Hidden in the Dark (Harper Flagg Book 1)

by Alyson Larrabee

  The killer limped over to his bed and collapsed on top of the quilt, wincing and crying out with each small movement. He no longer chuckled to himself or dreamed of a life lived happily ever after by Harper’s side. Fury and pain roared through him. As soon as Gabriel got his strength back, and the bruise on his face had faded, he’d try again. He’d lay low for three weeks at the most. Then it would be time for plan B. He vowed not to give up until he had her.

  Not yet, though. Right now he needed to recoup, and he could sure use some pain meds. Thanks to an ex-girlfriend, he knew exactly where to get them, too.

  Waiting until the darkest hour of the night, he drove over to the beautiful young doctor’s house, used his key, and snuck in. He knew he was safe because she’d either be working the nightshift at the hospital or lost to the world in a drug-induced sleep. She had a good supply of prescription painkillers and sleeping medications stashed all over the place because she had a hard-core problem with insomnia. And she’d developed a hard-core substance-abuse problem as a result. He had kept the key to her place after they broke up.

  He crept into her bedroom and then stood for a second, gazing down at her tangled hair and open, drooling mouth. Dr. Shannon Rose wasn’t looking too fine right now. Fortunately for Gabriel, she was always dead to the world as soon as her head hit the pillow, thanks to the combination of drugs she took to help her fall asleep and then stay asleep. The killer laughed but winced when his ribcage expanded. Carefully, he searched her house and helped himself to everything he found in the medicine cabinet and bedside table: tablets, vials of liquid, and syringes. Then he crept back into the night, confident the good doctor wouldn’t be reporting the break-in, for obvious reasons. She’d lose her license to practice medicine if anyone found out that Shannon’s home was better stocked than the local pharmacy.

  Chapter 18

  Harper

  Bait

  I open my eyes, struggle to my feet, and try to chase after him but can’t stay upright. Slumping down onto my hands and knees in the dirt, I start retching and can’t stop. I need to get a better look at him, but my stomach’s heaving, and the earth’s tilting sideways. I’m gonna roll off into outer space if the ground doesn’t stop moving. The sickly sweet smell of that stuff from the cloth clings to the insides of my nostrils and clogs my throat. It smells and tastes like super-thick honey mixed with bleach. I retch again. Despite my efforts to wipe it off, some of it’s still smeared all over the skin around my nose and mouth. I gag again and spit into the dirt. Somewhere in the distance a car engine starts up, and I try to yell, he’s getting away. But nothing comes out.

  Then my teammates are on me. Everyone’s shouting. Someone screams. I open my eyes as wide as I can and try to stand. Then my world sinks down into a bottomless well of darkness.

  When I come to, I’m lying on a stretcher. I prop myself up on one elbow and croak, “He got away.”

  “Stay quiet, Harper. Your dad will be here soon.” Recognizing the EMT’s face, I search my foggy brain for his name. His daughter’s a runner, too. And he comes to all the meets.

  He warns, “We’re going to push the stretcher down the path and across the field, to the parking lot. You need to lie down so we can strap you on and you won’t fall off. You might pass out again.”

  “Mr.?” I can’t think. I can’t remember his name. But I’ve known his daughter since we were little girls. “Sophia. You’re Sophia’s father.”

  “Yes, and we’re going to take good care of you, Harper. Lie back and rest.”

  Then it comes to me. “Snow. Mr. Snow. Where’s Sophia?”

  “She’s over there with the rest of the track team. The police are questioning them.”

  “What happened?” Another EMT eases me gently backward. When I’m lying down, he lifts the straps on the stretcher to secure me. My mind skips backward, and two strong arms imprison me. The cloth is on my face again, and I can’t breathe. I try to break free from my attacker, but I can’t move my arms. Finally, I gulp in some air and scream as loud as I can.

  A bunch of strange, distorted faces swirl around me like water right before it gets sucked down a drain.

  “Harper, honey. It’s okay. You’re safe.” My dad’s voice. Sweet and soft. I close my eyes for a second. Just to rest. When I open them again, Dad and I are in the back of an ambulance, speeding toward our destination, with the siren whooping.

  At the hospital, everyone moves so fast, it’s confusing. I can’t think. I’m nauseous. Their faces and voices merge together, and I feel like I’m spinning faster than the earth. I lean over the side of the bed, retch, heave, and vomit onto the floor. Two strong, but gentle arms hold me. When I’m finished throwing up, they help me lie back down. Soothing hands wipe my face with a soft, damp cloth, but this cloth isn’t poisoned. No one’s trying to kill me. To steal my life. I grab the cloth out of the kind hands, press it to my face, curl up on my side, and sob into the clean, cool fabric.

  My dad’s voice again. “It’s okay, Harper. We’re in the hospital. He can’t come near you here. You’re safe.”

  “I’m not afraid. I’m pissed that I didn’t beat the shit out of him.” More tears of frustration soak the washcloth clenched in my fists. “I want him to come after me again. I won’t screw up this time. I’ll pound him until he’s unconscious. I’ll trample his disgusting carcass into the ground and spit on his corpse.”

  Dad laughs. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I sit up, but my head kills, and the room starts swaying again, so I lie back down. A nurse adjusts the bed so I’m propped up but my head’s supported. The dizziness fades, and the nurse tells me, “Don’t try to raise your head, Harper.” Evidently, no one’s in the mood to clean up any more of my puke.

  “He used chloroform on you. You didn’t breathe in too much of it, though. You stayed conscious long enough to fight him off, so he failed. He didn’t get you, honey.” Dad touches my forehead with his cool hand.

  “I knew not to breathe. When the cloth started suffocating me, I held my breath.”

  “What else happened, Harper?” Dad’s voice grows more official as he switches into detective mode.

  “It seemed like a normal track practice. I don’t remember anything unusual. First we stretched and did some core. Next we went once around the track. And then into the woods. It was such a beautiful afternoon. My feet were flying, and I couldn’t feel the path beneath them. It felt amazing.”

  “So you ditched the other girls right away.”

  “Not on purpose. I wasn’t thinking. I was just running. It’s hard to describe. Sometimes when I’m running, my body disappears. I don’t feel anything but the speed.”

  “It’s called the runner’s high. I know, baby. I’ve felt it.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about the danger of being alone. It’s such a small stretch of woods that I never even thought to feel afraid. And I didn’t realize the others were so far behind me.”

  “And then?” Dad prompts.

  “Then fast, out of nowhere, his arms clamped around me. They felt like they were made of iron. I couldn’t move.”

  “So he’s in good shape.”

  “Yes. Rock-hard muscles. Like you, Dad, only I don’t think he’s as tall.”

  “Okay, what else?”

  “I think he moved one arm so he could shove the cloth tight against my face. I felt his hold on me loosen, and then the cloth smothered me. He told me to breathe, but I knew not to. As hard as I could, I kicked down on his foot, and his grip slackened just enough for me to slam an elbow into his gut. He let go. Then I jumped back and kicked him. High. I might’ve caught him on the side of his face.”

  “Good girl.”

  “I wanted to chase after him and finish him off, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t.”

  “It’s okay. It was the chloroform. Not your fault at all. Thank god you didn’t breathe in too much. You fought him off. Good work, honey.”

  “He tried to grab me again, but h
e was hurt. Even though my vision was foggy, I could see that he was holding on to the left side of his face.”

  “Awesome. I’m so proud of you.”

  Then Dad moves onto the edge of my hospital bed and hugs me even though I must smell disgusting from all the vomit.

  “Dad, can we go home now?”

  “First they have to make sure you’re okay. Chloroform’s evil stuff. But you already seem way better. You’re so strong.” He keeps his arms around me and squeezes me again.

  “I want a Coke. I’m thirsty and I want to go home.”

  “We’ll be able to leave soon, baby. Grams is already in the kitchen cooking up enough food for a small village. As soon as you feel well enough, I’m putting you and your grandma on a plane to North Carolina. You can both stay with her sister.”

  “Oh no. I’m staying here. I need to finish what I started. Next time the killer will be too dead to escape.”

  “You’re going to leave this job for the professionals, Harper.”

  The fog in my brain has cleared completely, and I’m as sharp as ever now. “Dad. No one’s gotten a good look at him. No one knows who he is yet. He’s resourceful and smart. He could figure out where we are, get on a plane, and find us. I’m safer here with you than I would be in North Carolina with two old ladies fussing over me. We can’t put Grams and Aunt Millie in danger.”

  “Damn! You’ve got a point.”

  “He’s not an idiot. He’s evil, but he’s not stupid. He’s smart and he’s determined. He probably already has Grams on his radar. If I disappear along with her, he’ll put two and two together and be in North Carolina in no time.”

  “He’ll be more determined than ever now that you’ve injured him.”

  “His ego must be hurt, and he’ll be more dangerous because of it.”

  “How did you get so smart?”

  “It’s hereditary.”

  Dad’s still sitting on the edge of my bed, and he hugs me again and says, “Shane’s fine, but the killer attacked him, too, earlier today.”

  “What happened? Where is he? Here in the hospital?”

  “No, back at our house resting.”

  “Is he hurt?”

  “Just a few stitches. The Bad Guy jumped out of the woods and cut Shane’s arm.”

  “How many stitches?”

  “Only about twenty . . . or so.”

  “Only! That’s a shit-ton of stitches!”

  “Yeah. His wound’s long and deep, but the doctors think that the damaged muscle will heal completely. They gave him some painkillers, and he’s asleep in the guestroom right now. The more he rests, the faster he’ll heal. His dad’s with him.”

  A nurse walks into the room with a can of Coke and hands it to me. I tilt my head up a few inches and drink. The soda’s icy cold and feels amazingly good going down.

  “Sip it slowly, honey,” the nurse warns.

  I feel like chugging it but don’t want to vomit again. Plus, I need to leave the hospital as soon as possible, so I follow her advice and take two little sips then sit back. After a few seconds, I tip my head forward and drink again. The cold, sweet bubbles do their job, and my nausea finally disappears after half the can is gone.

  “Feel better?”

  “Yes, Dad. Let’s go.” I sit up straight and swing my feet down off the bed before anyone can stop me. Miraculously I don’t even feel dizzy. I don’t fall back down and I don’t vomit again, so I try to stand up.

  “Take it easy, cowboy.” Dad jumps up and puts his arm around me. Instead of making me lie back down, though, he supports me so I can stand up and try taking some steps.

  “Woo hoo! Let go, Dad. I’m gonna take a few fast laps around the hallway.” I nudge his arm away from my waist.

  He laughs. “You might have to settle for a wheelchair ride down to the front door while I swing my car around to pick you up. Then we can go home. I know trying to keep you down is hopeless. You’re more stubborn than I am, and it’s my own fault.”

  A half hour later, Dad and I are driving through the night together, heading home, so I can see how Shane’s doing. And we can start working on a new plan to trap the killer.

  I’ve proven myself now. I stood up to a murderer, wounded him, and survived. Obviously I need to be part of the plan. We can save lives if we act fast enough. I’m ready to be the bait. I’m the bait anyway, whether Dad wants me to be or not. I might as well take charge and dangle myself in front of my mother’s killer under controlled circumstances. And I’ll be the one who’s doing all the controlling, not him. I might need a little assistance from the police and the FBI, but not much.

  Chapter 19

  Harper

  After the Attack

  When we arrive home from the hospital, Dad walks me into the house but leaves for the station right away. He doesn’t even eat first. Grams and I sit down at the table so we can worry about him together. He should’ve stayed and had dinner. If I’m starving, he must be, too.

  Grams doesn’t stay sitting down for long, though. Soon she’s puttering around the kitchen while I eat. After finishing off one moderate-size plateful of roast stuffed chicken and mashed potatoes, I lick the fork clean and stop. I’m tempted to devour heaps of the delicious food, but I don’t want to feel nauseated again. There will be plenty of leftovers. Grams roasted and stuffed three large chickens altogether. There’s enough food to feed half the population of Eastfield.

  The best Grandma ever is in the middle of constructing a chocolate cream pie right now, one of my favorites. In a few hours, she’ll be heading off to her sister’s in North Carolina with an armed state trooper as an escort. He’ll stand guard outside her house while she packs her suitcases, then drive her to the airport. While she’s away, I’m gonna miss more than her food.

  After I finish, I push my chair away from the table and try to stand up, but Grams hugs me so hard she knocks me back down. “Hey, take it easy.”

  She backs off, and I manage to stand up all the way this time and kiss her sweet old cheek before I head off to the shower.

  In the living room, Shane’s dad’s snoring away on the couch. When I stop and throw a light blanket over him, he doesn’t even stir. Upstairs in the guestroom, Shane’s sleeping, too. I stand in the doorway and watch him sleep for a few seconds before heading for the bathroom so I can wash away the touch of the man who murdered my mother.

  In the shower I think about Shane, sleeping so soundly, only a few feet away. If he’s not too zonked out on painkillers, I’m going to wake him up so we can talk about everything that happened today.

  First I blow-dry my hair and then slip into a gray tank top and a pair of soft cotton pajama pants with pandas on them: Kung Fu Pandas. I’ve had them since sixth grade, so they’re a little short, but I refuse to throw them out because they’re so comfortable. I enter the guestroom barefoot, on tiptoes. Shane doesn’t wake up until I sit down on the edge of the bed.

  His crazy pale eyelashes flutter a few times before he finally opens his eyes and stares at me wild-eyed. Then he reaches out, circles my right arm with one big hand, pulls me down, and tucks me in beside him on the bed.

  “If this is a dream, don’t wake me up.” Shane murmurs, right before he lowers his mouth onto mine and kisses me. He’s really warm from being asleep under the covers, and I cozy up against him. His right hand starts rubbing slow circles on my lower back, and a sweet, melting feeling starts in my stomach and spreads fast, radiating down through my legs and curling up my toes. I wrap both arms around his neck and press my body even closer to his. He stops kissing me for a second and whispers against my lips. “Harps, I’m so glad we decided to do this before I die.”

  “I’m glad, too.”

  The sound of my voice seems to wake him up a little more. He lifts his head and pushes his tousled hair out of his eyes. I look up at him with my head settled deep the soft pillow. “Does your arm hurt?”

  He stares down at me like he doesn’t believe I’m real. “No. They gave
me enough painkillers to knock out an elephant.”

  Then he sits up, so I sit up, too, and brush some of the hair away from his face. He needs a haircut. It’s all shaggy, but on him it looks sexy. “Go back to sleep, then. Your arm will heal faster if you rest.”

  “That’s okay. I’m good. What are you doing here in bed with me?”

  “I came up to talk to you about what happened today, and I think I might’ve become part of your dream.”

  He laughs. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not, Harper. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I never should’ve hesitated.”

  He dips his head down until his lips touch mine again. First soft and light like cotton candy. Then deep and warm like caramel. His arms reach around my waist, and I move mine up around his neck. We lie back down and snuggle up against each other. I bury my fingers in the soft hair on the back of his head and rub the skin beneath his hair. The more I touch him, the deeper he kisses me. I wrap one leg around his thigh but still feel like my body isn’t close enough to his. He slides one hand down past the waistband of my pants and touches my bare hip.

  I drag my lips away from his and pull his hand out.

  “Have you ever done this before, Harper?”

  “What? Kiss? Yeah. I’m eighteen, not twelve.”

  “I think that answers my question.” And we’re back at it again before I can catch my breath. I can keep my breathing even during a five-mile run, but Shane’s kisses are stealing the air right out of my lungs. The covers are tangled around my feet, but I don’t care. Again, I stroke the soft hair at the base of his skull and caress the back of his neck before moving down to his shoulder. He makes a noise that sounds like the human equivalent of purring. My hand leaves his shoulder and wanders down to his arm. When I touch the bandage by accident, he winces. With both hands shoved against his chest, I push him away and sit up. “I’m hurting you. We better stop.”