He grinned. “Hard to run on sand in boots.”
A smile flitted over her lips, but then vanished. She took a steadying breath. “Okay.”
“You’ll be fine. Just do as I said. Set the alarm, shut off all the lights, and keep the phone close. And if you hear anything from outside and I haven’t called, you hit memory 2.”
She nodded.
“I mean it. Call Mike. Not me. If I’m on foot, there’s not much I can do.”
“I will.”
He gave her another quick kiss then punched in the disarm code on the alarm. “Ready?”
With one more quick breath, she nodded.
He kissed her again and grinned. “Remember that I love you.”
Before she could think to respond he jerked open the door and stomped out with an angry stride.
“I don’t care if you got down on your knees and begged me, I’d never take you back!”
* * * * *
Heather stared at the red numbers of the clock on her nightstand. Her right hand hurt from its tight grip on the phone, her thumb poised over the Talk button.
Come on, damn it. She wanted to pound the clock to make time speed up. Another minute passed. Ten more minutes to go.
Damn Paul for making her paranoid. Before he forced his way into her house, into her life and heart, she’d been a little frightened of the things that went bump in the night. But nothing like this. Now, every creak made her heart race, far outpacing the plodding seconds of time. She couldn’t silence her breathing, which sounded as loud as a locomotive to her ears.
Her fear stretched beyond the house as her mind conjured up visions of Paul lying on the beach, bleeding, dying alone....
Damn him! Her concern for him made her panicky. She wanted to run outside and scream for him. Find him.
The clock teased her, mocked her.
A muffled thump against the wooden floor of the patio made her jump. She bit her tongue as fear clawed at her throat. Just the wind, she thought frantically.
There wasn’t any wind. Not strong enough to knock anything over. And it had been too soft a noise, anyway, to be anything on the deck falling over.
She whimpered and raised the phone, ready to call Mike. What if something had happened to Paul? What if he’d been hurt? What if that was him that went thump on the deck? Maybe he’d been hit over the head and couldn’t get his cell phone or...
Pull yourself together! You are not some weak-hearted woman. You’re Heather Gilpatrick, and you are not afraid.
Her heart striking her ribs like a jackhammer said otherwise.
She was bloody terrified.
With all the curtains drawn, inky darkness surrounded her in the bedroom, except for the red glowing numbers on the clock.
He still had seven minutes.
She slid off the bed to her knees and crawled to the door. If she stayed low and ducked behind the sofa, she could peek out to the patio and see what had made the noise. Better to know for sure than to act the fool and call Mike in a panic.
Slightly more light filtered into the living room from the patio window, but not much. It was a cloudy night, and the ambient light reflecting from the city on the clouds cast an eerie, sickly orange glow to the sky. She bolted as fast as her hands and knees could take her to the sofa about five feet away. The curtains over windows on the front of the house were closed, so she was safely hidden from any outside eyes in the front yard. But there was no such protection over the windows and door facing the ocean.
She peered around the end of the sofa to see two eyes staring back at her through the glass patio door.
“Meeeooowwww.”
“Shit.” Her heart leapt to her throat. The Shmuckatelly’s Siamese was out again. The feline pawed at the glass, wanting to come in. Smudge knew she always had a can of tuna for him when he came calling.
Feeling like the biggest fool in the world, she slid up onto the couch and rested her forehead against the armrest. Freaking out because of a cat. A cat. Imagine if she’d called Mike for that? How utterly embarrassing.
The peal of the phone made her scream. The handset leapt from her hand when she jerked, crashed against the coffee table then bounced on the floor.
It rang again, and she burst out laughing even as tears of relief flooded her eyes. Thank God. Paul. If this went on any longer, she’d wind up in a straightjacket.
Snatching the phone off the floor, she punched the Talk button, then headed for the front door to disarm the security alarm. “Hi,” she said into the phone on a sigh of relief.
“Hello, bitch.”
Chapter Eleven
“No way in hell!”
“You canna do this. You canna keep me locked away in here like a prisoner in some fortified tower.” Heather grabbed for Paul’s hand in which he held her car keys. “We need groceries!” When he raised his arm over his head, keeping her keys out of reach, she stamped her foot, not caring if she acted like a petulant child.
“If need be, I can and will keep you here, with or without a fortified tower. I’ll damn well handcuff you to the bed if that’s what I have to do. You’re not leaving this house alone. It’s not safe. And I’m not supposed to be here, so I can’t escort you.”
“And I’m safe here, dangling like a worm on a hook? I don’t want to be bait any more. If I don’t get out of this house, I’ll go stark raving mad.” She bit down on her lip when the tremors started again.
Paul wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his wonderfully hard chest. “We knew it might take time to draw him out. But we have to be careful. Give it a little more time. When he shows, I’ll be here. And then this nightmare will be over.” Paul brushed her hair behind her shoulders, smoothed a lock behind her ear. “I know you’re scared....”
She snorted and tried to push away from him.
He held her firmly in his warm embrace. “I know, because I had to practically break down the door to get in here the other night after he called you. But this’ll soon be over. We still have increased patrols in the area, especially after dark, ready to respond. Everyone’s looking for this guy. He can’t remain hidden much longer. And I won’t let him hurt you.”
She shivered when she thought of all the terrible things Harold had said to her. She’d been unable to move, speak, or hang up as he threatened her with all manner of horrors. He would never let her go, not until he was finished with her, and by then she’d be dead. He’d made that very clear.
She pushed those thoughts and the images his words painted to a dark corner at the back of her mind. He may not have accomplished his goals, yet, but he’d succeeded in turning her into a prisoner in her own home, with a little help from a well-meaning detective. She’d be damned before she’d let Harold turn her into an agoraphobe. She had to get out of the house.
“I need to go,” she murmured against Paul’s neck. If for no other reason than to prove to herself that she could face the world outside again. “It’s morning. Broad daylight. He’s never struck in the morning. Even if he follows me, at least I’ll be able to see him. I’ll be safer in the crowded grocery store than I am here.” She leaned back and looked up into Paul’s beautiful dark eyes, hating the fact she felt so helpless. Hating how terrified she’d become of the nights. “The walls are closing in on me. Please, I’ve got to get out.”
Paul sighed. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call a friend and get anything you need delivered.”
Shoving out of his arms, she glared. “I am going to the store, and you are not going to stop me.”
He growled and looked mad enough to bite. “Why are you so damn stubborn?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’ll be sorry if you don’t let me go. You have no idea just how miserable I can make a person.”
He laughed.
She ground her teeth and lunged for the hand holding the keys, grabbing his wrist in both her hands.
He laughed harder. Until she bit him.
“Hey!�
�
The keys fell from his fingers, and she dove for them. His arms wound around her waist, and they tumbled to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. She flailed but was no match for his strength, his size, or his skill. Within seconds she was trapped flat on her back, his big body draped over her. Her hands held above her head, his thighs pinned her legs down to keep them from kicking.
“Bastard.”
“Spitfire.”
She bucked.
He grinned. “All that does is turn me on.”
“Arsehole.”
“Your sexy little accent makes me hard, too.” He nuzzled her neck with his nose and lips. “You smell so good.”
“Don’t.” She couldn’t play now. No matter how good he felt, or how much he made her body sizzle, she needed to get out and breathe some fresh air. To know that her life was still just a little normal.
Paul rose over her, staring into her eyes. Finally, his hands left her wrists to cup her cheeks. “I don’t like it.”
“Please. I can’t hide forever. I can’t live like this.”
She didn’t know if it was the tears threatening her eyes, or her earnest plea, but Paul relented. He kissed her gently then got to his feet in a smooth, lithe motion that made her breath catch. He was a truly beautiful man.
He helped her stand then handed her the car keys. “You’re not going alone. Let me make a phone call first.”
“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek, grabbed her purse, then headed for the door to the garage before he had a chance to change his mind and start arguing again.
* * * * *
“She’s headed your way now.” Mike’s voice came in low and clear over his cell phone. “A few cars away.”
“Okay,” Paul said, then listened for her. A few seconds passed before he heard her put the key in the lock to open the trunk.
He’d called ahead to have Mike meet them, ensure they weren’t followed, and then trail her through the grocery store while Paul kept tabs on the car. He wouldn’t put it past Harold to break into the vehicle and ambush her from the backseat, even in broad daylight.
But no one had tried to break in, so he’d lain curled out of sight on the backseat, with nothing to do but wait and worry. A good thing he told her to buy no more than a few necessities. Already his legs were cramping and his neck had a kink in it.
“Want me to follow?” Mike asked over the phone.
“No. I got it from here.”
“I’m outta here then,” Mike said, as Heather slammed the trunk closed. “I want to run down that lead on the motel room over off Eighteenth. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll still be there.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Paul disconnected the call before he voiced his doubts. Mike had tracked down numerous leads already, running into one dead end after another. They could’ve covered the leads quicker if they’d split the load, but Heather was their most important connection to the fugitive. The most valuable lead. And a hell of a lot more important asset personally.
The driver side door opened, and Heather slid behind the wheel.
“Can I say I told you so?” she asked with one part humor and two parts cockiness.
“No.” He squirmed in a futile attempt at comfort.
She laughed, cranked the car, and pulled out of the parking lot.
“You have a good nap back there?” She adjusted the rearview mirror so she could see his eyes, and he could see her.
“Bite me.”
She giggled. As much as it did his heart good to hear her laugh again after all of the stress of the past week, he was ready for their little outing to end. He wanted to stretch out, but the width of her four-door sedan didn’t allow for that luxury.
“I’ll be glad to bite you anywhere you like when we get home.” Teasing humor laced her words.
As she drove through town, he tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong. He’d been so sure that Harold was watching her and would come out of hiding if he saw the “boyfriend” disappear. The terrifying phone call had led him to believe he was on the right track. But after several days, Harold still hadn’t shown himself.
“Check your mirrors,” he said, wishing he could sit up.
“I don’t see anything suspicious.” She turned her blinker on.
“Just keep an eye out.”
After several minutes, the scenery out the window changed from mirrored-glass buildings to tree-lined streets. They were nearing her bungalow.
“When you turn onto your street, check the cars in the driveways near your house and down the road in both directions.”
She adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, the tension from days of uncertainty returning, which made him feel guilty for spoiling her brief return to normalcy. But vigilance was a necessary evil.
“There’s a car in the Tomlin’s driveway, but I recognize it.” She slowed to make the turn into her driveway.
Paul relaxed as the walls of the garage appeared through the windows.
She breathed a sigh of relief, cut the engine, and pressed the button to close the garage. The chains and gears rattled a bit as the door lowered into place.
“I told you so,” she said, tossing him a grin over her shoulder and opening her door.
As he started to sit up a flash of movement caught his attention. The driver’s door jerked free of Heather’s hand. Before he could get to his weapon, she tumbled from the car.
“Hello, my little bitch.”
Too late.
The words ricocheted through Paul’s brain as he scrambled from the car.
Surprise registered on the creep’s face, but it was short-lived. An oily grin spread over his features, his eyes bright with a kind of mania only seen in the mentally unstable. And Heather was at his mercy.
Paul’s heart stopped. He fought the urge to stare at the glinting blade of the hunting knife pressed intimately against Heather’s jugular. His gaze focused on the other man’s crazed eyes.
Pain and panic distorted her face as she clawed at the man’s arm, but quit when she felt the metal at her throat.
Harold snarled. “Well, well, well. Look at what my bitch dragged in. The missing boyfriend. You want lover-boy here to watch? I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, slut?” He licked her cheek, making her cringe. Paul’s hands fisted at his sides. His stomach coiled as tight as his muscles prepared to pounce the first chance he got.
Tears pooled on Heather’s lower lashes, and her chin lifted as if trying to distance itself from the knife.
Harold laughed. A chilling, maniacal sound.
Paul’s right hand inched backward toward his holster.
“Stop!” Harold’s wild gaze wavered from his face. “Hands up. Turn around. Slowly, or I’ll slice her from ear to ear.”
Paul raised his hands, his jaw tight. Anger fueled the adrenaline pumping through him, shaking him. How could he have let the bastard get so close? How was he going to get them out of this alive?
“P-paul...” Her plea broke his heart. The terror in her eyes shattered his soul. He’d never forget the pain her fear—her doubt—caused him. He’d vowed to protect her, to keep her safe from this bastard. He’d let her down. But he’d be damned if that condemning look would be the last image he’d have of her.
“Shut the fuck up,” Harold snarled, his blade pressing against her skin, raising her onto her toes.
She chewed her bottom lip and stared at him, her beautiful, tear-filled eyes pleading.
“I said hands up, lover-boy. On your head. And turn around nice and slow.”
Paul tried to reassure her with a calming look, but with a knife at her neck and the inability to hold her, talk to her, his effort proved pointless.
“I’m waiting,” Harold said with a sneer. “You want to watch her die? I said turn around!” As ordered, Paul turned, his ears tuned in for any sound of attack or movement. He had to keep his gun out of the man’s hand, or he and Heather were dead.
Heather watched Paul turn his back. Her hope plummeted
even as white-hot panic pierced her heart. His gun holster came into view, as did the little pouch on his belt that held his handcuffs. She sucked in a shaky breath and fought the tears trying to blur her vision. The knife hovered so close to her neck, she dare not swallow. He couldn’t possibly get to the gun before Harold slit her throat.
“I’ll be damned,” Harold said. “You really into bondage, or you got a badge to go with that?”
When Paul didn’t answer, the blade pressed harder against her skin, and she pushed back against Harold’s body, trying to avoid the sharp edge. Harold snarled in her ear. “You fucking a cop, bitch?”
She whimpered. She pushed against his arm as he grabbed a breast through her shirt, the knife never lowering from its position beneath her chin.
Paul started to turn toward them.
“Don’t fucking move, cop. You turn around, and she’s dead.”
“You cut her,” Paul said, his voice low and sinister, “and you won’t live to regret it.”
Harold chuckled. “Whether she gets cut depends on how well you take orders, cop. Remove the gun with thumb and finger on the butt. Any sudden move and this blade might slip.”
Paul slowly reached for the handgun, pulling it free.
“Set it on the ground and slide it over here.”
“Please...don’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t even think of telling me what to do, bitch.” Harold squeezed her breast hard enough to hurt. She bit her lip to stop the cry tearing at her throat. “I told you that I’d collect what’s mine. And after that little stunt you pulled in the garage, you owe me even more.”
Paul slowly bent, lowering the gun to the ground
“Don’t do anything stupid, cop!”
Heather could see Paul’s tense jaw as he turned his head to the side. He didn’t want to give up his weapon. And God, she didn’t want that either. Harold would use Paul’s gun and shoot them both. He’d rape her then shoot them.
The panic nearly overwhelmed, but she fought it back. She had to stay calm. Stay calm. Help Paul help me. Paul will fix this. He will. He swore it. He won’t let me die like this. He won’t.
Anna Leigh Keaton & Madison Layle - Incognito 04 - Healing Heather Page 11