Green eyes bore down on her.
Leaning closer to her ear, he brushed the curls from her face with his lips.
A shiver ran the length of her body. He could have her purse. Where was it?
“Do you know what it’s like to have a parade of uncles scurrying through your front door like cockroaches, Princess?”
His fingers muffled her response. Her eyes blinked wildly, and he laughed the more she struggled.
“Makes it hard to believe God’s watching over you, doesn’t it?”
His hand cradled her head in a sick caress.
“How’s that, Princess?”
She pulled her mouth away. “What? Money? Take my bag.”
“Enough already.” He yanked her around the neck, choking off her breath as he plunged her head against the wheel well. Her eyes rolled, darkness covering her as she slumped to the ground.
“Don’t play dumb. You know who I am. What I want.” He fell over her, moving his hand from her mouth. In no time at all, he was tugging at his clothing.
She resisted, fought to turn away.
“Someone, please! Oh, God!”
He laughed as tiny flakes stuck to her eyelashes. The concrete deck grew colder. The wind louder. No one would hear her cries.
He leaned across her and slid off his belt. His fingers ripped into her hair, and he tugged her face closer—his breath the only air moving.
A fisted hand pulled at the front of her coat, drawing her face to within an inch of his. “Now, Princess. We’ve wasted enough time.”
His tongue flicked out, snaking to the nape of her neck below her right earlobe.
And her screams echoed off the concrete walls.
CHAPTER 7
ED MCGRATH SURGED THROUGH the bedlam of the restaurant. Wind and bits of icy snow pelted his face, cutting his skin like thousands of slivers of glass. He guarded his eyes with one hand.
In a frenzy, Denny Angelo, Nino’s young son, tripped over a wooden sign and rushed toward him wearing no coat, but an apron smeared with a palette of the night’s specials. He tugged Ed’s hand, nearly jerking the glove from his fingers. Not another autograph. He’d given Denny at least a dozen. Kid probably scored on eBay.
Ladies and gentlemen. Denny Angelo. Detroit’s up-and-coming middle-school entrepreneur.
He chuckled, remembering his own days selling old golf balls he’d found near the course behind his parents’ house.
Denny lurched forward. “C’mere. Quick. I thought I heard yelling. No, some lady screaming.” He pointed past the clothing place toward the parking structure. “Pop told me to get his watch outta his car, but when I heard a scream, I ran back. Pop’ll whack me a good one if I stick my nose in somebody else’s business.”
Ed loosened the boy’s grip, fired a glance toward the lot. Not exactly how he’d planned to end his evening. His mind drifted to the size-three blonde announcer waiting for him.
“Okay, bud.” He ruffled the dark curly hair on Denny’s head. “I’ll go check.” Ed huffed and tucked his cashmere scarf deeper into his pea coat. Lifting his collar, he braced against the onslaught of miserable weather. What was the saying? If you didn’t like the weather in Michigan, wait a few minutes and it would change. So change.
He started listening on the first level. Nothing.
Then a loud scream above his head. He reached in his pocket, pressed in 9-1-1, then dashed for the stairwell, taking three at a time.
On the top level, in the corner. “Hey, what’s going on?”
A man bolted up, swung a broken bottle. Ed reached out, slipped on the ice, and landed on his shoulder. Pain rocked through the old injury, hindering him momentarily. He rose up and meted out a few solid licks, but the bum jerked free, connected with Ed’s jaw. Then the guy tugged at his clothes and finally managed to scramble away.
His footprints tattooed the frosty floor until steps were heard rushing down the stairwell.
Ed’s lip curled and he shook his fist. “Keep running!”
He rubbed his jaw and stared at his bloodied, torn gloves—wiped clammy sweat from his forehead. What was he thinking getting mixed up in this? Soft groans brought him back.
He leaned against the car. “What happened?”
Nothing but a whimper. Like he really expected her to sit up and start explaining.
Raised red bruises defined the girl’s jaw, and her left eye had swollen shut, the other scraped and red. Dropping to one knee, Ed angled his hand around her wrist.
“No!” She jerked from his grasp.
Fingers tense, he stood and slid his cell phone from a back pocket a second time. Only one bar. Maybe this time.
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
“Some girl was attacked … I think.” I think? “The top of the parking structure next to Nino’s Restaurant.” His phone cut out. Back in again. “Far corner. She needs a medic.” And then no bars at all.
Kneeling again, he mustered his best soothing voice. “You’ll be okay. I’m here to help. Don’t be afraid.”
She looked so fragile, eye swollen shut, the rest of her face covered in blood.
Her words sputtered as she struggled to talk. She couldn’t seem to focus on him. The one eye widened in a dazed mixture of horror and uncertainty.
He reached out to pull her sweater down and tug her coat around her.
“Don’t … touch me!” Her hands, instant weapons, thrashed the air near his head.
Ed fought her momentum and gripped her arms. She whipped violently. In a final drive to control the situation, he pinned her elbows to her sides. Clearly, she didn’t like being restrained.
“It’s all right. I’m only here till help arrives. That guy’s gone.”
His first instinct, to draw her against him and protect her, didn’t seem such a hot idea, but he had to keep her warm. Somehow. “Is this your car?” Was she even old enough to drive? She passed out before he had answers.
He tore off his jacket, wrapped it around the thin leggings she wore. It might stop her trembling. He spied a gray hat near her shoulder, and with what remained of his gloves, he made a cushion for her head. Using a deep blue messenger bag he spotted next to her, he elevated her legs. Still, harnessed to the frozen concrete, her skin grew colder to the touch. She’d be warmer inside the car. He tried a door but couldn’t get in.
No ambulance. What was taking so long?
Ed leapt to his feet at a sound. “Is someone there?” Fastened in place by uncertainty, he was afraid to leave her alone. He cupped his hands to his mouth. “We need help!”
He continued to scan the area for another driver. Watch out in case the guy returned. But his priority was this girl. Her breathing, rapid and shallow, concerned him more than her appearance. Did people die of fright?
Not on his watch.
CHAPTER 8
KYLE SQUINTED, EXAMINING THEM from the shifting shadows. Though his first thought should have been running as far away as possible, he’d decided to circle back quietly and watch from the top of the stairwell.
“We need help!” he repeated with a whine. Then laughed.
A siren.
He almost had her.
Almost. Almost. Always … failure.
He pounded his fist and winced at the painful knuckles. At least he’d connected once.
The siren wailed louder. Then another. But he couldn’t make his feet move.
Except for the uninvited guest with expensive-smelling cologne who’d spoiled everything, a mere dash across the floor and “I’m baaack” would send her over the edge.
He snorted a laugh.
Rochelle Cassidy, in a straitjacket. Crazy—babbling. All because of Kyle. Priceless.
He rubbed his jaw where the goon had nailed him and exhaled. There was no victory. Her knight ruined everything.
After hearing the sirens getting closer, Kyle returned to the street and sprinted around the block behind St. Paul’s, her leather glove clutched in his hand. Lifting it to his nose, he
smiled at the sweet odor lingering inside. If only.
Princess almost got what she asked for. What she deserved.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get lucky, Princess. We’ll meet again.”
Then you’ll know me real good, won’t you?
Reaaaal good.
Cursing the numbness in his fingers, Kyle crammed her glove in his pocket. He hauled out a poorly rolled joint. Not caring if anyone saw him, he clicked open an old Zippo lighter engraved with “Born to Raise Hell” on the side and lit up. A few seconds of inhaling and he strolled away—life good again.
A tune reminiscent of an AC/DC album his mother used to play late at night ricocheted in his head. After each deep drag and each step, his life mellowed.
He stopped a couple steps outside St. Paul’s on Greater Mack kitty-corner from Nino’s. The lights were off—the building appeared locked up tight.
He shook his head, sucked back on the joint, and smirked at the steeple.
Will you look at that? Nobody’s home. I think God may be on vacation.
Trying to keep his eyes open, he straightened. The joint tugged at his lips. He laughed and blasted an exaggerated smoke ring at the church.
Whoa … I appreciate it, o’ Mighty One. Thou dideth me a big favor tonight. Stay on vacation. You aren’t wanted here anyway.
A loud clang.
He whirled. His heart jackhammered. Feet stutter-stepped.
“What?” Probably the kid at Nino’s making noise again with that stupid sign. He chuckled and glanced back at the stained glass. He pointed his finger, waggled it side to side. Almost had me there, didn’t You, Big Guy?
His head bowed into his hands for the last drag. Sweet … sweet … sweet.
Rochelle. He closed his eyes. She smiled—gorgeous. For a second, he was lost in her beauty. Man, what he could do with that.
Then she opened her mouth.
That big mouth!
He dropped the smoke, jammed his palms over his ears. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”
CHAPTER 9
COLD SWADDLED THE NIGHT, suffocating Ed. Would the girl survive until the ambulance arrived? She looked so young, so helpless. He laid his hand on her knee. Icy.
With a peel of his sweater, he covered her legs more and tucked the edges.
He shivered against the biting wind with only a T-shirt and his scarf. Having done everything he had learned, he fell back on his heels, teeth chattering and arms hugging his chest. They’d better get here soon or two patients would be waiting for the EMTs.
What was he doing here? He should be home or at Alicia’s. The bottle of wine no longer sounded like enough. He normally needed a cold shower around the sexy announcer, but tonight, he’d give anything for a hot shower and a gallon of coffee, steaming and black.
Where was that ambulance?
Telltale red stained the frosty floor where he knelt. Another look and his stomach dry-heaved. He’d seen blood on the ice so often he didn’t understand why the sight of it here prompted such intense emotions.
Her lips were tinged with blue and puffy from the fight. Her forehead sported a knot the size of a golf ball. Without thinking, his hand slid over the side of her jaw. Tender.
Waiting for the EMTs was no longer an option. Cupping her cheeks with his hands, he leaned in and blew warmth across her face. He breathed again and again until her face began to lose the ghostly hue. Sirens.
Unable to look at her sprawled on the ground any longer, he pulled her gently into his arms and tugged her against him. He offered what little body warmth remained.
“Who are you?” Her one eyelid fluttered, opening for a moment. “Stay … with me?”
And then her face contorted. Her head slumped.
He brushed the hair off her forehead but only managed to paint it with blood. Ed gagged. “Y-you’re going to be all right. A little longer, you’ll be safe. No one’s going to hurt you again. I promise.”
Tough talk, but could he deliver?
#
Shrill screams split the night. Rochelle fought through frightening dimness. What was making all that noise? Demons from the bowels of hell.
Warmth skimmed her face.
Blinding pain rocked her head. But comforting arms surrounded her.
She struggled to stop her fingers from fidgeting. Voices and scuffling and confusion.
“Here! Over here.”
A man touched her face; these hands were gentle.
“Hurry up! She’s barely breathing.”
Grinding sounds. Her body taken from the warmth and lowered to the ground once more, ripped from the safe cocoon that sheltered her. “No. Don’t let him take me again! Please!”
“Calm down. We’re paramedics, miss.”
The sensation of her head and neck being strapped to a hard surface. Her body lifted, then groped. Completely confined. Where was that other guy? “Please, don’t leave me.”
“Don’t worry.” That soothing voice. “I’m not going anywhere.” Was he real? Or had an angel watched over her?
“Have you got her? Be careful. Watch her head! Don’t drop her!”
A mask covered her face. She twisted against the cold plastic, choking. Panic took over. In seconds her lungs burned with a rush of welcome air.
A stranger’s words. “You can’t go with her.”
“You gonna try and stop me?”
A man’s face pinched above a stethoscope. “It’s you. McGrath. You called us, right? Hey, man. You don’t look so good, yourself. Okay. Hop in.”
Who’s McGhanz?
Another voice. “Hey, man.”
The sound of doors scraped shut with a bang.
“Here’s her bag.” The angel’s face.
Screams again—sirens, much louder now. Pain splintered behind her forehead. She closed her eyes. More voices, strong and anxious.
“Not sure what happened. I found her next to this car. Some half-dressed guy running for his life. He’d better keep going if he knows what’s good for ’im.”
“Yeah, man. You’d fix his sor—”
“She’s gonna be all right, isn’t she?”
Forcing one eye back open a tiny bit, she caught a glimpse of a big man. Blood streaked across his face and T-shirt, and a dirty jacket stretched over broad shoulders.
The man with the stethoscope. “Did he—”
“No.” The big guy again. “I don’t think he had time. Most of her clothes were, you know, still half on. But he beat her pretty good.”
Another man grabbed her hand. She tried to jerk back, mentally kicking at the blanket and pulling the mask free. “Leave me alone!” Tears stung her cheeks, salty and painful. “Get this off me!”
“Miss, you’re in an ambulance. I’m a paramedic. You need that mask on.”
The other voice, warm and still soothing to her ears. “S’okay. You’re all right.” Compassionate blue eyes searched her face. Callused fingers stroked her forehead. She recognized this man. Not an angel. A man. With mussed brown hair.
Someone she’d seen before. How could that be?
A different face pushed in. “Gimme a second. Normal saline through a large-bore needle. Try a 16 gauge. Got it? We need a trauma center. St. John’s main. Let’s roll.”
“Just south of Nine Mile on Greater Mack. Past St. Paul’s. ETA’s six minutes … breathing on her own … no, in and out. Yeah, talkin’ for sure. Copy that.”
A few more questions as she did her best to nod a response.
The sound of an engine sputtered to full throttle. They were moving. A strange taste.
Incredible pain blistered behind her eyelids.
What? A steady beating rhythm sounded in her ears, throbbed over her eye.
Oh, why couldn’t she remember anything?
Blood smeared over the chin of the man with kind eyes. “Is someone hurt? Blood—”
Cursing, then another sharp sting.
“Sorry, man. You’ll have to move back. A couple two-by-twos and a strip of paper tape.�
�
The words sounded far away and remarkably calm as if she were listening to a medical drama. Her mind longed to shut down. She licked her lips, tasted metal. So thirsty. Her eyes refused to stay open, so she allowed the pain to have its way.
The light-headedness lasted long enough for her to begin to experience a sense of calm in spite of the pounding in her head. In no time, sirens blasted every direction, invading her peace.
“Please … make it stop. Take me home.”
To her warm bed. Turn up the heat. Cuddle under a quilt.
Oh, just take me to my home, please.
Her arm felt as if a monster had yanked the socket out.
“Okay, you can sit over here now.”
The man with the caring eyes and soothing voice sheltered her hands again, that same feeling of safety and comfort.
He brushed the hair from her eyes. “We’re almost there.”
He squeezed her hand tighter.
Words drifted in and out. Words she couldn’t understand and didn’t want to.
“They’re taking care of you. We’re just a few minutes from St. John’s.”
The back of her hand tingled. “C-cold.” Another warm blanket covered her. A different voice talking to the man. “There you go.” To her. “Just a couple more minutes.”
Her knuckles mashed together until they hurt, but she didn’t want him to let go.
“You’re gonna be okay.”
Of course. Why wouldn’t she be okay?
Heaviness washed her in waves of remembrance. The last thing she recalled … leaving the radio station. No, she had started across Greater Mack. Fell on the ice just before going up the stairwell. Someone had … followed her.
That smell. Sickening and sweet.
Little by little the fog lifted.
Snow falling lightly on her face. Her head … rammed against her car.
The monster’s eyes … green and cruel.
CHAPTER 10
IN ALL THE UPROAR Ed had forgotten to call Alicia. She’d have plenty to say. After all, she had hinted they were going to decorate her nine-foot Christmas tree. Said it might take all night.
He checked his cell for a text. Nothing. Oh, well, it was after eleven.
Fear Is Louder Than Words: Her stalker taught her fear. Her suspicions taught her terror. Page 3