Be Afraid

by Mary Burton

  But it wasn’t over.

  Philip had called her cell seconds after five that same day. Guilt had prompted her to take that first call as she’d sat in the shabby motel room, surrounded by her life in trash bags. He’d begged her to return. I love you. I love you. It will never happen again.

  Of course, he was sorry. He was always sorry.

  He’d sent flowers. Called. Waited outside her office. No matter where she looked, he was there. Come back to me. God, I love you so much.

  Floorboards creaked in her closet, and she bolted back up, clutching her hand to her throat, the pulse drumming under her fingertips. This time, logic couldn’t silence the alarm bells, which clanged louder and louder until reason scurried away like a frightened mouse. The last time she’d seen Philip, he’d been clutching the restraining order, furious. No piece of paper will separate us!

  Her fingers poised over the 9-1-1 direct-dial button, her gaze scanned the darkness. At first glance, nothing was out of place. Her door was closed. Locked.

  And then, the faint flutter of movement in the shadows inside her closet. Another cold breeze from a half-open window brushed her skin like a wraith.

  “Hello, Leah.” Philip’s deep voice sounded amused as he stepped out of her closet.

  Philip! How had he gotten into her room? Mentally, she ran from lock to lock in the apartment, checking.

  He clicked on the overhead light, making her wince at the burst of brightness. He was tall, wearing a dark turtleneck, jeans, and boots, and his broad shoulders ate up the tiny space of her room. He stared at her, his long fingers clenching and unclenching at his side. Attached to his waistband was the brown leather holster that cradled a six-inch knife blade. The blade was inches from his right hand.

  “Philip.”

  “Leah.” His voice lacked concern or fear as it always did when he came to a decision.

  Without taking her gaze from him, she hit 9-1-1. A distant, “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” echoed out from the phone.

  “My husband’s going to kill me,” Leah said. “I live at 112 Main Street, Apartment Two. Treemont Apartments.” How many times had she practiced this line, imagining this moment over and over?

  “Ma’am, repeat what you just said.” The operator’s voice was clean, crisp, and so blissfully free of fear.

  Leah’s hand trembled so badly she thought she’d drop the phone. “He’s found me. He’s in my room.”

  “Who’s found you, ma’am?”

  Philip arched a brow, unconcerned, as he rested his hand on the hilt of the knife.

  “My husband. Philip Latimer. He’s going to kill me.” How long would it take for the cops to arrive? Five minutes? Ten? And how long would it take for him to cross the room and stab her? Seconds.

  “How do you know he’ll kill you?” The operator’s voice was flat, emotionless.

  “He’s in my bedroom. He has a knife.”

  Philip knew exactly how long it took the cops to respond. He was a cop. Saving people like her was his job.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Leah Carson. Leah Latimer.” She rattled off her address again, fearing she’d be dead before they arrived.

  “I’ll send a car,” the operator said. “Stay on the line.”

  The words were cold comfort. Philip had broken the protective order. He didn’t care about an arrest. He’d crossed an invisible line, knowing his was a one-way trip. His only goal now was to kill her.

  Tears filled Leah’s eyes as he slid the knife from its holster, the cold metal catching and glinting in the moonlight.

  He moved toward the bed, slowly and unhurried. He’d slicked back his thick, blond hair away from his angled face, now hardened with purpose. Once, she’d considered his face handsome. Once, she’d looked into those vivid blue eyes and seen love. Once, he’d made her feel protected.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His deep voice was smooth, silky as if they’d bumped into each other on a street corner on a sunny afternoon. He smelled of fresh, cold night air and whiskey.

  During their marriage, she’d learned to fear him most when he wasn’t ranting or raving, but when he was cool and controlled. “Philip, what do you want?”

  “I’ve been telling you for weeks. But you won’t listen. I want you back home with me.”

  With deliberate slowness, she pulled her covers over her T-shirt that strained the outline of her breasts. “Philip. How’d you get in here?”

  Keep him talking. Buy time. How much time did she need? She’d timed the route once or twice. Without traffic, it took ten minutes.

  Those long, calloused fingers slid up the blade to the tip. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Philip, you shouldn’t be here.” The evenness in her voice belied her fingers tightening into a white-knuckle grip on the comforter.

  His thumb circled the knife’s hilt. “Why not? You’re my wife. And this is our wedding anniversary.”

  Twelve months ago today, they’d exchanged vows. “You need to leave.”

  “And if I don’t? What’re you going to do?”

  “The cops are coming.”

  He traced the knife blade’s tip over the comforter, snagging ice-blue fabric. “I don’t care.”

  “Philip. Just go. Get away while you can.”

  He raised the blade to his thumb and pricked the edge. Crimson blood bloomed, dripped before he raised his thumb to his mouth and sucked the blood dry. “You were so pretty on our wedding day. Such a beautiful white dress. You carried those pretty purple flowers. What were they called? Irises?”

  “Just leave me alone, Philip. Go away. I don’t want to see you arrested. It will ruin your career.” Her pulse thrummed against the soft skin of her neck.

  “Until death do us part, Leah. I promised. You promised.”

  Keep talking. “You love your job. You’re a good cop. Respected.”

  “Without you, it doesn’t mean much. You’re mine, Leah. We’re two halves of a whole. Restraining orders and cops can’t keep us apart.”

  Chin raised, tears pooled, spilled. Buy time. Buy time! False promises of love and devotion danced on her tongue and readied for declaration when the truth stubbornly elbowed past. “We’re over, Philip. I’m not coming back to you.”

  He traced his hand over her leg, rough callouses on smooth white skin. Skin prickled, she flinched and rolled her leg away. Gaze darkening, he clenched the blankets in his large hand. An onyx pinky ring marked with the letter L winked in the moonlight before he yanked the covering off the bed. She was left half naked, wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt. Cold air skimmed her naked legs. Gooseflesh puckered.

  “Philip, please—”

  For a moment, he sat as still as a statue, his terrible beauty etched in calm repose. And then, like a rattler riled, he struck, moving with lightning speed. He climbed on top of her, the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against her bare waist. He pressed the knife blade to her throat.

  Their gazes locked, as he smoothed the steel tip over her chest to her flat belly. She flinched. Braced.

  “Philip, don’t. Please.”

  This close, his eyes red-rimmed as if he’d been crying, bore into her. “I’ll never let you go. You belong to me. I love you.” His body hummed with need. Need to own her. Need to possess her. Need to hear her words of love.

  More tears spilled down the sides of her face. He controlled so much in this moment. Life or death rested in his palms. All she controlled were her words. The truth. If she died tonight, Philip would know her heart. “I don’t love you.”

  He flinched as if he’d been slapped. “You’ve been brainwashed. Your mother and your friends filled you with lies. Poisoned you against me.”

  “I don’t love you.” Defiance pricked as sharp as the knife’s tip. “You don’t own me.”

  Pain deepened the lines of his face, even as his teeth bared into a snarl. He lowered his lips to her ear. Warm breath against her skin raked over her nerves.

  “I love
you,” he whispered. “I love you. Why can’t you understand that?”

  Out of habit, not love, she raised her hand to his muscled arm, her touch gentle as if soothing a beast. “Philip, this isn’t love.”

  He burrowed his face in the crook of her neck. Hot breath brushed the nape of her neck as his hand fisted her blond hair in his hand. “It’s love. It is.”

  “No, Philip.” A lie crept from the shadows. “You deserve better.”

  A fist pounded on the apartment’s front door. “Ms. Carson! Ms. Carson! This is the police!”

  The officer’s voice cut through the door and relief collided with tension. The cops!

  He flinched. “Shh. It’s just us, the way it’s supposed to be.”

  Her fingers hardened into a grip. “Help me! Please save me.”

  Philip rose up, eyed her, disappointment mingling with anger. “Carson. You told the operator your name was Carson. You took your maiden name back.”

  The anger-coated words stoked a flicker of guilt. His temper, his abuse was not her fault but even after all the pain, he could so easily press the button that triggered guilt. Her weakness shamed her. “The cops are here. Go! Run while you can, Philip. Leave through the window. Just go! You don’t want to go to jail.”

  He pressed the knife’s tip to the hollow of her neck. “That would suit you just fine.”

  “I don’t want to see you in jail.” She prayed the directness in her gaze covered the lie. “You don’t deserve jail. You need a doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor. I need you!”

  “Ms. Carson!” the officer shouted. “Are you in there?”

  Nothing would sway Philip. Nothing. “Yes!” she screamed. Philip winced and pressed the tip of the knife to her

  neck. The tip scraped skin and drew blood.

  How much longer before the cop got into her apartment? How long to slice skin? Seconds?

  Blood flickered along the narrow column of her neck and dripped on her hair. “Please.”

  “We’re meant to be together.” Desperation tinged the anger.

  “Just leave. While you can.”

  He dragged the tip of the knife over her belly, etching a red scratch along her pale midline.

  Fear contorted her gut as keys rattled in the front door. Had the cops gotten the apartment manager’s master key? Hurry! A door opened and caught on the security chain. The balance of her life depended on seconds.

  Philip mopped up the blood trickling from her neck with his forefinger and smeared it across his forehead. “We live and die together.”

  He raised the knife and plunged it into her gut. At first, shock and then agony sliced and burned through her insides as she stared into blue eyes that danced with satisfaction. He pulled the knife back and drove it down toward her neck. It skidded over her collarbone, before he sliced her cheek and her arms.

  Cops pounded on the door. “Ms. Carson!”

  Screaming, she grabbed the blade. The edge cut her palms. Blood gushed from her hands as he pulled the blade free and raised it again. She lost count of how many times he stabbed her before he rose breathless and stood over her. He stared a long moment at the blood blooming on the bedsheets. His eyes filled with fresh tears. “What have I done? God, I’m sorry.”

  In the next instant, he vanished through the window, leaving her alone and bleeding. Stunned by pain, she lay still, feeling the warm blood pool around her body.

  A scream caught in her throat as her hands went to her belly, now crimson and wet. The front door banged open and then the bedroom door. The silhouette of the cop appeared in the doorframe. “Leah Carson?”

  The cop’s gaze settled on the blood pooling around Leah and then swept the room for threats. When he determined the room was clear, he holstered his gun and pushed a button attached to the mike on his vest. “I need an ambulance . . .”

  His deep voice drifted away as her insides burned and her heart pumped hard. She lay as still as possible, fearing Philip had severed an artery.

  Her mind drifted to a sandy beach where the breeze was gentle, the sky a bright blue, and the sun warm.

  “Ms. Carson, can you hear me?” Desperation edged the words. “Open your eyes.”

  She looked up and saw the blurred face of an officer with dark, graying hair. Kind, worried eyes.

  “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who did this to you?”

  Air hissed from a slice in her chest as she gasped in a breath. “My husband. Philip Latimer.”

  The room chilled quickly. A shiver passed through her body, and she imagined her spirit leaving, drifting above, looking down at the pale lifeless body that had been her.

  Her eyes closing, her mind traveled to a warm beach, where the sky winked crystal clear and the waves lapped against fine sand. A seagull squawked. A gentle breeze. So far away from the pain, Philip, and Death.

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2015 by Mary Burton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra Books and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-3213-7

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-3213-X

  First Electronic Edition: May 2015

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3214-4

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-3214-8