Something pulled Hanna from the depths of sleep. She tossed about the bed, her mind hovering somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Finally, the throbbing in her head dragged her into consciousness. She peeked at the clock. Three-seventeen. The ibuprofen had worn off, leaving her with a full-sprung migraine. She turned over and closed her eyes, willing her body back to sleep.
After ten minutes she knew she wouldn’t sleep until the pulsing pain stopped, so she stumbled to the bathroom for more medicine. She squinted against the florescent light and opened the medicine cabinet, searching the rows for the familiar teal label. Not finding it on the first pass, she scanned the rows again.
Where was it? Then she remembered tossing the empty bottle weeks ago. Her purse. She had another bottle in her purse. She walked to the dresser, stopping when she saw it wasn’t there. Her gaze skittered across the room. Where had she put it?
The office. When she’d come in from picking up Micah, she’d dropped off her purse in the office. With one longing gaze at the bed, she reluctantly snapped the keys up off the nightstand and left her room. She held her temples as she walked and tried to keep her head steady to curb the throbbing.
Even with the heat on, the air had grown cold in the night, and she shivered. The keys jingled with each step, and she wondered briefly how much snow had fallen since she’d gone to bed. She considered pulling back the drapes for a peek, but decided she didn’t want to wake herself by doing anything more than the bare minimum.
Silence filled the lobby, making her steps on the wooden plank floor seem loud. Her heart cringed from the darkness, but she was closer to her office than the light switch. She put the key into the door’s lock and turned. The key twisted easily. Too easily. She thought she’d locked up last night.
She pushed open the door. The computer screen flickered, sending eerie shadows across the walls. She reached for the light switch.
A hand grabbed her from behind. She tried to scream, but a gloved hand muffled it. She kicked and fought. He grabbed her around the abdomen with his other hand and carried her from the office.
Oh, God! Help me! She kicked and thrashed, banging her foot into the counter wall, knocking over a Rubbermaid trash can. Screams escaped her lips only to be swallowed by his hand. She fought for breath, clawing at his hand. He carried her across the lobby toward the door. Where is he taking me? Help me, Micah! She had to get loose before he took her away.
She twisted and struggled, but her aggressor was too strong. When he removed the hand from her waist to open the door, she twisted and struck at his jaw with her elbow. In the cloak of darkness, he was a black monster from head to toe. A ski mask covered his head, but eyes glittered at her through the material.
He opened the door, then snatched her against him again. She kicked violently at the door as they passed.
“Stop it!” he hissed, then called her a vile name.
He half carried, half dragged her across the porch and down the steps. She fought all the way, pulled at his hands, tried to twist from his arms.
The snow bogged down his steps, and when her kick caught him in the shins, they fell forward.
His body collapsed on hers, crushing the air from her lungs and shoving her face into the cold, wet snow. He spat a string of curses and covered her mouth again before dragging her to her feet.
They stumbled forward. Her strength drained with each step. Where was he going? What was he going to do to her when he got there?
Dizziness overtook her. She couldn’t faint. She stilled in his grasp, trying to pull in oxygen around the woolly glove. She could fight later, but for now, she had to stay conscious.
Where were they? Her eyes took in the snow-lit area, and she saw the lake to one side. Think, Hanna, think! There was nothing out here. Just a shed used for boat storage and maintenance.
He stumbled again, but caught them before they went down. His arm tightened around her midsection, cutting off her breath. They passed the docks. He was taking her to the shed.
There were only two things he could do to her there, and neither was an option she wanted to consider. She had to find a weapon. Her mind spun through the items in the shed. Gas can, oars, tools. Tools. If she could just get to the toolbox and get a screwdriver or saw. Anything.
He burst through the door and dragged her inside. The door hung ajar, allowing the reflection of the snow to illumine the shadowed interior. When he removed his hand from her mouth, she opened it to scream, but a rough, woolly cloth took its place. She thrashed and kicked, but he pushed her to the ground. Her face struck the rough, wooden slabs, and the cloth cut into her lips as he straddled her back and tied it behind her head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A muffled thump wrenched Micah from a pleasant dream, and his eyes snapped open. His sleep-hazed mind took a moment to clear. Had he heard a noise, or had he dreamed it? He rolled over to look at the clock, then groaned. It was the middle of the night.
He shivered in the night air. The last thing he wanted was to get out of bed and investigate some imagined noise. He turned over, pulled the sheet up to his chin, and closed his eyes. Slowly, the fog of slumber closed over him, enveloping him in a blanket of peace. He hovered on the brink of sleep, his thoughts still churning in a pleasant, quiet manner, the precursor of genuine rest.
A sound dragged him fully awake. His eyes popped open. Had he heard a squeal? His pulse jumped, and he lay frozen, listening. He threw off the sheet and pulled on the clothes he’d worn the day before.
When he opened the door, he paused on the threshold to listen. Silence hung heavily in the air. Only the high-pitched buzzing of the Exit light broke the stillness. It had probably been an animal. Or the cold air seeping through the windows. He should go back to bed. That’s undoubtedly where Hanna was now, sleeping like an innocent newborn.
He wavered on the doorstep, peering down the shadowed corridor. Finally, he stepped out into the hall and walked to the lobby. In the darkness his foot connected with something that scuttled across the floor at impact. He flipped on the light. The trash can. What was it doing in the middle of the floor?
He saw papers at his feet that looked as if they’d fluttered to the floor from the counter. The front door was cracked open.
A shiver snaked up his spine. His arms prickled at the base of every tiny hair. Something wasn’t right. In front of the door, he saw puddles of water spaced evenly apart on the wooden planks. A pea-size clump of snow sat melting in the middle of one puddle. Someone had been here, and it hadn’t been long ago.
Indecision swamped him. He had an overwhelming urge to check on Hanna, but the clues left behind told him there may have been a struggle. He hurried to the phone and dialed 9-1-1. When the operator answered, he gave her the pertinent information, then set the phone on the counter. She’d told him to stay put, but there was no way he was going to sit and wait for help. He grabbed the flashlight from the battery pack on the wall.
Flipping off the porch light, he slid out the storm door and shined the light around. His eyes adjusted quickly to the night. At the base of the porch, he saw marks in the snow that looked as if something had been dragged through the snow.
He stopped and shined the beam out as far as he could see. The trail continued toward the lake. Again, he felt the urge to check on Hanna. But if Hanna was in danger, he had to act fast. He listened for a moment. Snowflakes batted about his head, falling from a clay-colored sky. The blanket of snow illumined the night, allowing him to see quite some distance even without the flashlight.
He rushed onward, following the path. As he neared the lake, he heard something. He stopped and listened.
At first he heard nothing. Then muted sounds of a struggle reached his ears. He flipped off the flashlight and followed the sounds. Why hadn’t he gotten a weapon of some kind? What if the intruder had a knife or a gun?
His heart echoed heavily in his chest, booming violently in fear of what he would find. Dear God, let her be all right.
> The sounds grew louder on his approach to the shed. He crept to the shed, conscious of the snow crunching under his shoes. At the door he waited for his eyes to adjust. Just then he heard a muffled cry and the shuffling sounds of struggle. It was Hanna; he knew it in his heart.
He wanted to charge in and protect her, but he knew he had to be smart. He peeked around the doorway. A black, shadowed body pushed her to the ground. He winced when he heard her smack the floor.
Just another second. When her attacker faced the other way, Micah would hit him from behind. His fists clenched in anticipation, and his face tightened in fury. Whoever was hurting Hanna would have no mercy from him.
At last the man knelt over Hanna’s back. Micah sprang forward and hit him with a force that knocked his body across the room. The man’s body thudded against the floor. Micah pulled his head up by the collar of his coat and slammed his head onto the floor. Once. Twice. Three times.
He got up and shoved the still body over. The man groaned.
Behind him, Hanna whimpered. He turned. The scarce light shimmered on her wet face. He came to her as she finished working the knot on the cloth and removed it from around her head.
She stepped into his arms and collapsed against him, shaking.
“Shh, it’s okay now, honey.” He held her tightly, relief washing over him like waves on the shore. “Are you all right?” She nodded against his chest. She was wet and cold, but unhurt, thank God. Thank You, Jesus. Thank You.
Groans from behind him warned him the man was coming to. “Where’s that cloth that was around your head?” He found it on floor and asked her to hold the flashlight. She shone the light on the man’s head. His eyes remained closed. A crimson spot bloomed through the ski mask at his forehead. Micah kicked him over onto his belly and tied his hands behind his back with what felt like a thin scarf. The light wavered.
“Shine it down here.” Micah pushed the man back over, then he grabbed the top of the ski mask and yanked it off. Another moan sounded as the material slid over the wound.
“Devon!”
Hanna gasped.
Rage tore through him like a tornado. Hanna had provided the man with a job. Trusted him. Paid him. And how had he returned the favor? Micah grabbed Devon by the coat and drew back a fist.
“Don’t, Micah.” The light fell as Hanna grabbed his shoulder. “He’s already unconscious. I’ll go call the police.”
Micah dropped Devon’s weight. “I already did. They should be here soon.”
“I was so scared.” Her voice trembled.
He stood and held her, stroking her back. Her whole body quaked, and he knew it wasn’t just the cold that made her tremble. “Go back to the lodge.” He held her away. “You need to warm up. Send the police down here.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
He wondered whether she was afraid of being alone or afraid to leave him with Devon. He glanced down and noticed her bare feet. “Oh man, Hanna, your feet.” He kicked off his tennis shoes and knelt down to slip her feet inside them. They looked like clown shoes on her.
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.” He held her to him again, overcome with gratitude for her safety. What would he have done if anything had happened to his Hanna? He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. Swallowing the knot in his throat, he set her away from him. “Go on back. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He stooped down for the flashlight and handed it to her.
She took it and nodded, then walked out the door. He watched her stumble through the snow and hoped the shoes didn’t fall off.
Sounds of movement came from behind him, and he turned to see Devon stirring. His blood simmered with fury. What would Devon have done to Hanna if he hadn’t shown up? The thoughts that tumbled through his mind sped his pulse and sent jabs of anger through his limbs. Somewhere in the distance a siren pealed.
From the window Micah watched the police cruiser pull slowly onto the road, tamping down the virgin snow. Still, the white flecks fell, swirling frantically around before settling onto the thick blanket on the ground.
He heard Hanna pad into the room and turned. She looked warmer now, dressed in fleece sweats, a multicolored quilt hugging her shoulders.
“Are they gone?” She stood before him looking alone and vulnerable, her tear-swollen eyes a tangible remnant of her ordeal.
“Yes. We’ll need go to the station and fill out a formal complaint later.” He longed to hold her. To erase the last hour and tell her he’d never let anything bad happen to her again. “Do you feel like going back to bed?”
She shook her head and pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders.
“Is your grandmother back in bed?”
Hanna nodded. Gram had been frantic when she’d awakened during all the chaos. Only Hanna’s assurances that she was fine expelled the panic from her eyes. But Micah knew Hanna wasn’t fine. She had yet to show any emotion other than the tears that had leaked silently from her eyes.
“Want me to start a fire?” he asked.
She nodded.
He stacked fresh logs in the grate and worked to light them. Hanna stood behind him as if she didn’t know what to do.
Finally, the logs flickered to life, and he took her hand, pulling her to the sofa. He sat first and gently pulled her into his lap. She let go of the blanket and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Her knees drew up protectively, and she lay her face in the curve of his neck.
What was she thinking? What was she feeling? He wanted to wipe it all away.
He wanted to beat Devon until his eyes were swollen and black and blue. His jaw clenched, and his breaths grew shallow. Why hadn’t he done it while he’d had the chance? The man deserved it. Deserved worse.
Hanna sniffed, and he knew she was going to cry in earnest. The shock was wearing off. He fought to dispel his anger toward Devon. Hanna first. He would deal with his own emotions later.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, tightening his arms until their bodies were melded together. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Her body broke into sobs that sounded as if they were wrenched from the deepest part of her. “Shhh.” The sobs came in waves, each one stabbing him with pain. He thanked God he’d awakened in time to prevent something worse but wished it had been him that had caught Devon in the lodge. “It’s over,” he murmured. The whole rotten farce was over. And Devon had been behind it all along.
“I—it just brought it all back … ,” she choked out, then cried again.
He wondered what she was talking about but didn’t ask. He curled his hand around her chin and turned her face toward him. Fear shadowed her eyes. He wiped away the tears on her face, but more trickled down in their place.
“It brought back the whole nightmare.” She wiped her nose with a tissue she had wadded up in her fist.
He waited silently for her to continue, knowing something inside her desperately needed to come out.
“It happened when I was eighteen. I—I was on my way home from work. I knew I was low on gas, but it was late, and I thought I could make it home.” She closed her eyes.
He thought she must be talking about whatever it was that gave her nightmares.
“I ran out of gas. It was so dark. But I got out and walked—didn’t have a choice.” She stopped and wiped her nose on the soggy tissue. “I came to a bar. It was lit up. I could hear the loud music from inside. I was afraid to go in.” A blink sent another tear chasing down her cheek.
“I saw lights ahead, a gas station. So I passed the bar and kept walking.”
Somewhere within Micah, a pebble of apprehension sent ripples through him.
“It got really dark once I passed the bar. There was no one around. I was scared. And then I heard footsteps behind me. I walked faster. And then I started running.” She turned her fear-laden eyes on him. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Someone grabbed me from behind. He—he pulled me away from the road—”
Icy fingers of d
read spread through him. It was too familiar to be a coincidence.
No.
It couldn’t be.
“I was so scared,” she whispered.
Her words grazed across his frozen mind. Please, God, no! It can’t be true!
“It was so dark.”
No. It hadn’t been Hanna. She’d had short hair. Curly hair. In his drunken state, he’d seen his mother. And he’d wanted to hurt her. His heart clenched painfully, and blood pulsed at his temples. It’s a mistake. A mistake.
“Afterward, I just wanted to die.” She buried her head in his chest, and his arms mechanically tightened.
She’d said she’d been eighteen. He tried to force his paralyzed brain to do the math. The slate of his mind went blank, and he tried again.
Eight years ago. Which would’ve made him—
Guilty.
The numbing blow choked off his breath. His heart skipped a beat, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as the realization echoed through him in waves of shock. Oh, God. It was me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hanna stretched, her stiff muscles protesting loudly. She turned and opened her eyes. Morning light peeked through the curtains, chasing shadows from the lodge. She sat upright, confused for a moment to find herself on the sofa.
It all came back with brutal clarity. She ran a hand across her puffy eyes. She must’ve fallen asleep on Micah. She wondered where he was now. What did he think of all she’d shared with him last night? Was he horrified at her experience? Last night’s ordeal with Devon had brought back all the shame she’d felt those years ago. How dirty she’d felt. She’d lost her virginity, a long-valued treasure she’d been saving for her husband.
Was Micah disappointed? He’d been quiet while she’d talked and cried, but she’d assumed he was simply allowing her to vent. Had she been wrong?
The quilt she’d been wrapped in the night before was now spread over her like the wings of an eagle, and she took comfort in the thought that Micah had covered her before he left. As she slid off the couch and walked to the kitchen, she became aware of soreness throughout her body. No doubt, she’d been bruised in last night’s assault.
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