barely even noticed. Overhead, the stars suddenly seemed further away, the moon dimmer and more distant. Although the night was hot, she felt cold all over. Her ribs ached. Her arms and legs tingled. Gorge rose in her throat. Without sufficient air, her struggles grew weaker. Kicking, punching, writhing, clawing—she did it all, and none of it helped.
I don’t want to die.
I can’t lose consciousness. If I do, I’m done.
Despite the fight she was giving him, already they were being swallowed up by the Stygian shadow of the magnolia. Another few steps, and no passerby would be able to see them even if one happened by and looked their way. She would be at his mercy. Limbs flailing, eyes darting everywhere as she sought for help, for a weapon, for anything that could save her, she summoned her resources one more time and kicked backward high and furiously, heels slamming into his thighs, aiming with blind inaccuracy for his crotch.
Thud, thud, thud, thud. His thigh muscles were meaty, dense. The impact hurt her heels.
His hand left her mouth. The sudden rush of air was so unexpected that her chest heaved and she sucked in a great, thankful breath instead of screaming. Then he punched her hard in the side of the head, snapping her teeth together and rattling her brain against her skull.
The pain was so sudden and intense, Jess almost blacked out. Her body went limp. She saw stars. Her head lolled back against his shoulder. Only sheer force of will kept her even semiconscious.
I can’t give up.
She didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. He lugged her, unresisting, behind the tree. Now she could see the window wells that curved in front of the basement apartments, see the glint of the leaded glass panes that were as dark as slabs of onyx, see the black velvet carpet of carefully tended grass.
Fresh terror washed over her in a freezing wave.
It’s going to happen here. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did.
Summoning her last reserves of strength and will, she girded herself to fight for her life.
Headlights cut through the night. Headlights of a car coming down the street toward them. Despair was pierced by a forlorn stab of hope.
Oh, please …
Bright beams illuminated the empty sidewalk where she had been walking just moments before. They flashed over the grass, swept toward the tree. Galvanized, Jess fought with a burst of renewed strength to win free even as her captor lunged with her the rest of the way into absolute darkness, where no one in a passing car could possibly have seen them even if they’d been trying, even if they’d known where to look, which, of course, wasn’t going to be the case.
The car sped up. She could hear it coming, see the headlights cutting through the branches as it hurtled forward, sense the disturbance in the air. Her captor went still, tense, waiting for it to pass. His hold on her tightened so much that it was painful. Unbreakable.
Please please please …
A tremor coursed through her. The throbbing engine was scarcely louder than the pulsing of her blood in her ears. The car was moving fast, speeding toward the intersection at the far end of the block. In a moment it would be gone, taking her last best chance of survival with it.
Weak now, she struggled desperately still, kicking at the branches nearest her, managing to shake the tree.
Maybe the driver will see …
The hand over her mouth crushed down viciously, smashing her lips, digging into her cheeks, hurting her jaw. Her breathing completely cut off now. Her heart felt like it would pound through her chest.
Brakes squealed, a door opened, feet hit the pavement.
“Federal agent! Freeze!” It was a roar.
Mark.
His voice was the most wonderful sound she had ever heard.
Relief turned her bones to jelly. Her muscles sagged with the knowledge that she was saved, that she wasn’t going to die tonight after all. Thank you, G … was just bubbling into her head when she felt herself flying through the air as her captor flung her violently and without warning to the ground. She hit with bone-jarring force. Her head snapped back to crack against the stone ledge surrounding one of the window wells. Pain knifed through her skull. Light exploded behind her eye sockets.
Then there was nothing except an utter, all-enveloping blackness.
“… attacked. Maybe three minutes ago. Get some people out here. Yeah, I’m …”
Mark. She came to to the sound of his voice. Recognition brought a comforting feeling of security with it. Basking in it, Jess lost the thread of what he was saying as she simply listened to him speaking urgently into the ether above her head. The burgeoning terror that had started to surge through her veins upon her return to consciousness subsided.
Seconds later she cracked her eyes open just enough to see him crouched beside her. He was no more than a dark shape looming over her, a large hand threading carefully through the hair at the back of her head, a grim voice. But he was there, and she was safe.
He hit a spot on her skull that made her wince.
“Ow!”
Their eyes collided.
She took a deep breath. Being able to breathe feels wonderful. “A man… attacked me.” Her voice was ragged.
Mark withdrew his hand from her hair and she latched onto his warm, strong fingers like she was afraid he’d leave her if she didn’t.
“… last seen running toward G Street Northwest between 21st and 22nd. Possibly armed.” His fingers locked with hers. With his other hand Mark held his cell phone. Of course. He talked into it with the clipped, controlled voice he used when he was on the job. “And send an ambulance, now.”
“I don’t need one.” Jess started to shake her head, but the pain that shot through it made her stop and close her eyes again. She felt shaky. Cold. Not quite all there. The hard ground against the back of her skull hurt.
“Look at me.” Mark had finished his call, she realized as she obediently opened her eyes again. Woozy and faintly nauseous, she was glad to let him call the shots. Nonetheless she recognized that this feeling of meek acceptance that he knew what was best for her was not normal, not for her.
He stroked her cheek, brushed her hair back from her face, leaned in close. So close that she thought he meant to kiss her. His warm breath feathered her lips,
which parted instinctively in anticipation. Then a blue glow bathed her face. Using his phone as a flashlight, he peered into her eyes.
“One pupil’s bigger than the other. You’re getting checked out.”
The disappointment that flooded her had nothing to do with the state of her eyes. She had wanted him to kiss her.
To combat her sudden upsurge of weakness where he was concerned, she gritted out a reply she knew would annoy him. “Guess what, pretty boy: you’re not the boss of me.”
His grip on her hand eased. “Mature as ever, I see. Good to know you’re not at death’s door.” He thrust his phone back in his pocket.
Where was her attacker?
The thought brought a surge of renewed terror with it, and she forgot everything else. Her gaze darted all around. She would have shot to her feet instantly if she’d been able, and booked it out of there. But she wasn’t, she discovered when she made a first abortive attempt.
“Stay still,” he ordered.
She obeyed, simply because at that moment doing anything else was impossible.
Her head hurt like it had just been whacked with a hammer, which, in essence, she supposed it had. Her ribs ached with every breath.
But what if he comes back?
She said it aloud.
“Are you kidding? Baby, I promise you, you’re safe as houses with me.”
She knew it was true. Perversely, that didn’t feel a whole lot better. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was get sucked into counting on Mark again. Jess depended on Jess, and that was the way she meant to keep it. It took every bit of strength and willpower she could muster to let go of his hand and sit up under her own steam.
But she did it.
The world spun. She couldn’t help it: she made a pitiful little sound that was very nearly a moan.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” There was an alarmed, scolding note to his voice. “You know enough not to move until EMS gets here.”
“Yeah, well.”
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