Targeted

by Lori L. Harris

  Even though Alec Blade had been drawing her into more and more conversations over the past few weeks, she’d still been surprised this morning when he’d asked her out.

  When she’d finally wrestled the key free, she turned and clicked on the porch and foyer lights, and then closed the door behind her.

  But as soon as she turned the dead bolt, she felt her pulse accelerate, felt the sharp tingling sensation climb her spine. Please, not again. It had been weeks since she’d had an anxiety attack. Long enough that she’d thought she was over them.

  The familiar tightness in her chest intensified, until it felt as if she was trapped inside a burning room, and the searing, thick air had been robbed of oxygen. Sweat trailed down her rib cage. She held the plastic dry-cleaning bag and grocery sack in front of her like armor.

  Closing her eyes, she fell back on the mantra the psychologist had helped her create at her last appointment. “I am safe.” She paused, focusing on what she’d just said before moving on to the next affirmation. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” She concentrated on drawing air into her lungs, too, this time. “Because I won’t allow it to happen. Because I am in control.”

  Logically, Katie recognized that she had nothing to fear. That there was no one out to get her. But panic attacks weren’t based in logic.

  “I am safe. Nothing’s going to happen to me,” she repeated until slowly, her breathing returned to normal, and she managed to release her hold on the sack. It took nearly another minute before she could make herself move from in front of the door.

  As she did, she glanced into the living room and immediately froze. The front drapes were drawn. Had she left this morning without opening them? Had the fact that they were closed registered subconsciously? Was that all it had taken to set off the attack?

  Then she spotted the envelope propped on the mantel. Her landlord. She should have known he’d show up when she wasn’t around. He’d done the same with the bad plug in the bathroom. He’d come while she was at work. When she’d come home that night, she’d found his pliers on her unmade bed.

  The next day she’d purchased and installed chains on all the doors. She couldn’t keep him out when she wasn’t here, but she damn well wasn’t going to have to worry about him walking in on her.

  She ripped the envelope down and removed the note inside.

  YOUR LEASE REQUIRES YOU TO GET WRITTEN APPROVAL BEFORE MAKING ANY CHANGES TO THE PROPERTY!!

  KITCHEN LEAK WILL REQUIRE A FEW PARTS. BE BACK NEXT WEEK. PLEASE KEEP DRAPES DRAWN DURING DAY AND THERMOSTAT OFF UNLESS YOU’RE HOME.

  ELECTRICITY IS EXPENSIVE!

  Irritated, she tossed it down. Did he really consider the door chains a change to the property? That was one thing she wouldn’t miss when she moved. Her landlord. He really creeped her out at times.

  When she turned on the lamp at the end of the sofa, she noticed just how dusty the table was. After using her hand to clear the worst of it, she examined the other pieces of furniture. Two equally hideous reproduction side chairs from different Louis eras flanked the drab olive sofa, one end of which had become the depository for her collection of art catalogues.

  She hadn’t had anyone over since she’d moved in, so hadn’t given much thought to how ugly the room was.

  Either she could straighten up the room, or she could take a quick shower. Suspecting her date would be more impressed with a female who didn’t smell like a diner—grease and raw eggs—she headed for the kitchen.

  Katie jumped when the kitchen wall phone rang as she walked past. Considering how few people had her number, it would have to be her parents. If she answered it, there would be no shower. With each unanswered ring, her guilt-index crept higher, until finally she hung the dry cleaning on a hook just inside the door and reached for the phone. Just as the ringing stopped.

  Relief rolled over her. She’d tried, right? And she could just call her folks later. With the time difference, they’d still be up when she got home.

  Enough light followed her from the living room into the kitchen that she didn’t bother to turn on the overhead light in the small room. The curtains for the window over the sink were in the washing machine, and she didn’t like the idea that anyone could stand outside and watch her movements.

  After quickly unloading groceries onto the green-tiled counter, she grabbed a plate for the cheese and crackers. The soft tap of water against the sink bottom forced her to cross to the kitchen sink. Darn drip. If anything, it was worse.

  She set the wine bottle on the counter and gave the faucet handle a hard turn. Leave it to her landlord to be so darned eager to conserve electricity while wasting water.

  Behind her, the floorboard creaked. The old flooring under her feet gave slightly. Her lungs tightened as with sudden clarity, she realized she wasn’t alone. Worse, that she hadn’t been alone from the moment she’d walked in tonight.

  Don’t panic. Think. The last thing she needed was to be frozen with terror. She’d taken a self-defense course. She knew what to do. Flee if possible. If that wasn’t an option…

  “Lousy faucet,” she said softly, pretending to try it again. What did the intruder want? Not money. If he’d wanted cash, he’d have already taken it from her jewelry box. He wouldn’t be standing behind her now.

  The hairs at the back of her neck stood out, and her back muscles, even her abdominals, clenched in fear.

  From the corner of her eye, she glanced at the back door. Too far. She’d never make it. She looked out the window over the sink. Toward her closest neighbor’s house. The light in their side yard was barely visible through the trees. They wouldn’t hear or see anything.

  And then she saw the silhouette in the glass. A large man. Moving toward her.

  Still twisting the faucet handle with her right hand, Katie reached for the drawer to the left of the sink, the one where she kept knives. She slid it open and stuck her hand inside. She could feel the cool, solid hardness of the bone handle. She could do this. She had to do this. She had to protect herself.

  An arm suddenly smashed across her ribs as a second locked around her throat. She was hauled backward. The drawer came with her, but the edge of the cabinet caught the knife and ripped it from her fingers.

  Knives and ladles and spatulas clattered across the oak floor like pickup sticks in a deadly game. At the last moment, she grabbed for the wine bottle but only managed to knock it over. As it hit the floor, it exploded. A chunk of flying glass clipped her shin and warm wine splattered her legs.

  Katie brought her heel down hard, but she was wearing soft soles. Her attacker shifted just enough to deflect the blow. Utensils clanked. Kicking them aside, the man lifted her off the ground, his muscular arm driving the air from her lungs. He swung her toward the hall doorway. Pain exploded as her kneecap slammed into the oak jamb. The blow dislodged the wall phone’s handset and it crashed toward the floor, and then leaped upward like a bungee jumper.

  Glass ground beneath his boots, chewing the wood floor.

  “No!” Katie latched on to the door trim.

  Her fingernails bent backward, separating from their beds. She lost her hold. She jammed her elbow into his ribs. He barely flinched. She grabbed his ear, the only vulnerable area she could reach, and dug in her nails.

  Grunting, the man slammed her headfirst against the hall wall and pinned her there. With her head turned to the side and canted upward at an angle, movement was impossible. His heavy body continued to press in on her from behind. And still she hung on to his ear, knowing that if she let go, he’d kill her.

  It was then she smelled the candle wax. Shifting her gaze toward her barely opened bedroom door, she saw the candlelight playing across the scuffed hall floor.

  How long had this man been here—in her house—preparing for what he was going to do to her? The horror of what was about to happen forced the last of the air from her lungs.

  He leaned in harder. She felt the vertebrae of her neck strain.

  She sh
ould have answered the phone, talked to her parents. Oh, God, she wanted to hear their voices one last time.

  And then, when she was completely immobile, completely powerless, she heard his voice for the first time.

  “Did you really think I’d let you live, Katydid?”

  Chapter Two

  Thirty-five minutes after leaving the shooting range and his brother, Alec parked in front of Katie’s bungalow. He’d tried phoning to cancel their date. But when he’d gotten her voice mail, he’d resigned himself to stopping by with a pizza.

  His right hand propped on the steering wheel, he glanced at the cut flowers resting on the carry-out pizza box. He’d picked up the bouquet at the supermarket. The female clerk had thought him cheap for buying the very last of the mixed bunches. The center of some of the flowers had already turned brown. But his only other choice had been the old standby of red roses, and he couldn’t make himself pick them up.

  “Say it with flowers.”

  Grabbing the pizza and the bouquet, he climbed out of the SUV. Five minutes tops. He’d hand her the pizza and the flowers, wish her a good night and a good life.

  The Azalea Park neighborhood, which had been built in the second decade of the last century, was one of those up-and-coming areas. Most of the people took care of their properties, but there were a few holdouts who seemed content with sparse lawns, overgrown shrubs and peeling paint.

  Surrounded by an out-of-control hedge, the entry court yard of Katie’s Spanish bungalow was dark. After knocking, he waited. When she didn’t answer, he checked his watch. Seven ten. He was early. Maybe she was running late getting home or was in the shower.

  Alec changed the flowers to his other hand, and, lightly popping the cellophane-encased bouquet against his pant leg, debated just leaving a note.

  A loud crash came from inside. Then breaking glass.

  What in the hell was going on? He tried the door. “Katie?”

  A woman screamed.

  Tossing down flowers and pizza, Alec pulled the Glock from his shoulder holster. With a solid kick, he forced the dead bolt through the frame. The door slammed into the wall behind, the glass in the top half shattering upon impact.

  Katie’s and her attacker’s shadows briefly filled the hallway.

  Bursting low and fast through the open door, he chose the unlit room to the right. Reaching it, he pressed himself hard against the wall, trying to leave the suspect with as little of a target as possible.

  Alec inched forward. A large chunk of plaster exploded several inches from his face. A second round immediately hit in nearly the same spot. A controlled double tap. This wasn’t some street thug. And it sure as hell wasn’t a Saturday night special.

  Alec knew he was moving too fast, recklessly. He needed to slow down. He needed to get his adrenaline under control.

  “FBI,” he yelled, but made no move to advance.

  Nothing. No indication of movement anywhere in the house. Alec tried not to think about what that might mean. That Katie was already dead. Or seriously injured.

  He wasn’t even sure what he was dealing with here—a burglary attempt that had hit the skids or attempted rape. Jesus. He had hoped never to face another situation like this.

  “Put down your weapon,” Alec ordered.

  No response again. He scanned what appeared to be the dining room for another entrance. Finding none, he realized he’d made a poor choice. With the only way in or out either this door or the front window, he was pinned down. Of course, at the time, a dark room had seemed a better choice than a well-lit one.

  Alec’s heart hammered. With no other choice, he slid around the door frame and into the entry foyer again, into the light spilling from the living room. The house was cold and silent. A clock ticked somewhere, or maybe it was some type of drip. He’d once entered the bathroom of a murder victim, expecting to turn off a faucet’s slow drip only to discover the sound had nothing to do with plumbing.

  He could hear movement now and advanced toward it. The wood floor creaked with the slightest of weight shift, making silent progress impossible. And having never been in this house, he didn’t know the layout, but assumed the hall led to bedrooms and at least one bathroom. There would also be a kitchen, which he would have expected to connect with the dining room, so there was no telling where it fell in the floor plan. But all these old houses had a second door, usually off the kitchen. Was the suspect trying to reach it?

  Sensing he was about to step into the path of a bullet, Alec ran his left hand over his chest—the habit, a hangover from his Bureau days, was meant to assure him that his soft body armor was in place. Of course, he was a civilian now, and civilians had no need for the protective powers of Kevlar. Not unless they were going into a dark house, facing a shooter who obviously knew how to handle his weapon.

  A soft whimper that was quickly squashed. Leading with his own weapon, Alec stepped from the foyer into the narrow hall leading toward the back of the house. The front door was open behind him, and the way the night air poured into the small foyer and down the hall suggested that there was another open door or window ahead of him somewhere.

  The darkness was more complete here, the only light coming from beneath the closed door at the end of the hall. Alec ignored the room as a possibility, concentrated on the other three doors. In his head, he heard Monty asking which door it would be.

  He held his position again, listening. With the elapsed time, it became more likely that the suspect intended to shoot it out.

  A sharp clatter. Alec moved forward in a controlled rush. By the time he reached the door into the kitchen, fresh air poured through the opened back door, as did the glow from the side yard light. He caught a glimpse of the suspect fleeing down the steps. As much as he wanted to pursue the man, he needed to determine Katie’s whereabouts and condition, so he turned and faced the room.

  “Katie?”

  Even with the light penetrating only three or four feet inside, he could see the mess on the floor. The glittering shards of glass, the sheen of a dark liquid, the shine of stainless implements. The skeletons of overturned dinette chairs.

  What he didn’t see, what he might not have seen at all if she hadn’t made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob, was Katie slumped against the old refrigerator.

  She was drawn up in a near-fetal position. He kneeled down, but didn’t touch her; he was afraid that even that small contact might send her over the edge.

  “Katie?” She lifted her chin slightly as if she looked at him, but he couldn’t be certain. “Katie, I need you to answer me. Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  “I need to go after the man who did this to you. Do you understand?” He thought she nodded. “Call 9-1-1.”

  He’d taken only a single step when she launched herself after him, her hands grabbing at his legs, her movements sending kitchen utensils clanging. “No. He’ll come back. He’ll kill me.”

  Alec kneeled next to her again. “Easy. I won’t be gone long.” He picked up a knife and pressed it into her hands. “Hold on to this.”

  Taking it, she scooted backward until she was once more plastered to the appliance.

  Alec checked the side yard where legustroms and large oleanders blocked the house next door. He’d lost too much time in the kitchen. The suspect could be anywhere by now.

  Frustration building, Alec circled to the front of the house to scan the street. Everything was quiet.

  He reentered through the back door. He’d no sooner flipped on the overhead light, than Katie scrambled up from her position on the floor beneath the phone and turned it off. “No lights. He’ll see us.”

  In the strobe of illumination, Alec had seen the mess, not just on the floor, but also throughout the room. The struggle had been both drawn out and vicious. The only surprise was, for whatever reason, Katie was still alive. She had somehow survived.

  “Take it easy, Katie.”

  After sliding his weapon into the shoulde
r holster, he squatted cautiously next to her. “Give me the knife.” She let him take it from her, and he placed it beyond her reach. When he touched her on the shoulder, she jerked and lifted her left hand in a defensive motion, as if to ward off any further attempts at contact.

  Ignoring the broken glass, he carefully sat down in front of her.

  “Katie, did you dial 9-1-1?”

  She nodded. Using one finger, he caught her chin and urged it higher. Her face was wet. She was crying, he realized. He couldn’t tell much about her eyes in the dark, but when she trembled, he realized he didn’t need to see dilated pupils to know she was in shock. She was frightened beyond belief.

  “Did you—” He had intended to ask her about the attack, but quickly stopped himself. Habits were hard to shake. Especially in stressful situations. He’d spent too many years in charge, accustomed to asking the questions. But it was no longer his job. And there was no reason to put her through it twice.

  He was unprepared when she suddenly buried her face against his chest. He raised his arms, uncertain. After a brief hesitation, he wrapped them around her.

  For the first time in eleven months, Alec held a woman. And sitting there in the darkened kitchen, he couldn’t help but think how different tonight would have been if he’d left that voice mail. If he hadn’t decided he owed her an explanation in person.

  And how one moment in a man’s life, a woman’s life, could define everything that followed.

  OH GOD, oh God, oh God.

  Katie’s fist twisted tighter into Alec’s shirt as she burrowed her face into his shoulder. The sirens were just outside now. How long had she—had they—been sitting on the floor? Probably no more than six or seven minutes, but it seemed far longer.

  Her body moved in a rocking motion, but she seemed powerless to stop it, or even to alter the timing of it. She wasn’t even sure if the motion was of her doing or of the man’s who held her. But the rhythm of his heart had become a calming metronome.