No One But You

by Maureen Smith

  And then he would come for her.

  After fifteen minutes at the computer she stood. As she raised her arms above her head to stretch, he was distracted by the sight of the Glock clipped to her belt holster. He had a vision of her standing with her long legs braced apart, her disheveled hair falling into her eyes as she trained the gun on him. He imagined her pulling the trigger, only to realize that the clip was empty. He imagined catching her easily as she turned to flee. Her desperate screams echoed in his mind, as real as the sight of her in his binoculars.

  Suddenly she turned her head to stare out the window. For an arrested moment she seemed to catch his eye, to look right at him.

  As if she knew he was there.

  As if she understood that her fate awaited her in the dark, chilly night.

  His heart thudded against his rib cage. He stared into her luminous dark eyes, rimmed with a thick fringe of black lashes. Anticipation heated his blood.

  She came toward the window, a frown marring the smooth line of her brow. Was that fear reflected in her dark eyes? Or a sense of premonition?

  Before he could decide, she snapped the blinds closed, and a moment later the room went dark. He had only a fleeting glimpse of her as she returned to the living room and quickly drew the curtains, shutting him out.

  He’d remained hidden in the shadows, silently praying for one last sight of her before he departed for the night. He was just about to give up when a familiar black SUV pulled into the large parking lot and claimed an empty visitor spot near the front of the building. He frowned, wondering what sort of business had brought Damien Wade to Althea’s apartment at such a late hour. He waited, an awful kernel of suspicion forming in his mind. He could think of only two reasons a man visited a woman in the middle of the night. To deliver bad news or to seduce his way into her bed.

  But that couldn’t be, he thought, his frown deepening. She’d only arrived in town on Friday, and to his knowledge, she and Wade met for the first time this morning. Surely Wade wouldn’t have the audacity to make a move on her so soon.

  She’s a beautiful, sexy woman. Of course he wouldn’t waste time trying to seduce her!

  The stranger tensed, struck by the possibility that Althea and Damien Wade had met before this morning. He’d been occupied with Claire for several hours on Friday night, getting her settled into her new dwelling. By the time he made it to Althea’s apartment, it was after midnight. He’d stayed for only two hours, long enough to satisfy himself that she wasn’t out partying on her first night back in town.

  But perhaps he’d missed something. Wade’s presence there that night was suspicious . . . unsettling.

  He waited, but the agent made no move to get out of the SUV. After ten minutes, he realized that Wade was not there to seduce Althea but rather to watch over her. To protect her.

  How sweet, he thought with a cold, mocking smile.

  It amused him to realize how quickly Althea had cast her spell over her new partner. Wade barely knew her, and already he was willing to risk his life for her. Just as his brother had done for Althea’s mentor eight years ago.

  It was perfect. He couldn’t have planned it better himself.

  Because he knew that when the time came, Wade would not be able to save her from the destiny that awaited her.

  No one would.

  The thought brought another smile to his face. “Just you wait,” he said, his voice the barest of whispers in the stillness of the night.

  He trained his binoculars on the black SUV and saw that the agent was on the phone. While Wade was preoccupied, the stranger eased the car door open and slid out of the Honda, which belonged to a tenant who was out of town for a week.

  Crouching in the darkness, adrenaline humming through his veins, he closed the car door with a soft click. Knowing that Wade would be checking his rearview mirror, he crept toward the back of the parking lot, keeping low to the ground. When he reached the line of trees that bordered the lot, he straightened to his full height, a figure cloaked in black, and disappeared into the shadows.

  Chapter 11

  Tuesday, October 7

  Day 5

  She was huddled on a bed in a corner of the cold, dark room.

  Her wrists were tied tightly behind her back, cutting off her circulation. A coarse band of cloth knotted around her head blindfolded her, heightening her sense of helplessness, fueling her terror. She was alone in the room, but she thought she could feel him nearby, breathing silently, watching her. A malevolent presence that taunted her.

  She didn’t know where she was, didn’t know how long she had been there. Days, maybe weeks. She wanted to go home, but she knew he wouldn’t let her. He was going to kill her. She knew that, too. Knew it with chilling certainty.

  Somehow she had to find away to escape. But how? She was a prisoner, at his complete mercy. She ate when he told her to, used the bathroom when he told her to, slept when he drugged her. She was as powerless as a child.

  Suddenly she heard a match striking. She tensed, hot fear lancing down her spine. She squinted against the tight blindfold, straining to make out the silhouette of her captor. But she saw nothing but darkness.

  And then came the footsteps. Slow, deliberate, approaching her from across the room. Her heart pounded violently against her ribs. Her insides twisted with panic and dread.

  She heard the soft hiss of a flame as he drew near, felt a whisper of smoke across her skin.

  He stopped in front of her. She began trembling, her teeth chattering so hard they rattled in her skull.

  “You’ve been a naughty little girl, Althea,” the voice whispered, soft and menacing. Eerily familiar.

  She felt the cold tip of a blade pressed to her throat. And then, without warning, the blindfold was unceremoniously ripped from her head.

  She looked up and found herself staring into the face of evil incarnate.

  “No!”

  Althea’s eyes flew open, the sound of her own scream echoing in the silence of her darkened bedroom.

  She bolted upright in bed. Her heart drummed wildly in her chest, her body was drenched in sweat, and the vivid nightmare lingered in her mind as clearly as if she’d just lived through the horrifying experience.

  “It was just a dream,” she whispered shakily, feeling weak and disoriented.

  Just a dream, her mind echoed. But the thought brought her little consolation.

  A pounding headache had started at the base of her skull and moved upward. Her hands shook as she pushed her damp hair out of her face and glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand. The red numbers glowed eerily in the darkness. 4:20.

  Dropping her head into her hands, she massaged her temples. It had been two years since she’d had one of her nightmares. Two years.

  She’d been home four days, and the dreams had already started again.

  And this is just the beginning, an inner voice warned ominously. You know this is the beginning.

  Althea shivered, closing her eyes.

  She’d spent the last several years in therapy, talking through her darkest fears and baring her soul on a monthly basis. But that had been from the safe confines of Dr. Parminter’s plush downtown office, thousands of miles from here. Time and distance, along with a controlled dose of antianxiety meds, had taken the edge off her memories, perhaps giving her a false sense of peace. A false sense of security. Now that she was back home and surrounded by everyday reminders of her ordeal, it was clear that it would take more than therapy to help her bury the past once and for all.

  Before she could fully commit herself to finding Claire Thorndike, she had to confront her own demons.

  And she knew just where to start.

  Althea threw back the covers and slid from the bed, padding barefoot to the bathroom to turn on the shower.

  Twenty minutes later she was dressed in dark jeans, an angora sweater, and a pair of thick-soled boots. She stuffed her 9mm into her belt holster and strapped her backup service revolver to
her ankle.

  Before walking out the door, she swallowed two aspirins, hoping they would take the edge off her headache before she reached her destination. She needed to think clearly, needed her wits about her should there be any surprises.

  As she left the apartment, she wore a grim, resolute expression.

  It was time to face the ghosts of the past.

  The cabin was waiting for her as the first blush of dawn lightened the sky.

  Even framed against the vivid backdrop of the sunrise, the abandoned property had a sinister look. No amount of sunlight could chase away the shadows that fell down from the surrounding trees, shrouding the old cabin in perpetual gloom. It squatted amid rotting, overgrown grass; the windows were boarded up, and the wood showed signs of decay.

  Althea parked right in front and climbed out of her dark sedan. As she stared at the deserted building, she wondered if it was possible for evil to linger in a place long after the source of evil had been destroyed.

  She swallowed, feeling a strange sense of disquiet. As if she were being watched from inside the house.

  Don’t be paranoid, she told herself. There’s no one here. No one but you and your memories. Now hurry up and get it over with.

  Althea ducked inside the car, leaned across the driver’s seat, and removed a flashlight from the glove compartment. She closed and locked the door, then did a slow scan of the yard before approaching the cabin.

  A stiff morning breeze rustled the tree leaves, amplifying the sense of isolation and gloom that surrounded the property.

  A fine chill threaded through her.

  Telling herself she had no reason to be spooked, she stepped onto the porch and clicked on the flashlight. She stepped over a fallen board that had been pried loose from the door, probably by the same vandals that had spray painted profanities across the PRIVATE PROPERTY—KEEP OUT sign posted at the main entrance. She fully expected to find the place trashed, littered with empty beer cans, fast-food wrappers, discarded condoms, and other debris left by the vandals.

  But the moment she crossed the threshold, she saw nothing but the memories that rushed to the surface of her brain.

  She saw the mounted animal heads on the timber walls, alongside macabre African masks with sinister black eyes and twisted, gaping mouths. She saw candles lit throughout the room, their flickering flames casting long, writhing shadows against the walls.

  Althea shuddered, blinking several times to banish the haunting images. As her vision cleared, she noticed the shafts of daylight seeping through the cracks in the wooden boards that covered the windows.

  She shone her flashlight around what had once been the living room. It was empty, and unless her eyes were deceiving her, the hardwood floors appeared to have been swept clean.

  By whom?

  After glancing around the room, Althea knelt and ran her finger across the floor. It was covered in a thin layer of dust. Not as much as one would expect in a house that hadn’t been occupied in eight years.

  She swept her flashlight across the floor, searching for footprints, but it was still too dark and gloomy to accurately make out anything.

  Ignoring a whisper of unease, she stood and continued through the darkened room, creeping deeper inside the silent cabin, moving stealthily through the shadows. When she reached the open doorway that led down to the cellar, she paused.

  Outside she could hear the wind moaning softly through the trees. Her heart thudded against her sternum. Her fingers tightened around her Glock.

  You’re gonna get your black card revoked. No black woman in her right mind would go down there alone.

  Stop it! There’s no one down there. It’s just your overwrought imagination. You can do this. You have to do this!

  Leading with the flashlight, Althea started down the narrow stairwell, descending into the dark bowel of the cabin. Her heart rate accelerated after each step. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself racing up those same stairs in a mad, desperate flight for survival. Get help, get help, get help, she’d chanted to herself that night as she fled from her captor. Leaving Imani Wade behind with the madman was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but she knew her escape was their only chance for survival.

  On the last step Althea came to a stop. Her heart was hammering painfully now. Her legs suddenly felt unsteady.

  And she knew why.

  There, at the end of the dark corridor, was a closed door that led into the room where her life had changed forever. The room where she’d been held against her will for thirty days. The room she’d come to think of as her prison. Her final resting place.

  The saliva dried in her mouth. Not for the first time since her arrival she questioned the wisdom of her decision to come there. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this.

  You’ve come this far, a voice whispered. You can’t turn back now.

  Shoring up her resolve, she stepped off the stairwell and continued down the corridor, the beam of the flashlight cutting a path through the darkness. The air was dank, stale, filling her constricted lungs.

  As she neared the closed door at the end of the hallway, that’s when she heard it.

  A faint noise from above.

  Her blood froze.

  She whirled around, her pulse drumming in her ears as she strained to listen. She thought she heard the soft scrape of a boot on hardwood. The fine hairs on the nape of her neck lifted. Her skin prickled with awareness.

  She tightened her grip on the Glock and held her breath, listening. But there was nothing but silence.

  An unearthly silence.

  And yet she knew she hadn’t imagined the noise. She wasn’t alone. She could sense another presence somewhere inside the cabin. Whoever it was had seen her car parked outside. He knew she was there.

  Nervous sweat broke out on Althea’s skin. A chilling fear seized her by the throat.

  Training and instincts kicked in, and she turned off the flashlight so as not to give her position away. Flattening herself against the cold cellar wall, she edged back toward the staircase, leading with her weapon. Her nerves were stretched so taut they were about to shatter.

  She heard the creak of a floorboard on the landing above her.

  She swallowed, her finger tightening on the trigger. She heard the soft tread of approaching male footsteps. The intruder came to a stop at the top of the stairwell.

  Her breathing grew shallow, uneven.

  “Althea?”

  Relief flooded her bloodstream at the sound of the deep, familiar voice. Her knees turned to water.

  “Damien?” Thank God!

  Hurriedly shoving her Glock and flashlight into the waistband of her jeans, Althea raced up the stairs and ran right into Damien’s arms, which closed around her with stunning force. Trembling with relief she clung to him, wanting to burrow deeply against him, to lose herself, even for just a moment, in the strength and protection he offered.

  He drew back after several moments and gazed down at her, brushing his hands over her hair and her face. “Are you all right?” he demanded.

  She nodded quickly. As the adrenaline rush ebbed from her body and the fear receded, she suddenly felt like an idiot. She’d let her nerves get the best of her. She was a well-trained federal agent—an armed federal agent—and she’d just behaved like some hapless little blonde trapped in a haunted house on the set of a horror movie.

  “I’m fine,” she said when Damien continued gazing worriedly at her.

  His expression darkened. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I—” She glanced back, staring down the dark stairwell. How could she explain what she was doing there without sounding like a nutcase—which, judging by the look on his face, he already thought she was?

  “I had to come,” she said simply.

  Damien frowned darkly. Without another word, he grabbed her hand and led her purposefully from the cabin. Under normal circumstances Althea would have protested being manhandled like that, but at th
e moment she was so eager to escape the gloomy cabin it didn’t matter to her how she left.

  Once outside they started toward her car, where Damien’s black SUV was also parked. He did not let go of her hand as they walked, their bodies close, their breaths mingling in the frosty morning air.

  When they reached her dark sedan, he turned to her, his thick black brows still furrowed together. “You shouldn’t have come here alone,” he growled. “Someone could have followed you here—someone other than me.”

  “I know. I wasn’t thinking. I just . . . Wait a minute.” Althea stared at him, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How did you know I would be here?”

  A muscle clenched in his jaw. “When I showed up at your apartment this morning and saw that your car was gone, I got a little worried. So I tracked you down.”

  It took Althea a moment to remember that the vehicles issued to agents were equipped with GPS tracking devices. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful that Damien had used the technology to hunt her down like some rogue agent. Or, worse, a damsel in distress.

  “You mean you followed me all the way out here, an hour away from Baltimore, because you were worried about me?”

  Damien looked slightly uncomfortable. “Yes,” he muttered, adding irately, “damn it.”

  Althea felt a twinge of pleasure and told herself she was a crazy fool for caring that this man—whom she barely knew—was so concerned for her safety that he’d gone out of his way to make sure she was okay.

  A sheepish grin tugged at the corners of her lips. “Thanks for caring. And for following me out here.” She hitched her chin toward the abandoned cabin. “I was a little, ah, creeped out in there.”