“Goodnight, Jack.”
He shook his head as he closed the door. He didn’t know about good, but felt pretty sure it would be a long one.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE scream lodged in Caitlin’s throat as she sat up in bed, an echo of the nightmare which had been plaguing her all week. Hands on her body, touching her, pulling off her clothes. Shadow figures doing a silent, deadly dance around her bed. The faucets in her bathroom drip, drip, dripping blood.
She knew that her brain was just filling in the missing hours from the night that Harold Cox entered her home, and in the way of dreams, adding details that made little sense upon waking. Regardless, she had yet to get a decent night’s sleep, and the alcohol she’d consumed tonight hadn’t helped matters. She never slept well when she drank, which if she’d been thinking, she would have realized made it a poor decision. But she hadn’t been thinking, not clearly. Being alone with Jack on a personal basis had fogged her already overtaxed brain. And while she’d very much enjoyed their dinner – and the messing around that followed – she was paying for it now in the form of a dry mouth and a throbbing headache.
Caitlin pulled the sheet aside, swung her legs over the side of the bed. She kept a small bottle of pain reliever in her purse.
Except that it wasn’t in her purse. It hadn’t been there when she’d checked the contents at the police station – either because it had fallen out when she dropped her purse at the bar, or maybe the police had kept it to make sure it wasn’t a clever disguise for her crack supply.
Either way, the result was that she had nothing to take to ameliorate the headache. Which meant she wouldn’t sleep any more tonight. And it was only… she glanced at the clock, and in frustration grabbed her glasses off the nightstand so that she could see clearly.
One thirty-seven a.m. She’d been asleep for less than three hours.
Caitlin wondered if perhaps Connie had anything with her, and then remembered she was pregnant. Wasn’t it bad to take painkillers in early pregnancy? Caitlin couldn’t remember. And anyway, she didn’t want to wake up either Connie or her brother. They both needed their sleep. There was a small store in the lobby next to the front desk that carried travel necessities. And the front desk was staffed twenty-four hours. She’d just go down and buy some ibuprofen.
Except that meant leaving the room alone. And while not exactly along the lines of walking down into the darkened basement after hearing a strange noise, Caitlin didn’t think that was the best idea.
And she hated that she thought that. Hated that the situation had made her so paranoid that she was worried about leaving her hotel room, for God’s sake. Jack had arranged for them to check in under a different name. They hadn’t used any of their own credit cards – not that she thought Lydia was some sort of hacker, anyway. They had to be reasonably safe.
She would take her cell phone and her pepper spray key chain just in case.
Caitlin pulled on some yoga pants to go with the T-shirt she slept in, and bundled her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. Then she slipped on some flip-flops, as her sneakers tended to rub against the stitches in her heel. Grabbing her room key, cell phone and key chain, she approached the door leading from her bedroom into the hallway.
The peephole didn’t show any crazy wives of ex-boyfriends lurking outside her door – or anyone, for that matter – and so Caitlin undid the security latch and eased into the hall. She looked both ways before she allowed the door to close behind her, just to be safe.
All clear.
She started toward the elevator, and then had a mental picture of someone boarding on a lower floor, and then waiting for the doors to close before attacking. She’d be trapped.
The stairs weren’t an ideal choice either, but short of sprouting wings and flying out the third floor window, they were the only option left. And at least she could hear someone approaching, and have a chance to run.
Caitlin rolled her eyes. She really was becoming paranoid. But then again, better paranoid then dead.
She considered what she’d learned from Jack as she headed toward the stairwell, regarding Darius Presley’s death. Her already dry throat constricted. Poor Darius. He was such a warm, funny, intensely loyal and dedicated man, and he’d been enjoying the hell out of his well-earned retirement. Aside from his wife and daughter and their two grandkids, fishing was his life. She hoped – hoped – that it had merely been an accident. A slip on a wet rock. A tragic, but in no way nefarious, misstep.
The idea that her friend may have been killed because of something related to her was simply too much for her heart to deal with right now. So she refused to believe it. Not until she had some sort of incontrovertible proof. And it wasn’t like Darius would have been an easy target. He’d grown up in a tough inner city neighborhood in Atlanta, and later patrolled those same streets. He was nobody’s patsy.
But he also wouldn’t have been so guarded at the lake, which was his retreat. And he would have greeted another fisherman easily enough, ready to commiserate if nothing was biting and share tales of the one that got away.
Because her writer’s brain could so easily picture it happening in just that way, just that easily, Caitlin’s heart beat faster as she descended the stairs. Her footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell and seemed to magnify that internal cadence, until she felt like she was trapped in some sort of torture chamber, being pounded from inside and out. She knew she was simply panicking, but couldn’t seem to bring herself back under control. Her flight response kicked in, and Caitlin took the final stairs at a nearly breakneck speed.
Emerging into the well-lit, tastefully decorated and empty ground floor hallway, Caitlin took a moment to lean against the wall and try to regulate her breathing. If she wasn’t careful she would have another asthma attack. And it was ridiculous, considering she wasn’t in any kind of danger. Not this time. But logic was no defense against her nervous system, which had been severely tried this week.
She forced herself to close her eyes for several seconds, to clear her head. She still wasn’t having total success with meditation, but it did help slow her heart rate. Feeling slightly steadier – and decidedly foolish – Caitlin started heading toward the lobby. Her legs were rubbery and her damn ankle throbbed again, but she put effort into walking normally. She desperately wanted normal. Her mostly boring little introvert existence suddenly seemed ideal by comparison.
When she reached the lobby, she was surprised to find several people there besides the desk clerk. But then she realized that this was Savannah during tourist season. Most of the bars were still open, and people were still milling around River Street. This was a popular hotel. So it made sense that there would be people coming and going.
Safety in numbers. That made her think of Jack, which made her smile. Strange that a man she’d disliked so thoroughly upon first impression would become a source of both comfort and… arousal. Because she’d undeniably been aroused this evening, had found herself almost disappointed when he decided to leave.
But then survival situations, like politics, sometimes made for strange bedfellows. Not that they were stranded on a desert island together or anything, but the circumstances were certainly fraught with tension. And given the fact that she’d almost been run over – not to mention escaped whatever Harold Cox had had in store for her – did make the situation one of literal survival for her.
She thought about what Jack said. That she was a survivor, not a victim. And with that echoing through her head, she tucked the pepper spray in the elastic of her yoga pants and entered the little store area. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she scanned the shelf of medications until she found what she wanted. Grabbing the absurdly overpriced bottle, she approached the desk. The male clerk looked up and smiled.
“Will that be all for you?”
“Yes. And I just realized that I forgot to bring cash with me. Is it possible to charge it to the room?”
“Sure. Your name?”
&n
bsp; She started to say “Cavanaugh” and then remembered that they’d checked in under a different name. After glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening – that paranoia again – Caitlin told him.
“All taken care of,” he told her.
“Thanks so much.”
“No problem. You have a nice night, ma’am.”
Feeling marginally better even though her head was still pounding, Caitlin started toward the stairs. But as she approached the elevator, she saw two middle aged women waiting to board. They were laughing about something that must have happened earlier, and had clearly been drinking. In the way of many drunken females, they greeted her enthusiastically, one of them saying she would sell her firstborn to have hair Caitlin’s color, and asked her if it was natural. Aside from their amplified volume and its effect on her head, they appeared harmless.
Safety in numbers.
Caitlin took the elevator instead.
“What floor, sugar plum?” the one closest to the control panel said.
“Three, please.”
“We’re on five.”
“Cause we like to be on top.”
That struck them both as absolutely hilarious, and Caitlin smiled despite her headache. She had a feeling that would be her and Connie in about fifteen years.
Bidding the ladies goodnight when the elevator stopped on the third floor, Caitlin stepped out and glanced around. Everything looked clear. Then she saw the vending area off to the right, and realized that she wanted something to drink really badly. There was tap water of course in the room, but she craved something with some electrolytes, like Gatorade.
Ducking her head in to the alcove to make sure that was one of the choices, she realized she would have to go back to her room and get some money. Which was fine. It wasn’t that far away. And she’d made it down to the lobby and back without incident. Coming back out to get a damn Gatorade wouldn’t hurt her.
The fact that she had to give herself a pep talk just to carry out a normal task began to piss her off. She’d talked to a woman who’d been stalked for several years as research for one of her novels, and she’d experienced her own taste of it with Lydia previously, so she knew this wasn’t unusual. The feeling of being confined by walls erected by someone else. But even though she understood it, that didn’t mean she wanted to tolerate it. There was a fine line between being cautious, and allowing unreasonable fear to take over.
She’d already given up her home city. She didn’t want to give up her sense of autonomy as well.
Fueled by a sense of rebellion, Caitlin walked quickly toward her room. She sat the pain reliever down on the bathroom counter, and then grabbed a couple dollars from the emergency supply in her computer bag. Keeping her phone in one hand and the room key and the money in the other, since cell phones and room keys were mortal enemies, Caitlin went back to the vending area.
The door, which had been propped open with a stopper minutes ago, was closed.
Caitlin froze. And okay. That didn’t mean anything nefarious was afoot. Someone probably came out to get ice or something and bumped the door. No big deal. No reason to let the unreasoning fear win.
But her pulse quickened as she edged closer, peeked in the window before determining that the room was empty. And there were indeed a couple of ice cubes on the floor, slowly melting.
All of it was totally normal.
Pushing open the door, Caitlin propped it again with the stopper. Then she sat her phone on the ledge of the ice maker before she inserted a couple dollar bills into the vending machine, made her selection.
As the mechanical arm of the machine retrieved the bottle and pushed it toward the opening, Caitlin heard the elevator door ding. She froze again, every muscle in her body tensing.
But then she heard voices, several of them, moving away. Caitlin closed her eyes to once more calm her breathing before reaching down to pick up the Gatorade. Shaking her head at her own ridiculousness, she untwisted the cap, taking a drink from the bottle. She’d purchased a pain reliever with a sleep agent, and she really couldn’t wait to take it and go back to bed. She obviously wasn’t firing on all cylinders.
When she turned around, he was standing in the doorway.
Caitlin yelped, dropping the bottle. Red liquid started running like a river across the tiles.
“Oh my goodness.” She put her hand against her racing heart. “You scared me.”
“Sorry about that.” He smiled. “Guess I made you spill your drink.”
“My fault.” Caitlin looked at it, tried not to see the blood which had pooled on her bedroom floor. “Just clumsy.”
“You want another one?”
She didn’t have any more money. And more than that, she didn’t like being trapped in this little room, the exit blocked by his presence. He looked pretty normal. Not like a thug or a deranged person. His hazel eyes were a bit glassy, which suggested he’d either been drinking or drugging or some combination of the two this evening. Which wasn’t unusual. The windbreaker was an odd choice, given the heat, but he may have just come in off the water.
And she still didn’t trust the situation.
“Uh, I’ll have to go get some more money. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Oh yeah. Sorry. Let me get out of your way.”
He moved aside, and Caitlin started to edge past him, until she remembered her phone sitting on the ice machine. She turned around to grab it.
Although one part of her must have been expecting it, the weight of his body hitting hers still created a moment of shock. Of utter disbelief. But then Caitlin pitched forward, knocking her forehead on the machine and causing grey dots to explode at the sides of her field of vision, assuring her this was very real. Her glasses fell off, clattering to the floor, as did her cell phone. The man yanked her hair, clamping a hand over her mouth before she cold scream.
“Sorry,” he said against her ear. “It’s not personal.”
Acting purely on instinct, Caitlin reached into the waistband of her pants and pulled out the pepper spray. Aiming blindly, she shot it over her shoulder, eliciting a feral scream from her assailant.
“Bitch! You bitch!”
Both hands pressed to his eyes, he dropped the knife and stumbled backward. Having released the spray so close to her own face, Caitlin started to cough, her eyes watering mercilessly. But she didn’t waste the opportunity she’d created. She ran, albeit blindly, toward the door, her throat starting to swell as she went. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. And smacked into the door as a consequence.
Reeling backward, Caitlin tried to correct her path, but a hand closed around her ankle. The man kept repeating “Bitch, bitch” like a mantra.
“Kill you now for free,” he said, and Caitlin kicked backwards with all her strength. He screamed again, suggesting that she’d struck him somewhere painful. Good. Crawling on all fours, Caitlin moved as quickly as possible, sobs trapped in her ever-constricting airway. When she was far enough away, she pushed herself to her feet and started running. Because she couldn’t scream loudly enough for anyone to hear her, she started banging on the wall, the doors, anything she could reach to bring attention to what was happening.
She didn’t think she’d be able to fight him off by herself any longer.
A roar of rage sounded behind her, close behind her, and Caitlin moved faster, no longer bothering with knocking on doors. She couldn’t tell which room was hers or Lance’s anyway, could only vaguely see the exit sign for the stairwell. And didn’t trust herself to make it down them even if she got there.
Her heart felt ready to burst, her lungs like a beached whale.
He was going to catch her. He was going to catch her, and she was going to die.
A door opened to her left, and Caitlin vaguely made out a tall shape as she ran past. A man, bare chested. But before she could throw herself at him, beg him to help her, a shot rang out.
Caitlin fell to the ground, her legs crumpling beneath her. The sou
nd of the gun being discharged reverberated in her ears, and she shook her head to clear it. She wondered when she would start to feel the pain. There would have to be pain.
Except there wasn’t. There was, however, a great deal of screaming taking place behind her, and the sound of a door farther down the hallway opening.
And Jack’s voice.
“You move one muscle, motherfucker, and I will shoot you someplace a lot more vital.”
“You shot me!”
“I think we already established that. Call nine-one-one,” he said to someone else, “tell them to inform the responding officers that an officer of the court discharged his weapon to stop an assault in progress. The perpetrator is injured in the right shoulder area, but alive, and being detained by said officer. You got all that?”
“Yeah,” a male voice said.
“Caitlin? Shit.”
Jack’s worried face appeared in her field of vision. “Did he hurt you?”
Caitlin lifted a shaking hand, made a gesture in front of her face, just as another door further down the hall opened.
“Caitlin!”
And then her brother’s face was there beside Jack’s. “Jesus. Jesus.” His voice shook. “What the hell happened? She needs her inhaler. Connie!” he turned around to look behind him. “Grab Caitlin’s inhaler from her room. Don’t pass out,” he said when he looked back at her. “Help’s on the way. If you don’t stop bellowing,” he said in a louder voice, directed at the man who’d attacked her, “I’m going to shoot you myself.”
“Cops are on their way,” someone said, as even more doors opened, and another person said something about talking to the hotel manager.
“Is she okay? Did he hurt her?”
“He’s bleeding all over the place. Should we get some towels?”
“Oh my God. Is that a knife?”
Jack’s face appeared right above hers, angry but resolute. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
“Move over. I’ve got her inhaler.”
And then a slightly fuzzy version of Connie was there, guiding Caitlin’s hand to her inhaler as she positioned it over her mouth. Their eyes met as she discharged the medicine that would open her airway. Connie’s held the hollow look of shock.
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 81