by Sykes, V. K.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Holly had so much fun at dinner at Maddie and Jake’s that she almost lost track of her worries.
Almost.
Since talking to Mrs. Crump earlier in the day, she’d been puzzling over Lance Arnold’s behavior. If he disappeared from Tyler’s life, it would be hard on the boy and hell on the grandmother. But could it be worse than if he stayed? He’d already heaped psychological abuse on both of them. Physical abuse couldn’t be far away. If Arnold left, it would be bad. If he didn’t, it would be worse, especially given his history of violence.
Either way made her heartsick, and she couldn’t get the family out of her mind.
Still, Holly knew one thing for certain. She could give Tyler Arnold a new heart valve—one that would significantly improve his chances of long-term survival. She told herself to concentrate on that and leave the rest behind, at least for now.
Maddie had cooked vegetarian lasagna to die for, and Jake replenished Holly’s wine glass with her favorite wine. After dinner, they sipped decaf green tea and coffee and played Scrabble. In her case, hopelessly. Holly was good with words, but both Jake and Maddie had trounced her. She’d expected it from Maddie, a journalist with a Swarthmore degree, but from farm boy turned baseball player Jake Miller? That surprised her.
Still, it was all good fun, and Holly was grateful that neither Jake nor Maddie brought up the subject of Nate. Not once, thank God, because she would have turned into a blithering idiot if they did. Her knees still went weak every time she thought about that outrageous encounter in her hallway, and it terrified her how much she wanted Nate back in her life. And he seemed to want to be there with her, although all the big questions between them remained unanswered.
Yet, he’d been a rock during one of the worst crises of her life, and that had to count for something, didn’t it? And that remark he’d tossed at her on his way out the door…everything’s changed. Did he mean he’d changed? Or did it mean that her sexual surrender to him made him think she’d capitulated to his take on how their relationship should work? If that was the case, he was in for an unpleasant surprise, because no way would Holly give in on that point—no matter how painful the subsequent breakup would be. She’d done it once, and she’d do it again if she had to.
In the meantime, she could nothing but stew about it and hope things really had changed for him, because one thing was certain. She loved Nate Carter with her entire body and soul, and giving herself to him in that wild moment of passion had confirmed it. Maybe it wasn’t so wrong to hope, after all, and to give the man a chance to prove himself.
If only she knew how to do that.
Jake drove her home at eleven. They barely saw another car in her dead-quiet neighborhood. Despite Holly’s protests, he insisted on accompanying her into the house and doing a quick check to make sure everything was safe. Only when she snicked the deadbolt into place behind her did she hear the sound of Jake’s footsteps moving off the porch.
She went from room to room turning on even more lights, not exactly sure why. She only knew the house felt empty without Nate. How easy it had been to get used to having him around. To rely on him to make her feel safe.
Muttering to herself, she made one last circuit to check all the doors and windows. Her safety was her responsibility, and she’d keep telling herself that until it sunk in. Eventually the situation with Arnold would resolve, and then she could turn her mind to the unresolved issues with Nate.
Holly returned to the kitchen and put the kettle on, hoping a cup of chamomile tea and a hot bath would help her sleep. As she waited for the water to boil, she glanced at the stove’s digital clock. Eleven-fifteen. What would Nate be up to now? The game would have been over for at least an hour. Was he back at the hotel? Or out at some bar or nightclub with his teammates?
Flirting and dancing with other women?
Why did she have to think like that? For once, couldn’t she just trust him, especially after what had happened this morning? Nate deserved better than speculation and suspicion from her, at least until proven otherwise.
Maybe she could give him a quick call, just to ease her anxiety. But what would she say if he answered? Hi, I had a nice dinner at Jake and Maddie’s. Just thought I’d touch base. By the way, what are you up to, anyway?
He’d think she’d lost it. Or that she couldn’t stand to be without him.
She heaved a little sigh. Grain of truth there.
The kettle whistled. She poured the boiling water into her cup, dropped in a tea bag, and went to retrieve the novel she was currently reading from the kitchen counter. Best to just take her bath and get some sleep. Nate would be home tomorrow, and all questions could be asked and answered then.
She’d just grabbed her book when a thunderous crash sounded behind her.
* * *
Holly.
Nate couldn’t believe how guilty he felt about leaving her. By the time he’d walked out to the mound at six o’clock, his concentration had been shot.
And, man, did it ever show.
The Ottawa fans must have thought it was some Nate Carter impersonator out there. From the first inning, he’d had to struggle to get the ball to do what he wanted. And when he did manage to find the strike zone, it was too often over the heart of the plate. When that happened, the Syracuse batters licked their lips and teed off on him.
By the top of fifth, the manager had seen enough and yanked him out of the game. Nate had managed to retire only twelve batters, and had given up five earned runs in four innings—a miserable performance. The same crowd that had given him a standing ovation when he was introduced was deathly quiet as he’d trudged back to the dugout. In frustration, he’d fired his glove against the Gatorade cooler and headed straight into the clubhouse.
Ten minutes in the shower had made him feel only slightly more human. His revolting outing had wounded his pride. Five earned runs to a bunch of minor leaguers?
But he’d get over it. What he couldn’t get over was worrying about Holly, all alone at home with that bastard Arnold still in the picture. Every moment he was away from her, Nate’s sense of urgency mounted, grinding away at his gut. He’d spent all day trying to convince his sorry self that Holly would be safe until he got back tomorrow, without any positive results.
And when he wasn’t thinking about her safety, he was thinking about how she’d felt wrapped around him, her luscious body taking him deep inside. Either way, thinking about the woman was driving him crazy.
Getting back into his street clothes, he glanced at his watch. Just after eight o’clock. It was early, because he’d only lasted on the mound about an hour and a half. He’d planned on staying in Ottawa overnight because he couldn’t count on being done until nine-thirty, or maybe even later if the game went into extra innings. But after the pasting he’d taken, no one would criticize him for not hanging around until the game was over. And even if they did, at this point he could live with it. He didn’t want to stay in Ottawa any longer than it took him to get a cab to the airport and fire up the Bonanza.
His stink bomb pitching had one positive outcome. It wasn’t too late for him to fly home tonight.
And get back to Holly, where he needed to be.
He only had two calls to make. The first to Holly, to let her know he was coming. The second to the airport flight services center to ask them to get the Bonanza ready for an immediate departure. He got Holly’s voice mail, as he expected, since he knew she’d still be at Jake’s place. He thought briefly about trying her there, but decided instead to leave a message at her house. It would be a welcome surprise for her to get home and find out he was already in the air.
And even if she wasn’t overjoyed to see him, there was no damn way he was leaving her alone a minute longer than necessary.
* * *
Holly whirled toward the sound, racing from the kitchen into the hall. There she froze, her heart thudding as adrenaline flooded her body. For a few seconds, her mind refused t
o register what her eyes saw.
Lance Arnold—Lance Arnold picking himself up off the hallway floor. He’d hurtled through the door leading inside from the garage. Half off its hinges, the door must have rebounded off the wall, knocking him down.
She knew instantly there was only one way out for her—through the back door. But she also knew she’d never make it. By the time she got the key for the deadbolt and undid the safety chain, Arnold would be all over her.
Panting, she raced back into the kitchen and reached for the phone. She managed to get her hand around it and press “9”, but Arnold slapped her arm so hard that the phone flew across the kitchen counter. As she started to scream, he clamped a hand around her mouth.
Holly’s scream died, muffled by his sweaty palm. Pain from his slap radiated into her shoulder. Grunting, she twisted her body and stomped her heel against his foot. But he barely reacted. She realized that he had some kind of work boots on and hadn’t even felt her pathetic effort.
“I told you we’d be meeting soon,” he snarled in her ear. His breath stank of alcohol, and his stiff stubble rasped against the soft skin of her cheek. One meaty arm clamped hard around her waist, something cold—metallic—pushing up under her shirt against her skin.
Holly struggled to free herself, but Arnold’s weight and strength overwhelmed her. He drove her forward, pinning her body against the counter. She jerked in pain when her hip bone made contact with the granite, but he held her immobile. His hand pressed down hard on her mouth, and his pelvis and thighs drove hard against her. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t bite his hand—couldn’t even get off a kick. She was no weakling, but his brute strength terrified her with its raw, animal power.
Horrifying scenarios flashed through her mind at lightning speed—all of them bad. All ended with her dead, probably raped and brutalized. Whatever happened, Arnold was going to kill her. He was insane, but not crazy enough to ever let her go in one piece after this.
“Listen, bitch,” he growled. “If you let out even one tiny sound without my say-so, you’ll be dead before anybody but me hears it.” He paused for a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Holly.
“Okay, I’m gonna take my hand away from your mouth now, so remember what I said. You scream, you die. Got it?”
Holly nodded her head as best she could. Arnold slid his hand away from her mouth and took a step back. Holly turned slowly, and found herself face to face with a big, black gun. Arnold, laughing, held the barrel high, just inches from her face. She swallowed the bile in her throat as her head swam.
Taking a deep, shaking breath, she tried the only gambit her terrified brain could come up with. “My boyfriend’s just gone out to the Seven-Eleven on the corner. He’ll be back any minute,” she said, her voice quavering.
Pathetic.
Arnold laughed, his alcohol-flushed face going even redder. “God, you really think I’m stupid, don’t you, Miss High and Mighty Doctor? I know the hero’s been staying here, but he’s pitching up in Canada tonight. Any idiot who can read a newspaper knows that.”
His lips peeled back in a vicious, leering grin, and Holly knew she was dead. She began to sweat heavily, moisture slicking what felt like her entire body.
Arnold butted the gun barrel against her forehead, and she almost puked. Somehow, she managed to hold on.
Think. Delay. Do something!
“What do you hope to accomplish by this?” she croaked. “Other than making your little boy a virtual orphan when you go to prison?”
He pulled the gun away from her face and lowered it to her breasts, shoving it in between them. When his gaze followed the gun down there, her knees weakened, and she had to lean heavily into the counter. His breath came harder now, and he actually licked his lips as he leered at her body. Tears formed in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She didn’t dare show him any weakness.
“I don’t care anymore,” he finally growled. “My life is shit. It’s always been shit. You know what it’s like to have a kid like mine?”
“Yes, I do. I see it every day,” she said. She might die for it, but she wouldn’t let him off the hook.
He grunted, then ran the tip of the barrel down her left breast and over her nipple. When she shuddered, her gave her a malicious grin.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “You fucking doctors. You screw around with the kid for a week or two, then you dump him back on me and I’ve got to deal with all the shit. When you told me about the valve thing, I thought maybe this time he wouldn’t make it. Maybe I’d finally be free. Maybe the kid and I would both be free.” His expression turned bitter, angry. “It ain’t like it wouldn’t be better for the kid, too.”
The kid. He couldn’t even call his child by his name.
Holly firmed her voice. “Don’t try to rationalize your sick agenda, Arnold. Tyler deserves every chance he can get to live. You don’t get to make that decision for him.”
Blood rushed to his face. “No, because you made it for him.” He yanked her against him, rubbing his crotch against her pelvis. “And now you’re going to pay for that. You’re going to pay big time.”
She jerked and struggled, frantic to get away from the disgusting feel of him, but he brought the gun up and, with a short stroke, slapped the barrel into the side of her head. She screamed and staggered as pain lanced through her skull.
Arnold’s face distorted with rage and he shook her shoulder with his left hand. “Keep your fucking mouth shut! Next time you make a move like that, I’m going to knock you out cold.”
That might be a blessing. Part of her wanted to provoke him and get it over with. But something stronger made her keep her mouth shut.
“But that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” he said with a sickening leer, pushing his erection between her thighs.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t just stay silent and let him have his way. “You fucking bastard,” she snarled. “I’ll fight you every step of the way. And I’ll kill you if I get the chance.”
His eyes gleamed like an animal’s. “Well, then, it looks like we’re going to have ourselves some fun, Doc. As much as we can before I have to kill you.”
She struggled against his grip, trying to kick out at him even though his body pinned her against the counter. “You son of a bitch,” she shrieked. “You murdering son of a bitch!”
“I’ve been called worse,” he said. “Now, where are your fucking car keys? We’re going for a ride.”
* * *
Nate touched down at North Philly Airport at five to eleven, then taxied at maximum ground speed to the hangar. In minutes, he’d put away the Bonanza, locked up the hangar and jumped in his car. On the semi-deserted freeway, he let the Aston Martin loose. It was risking a big ticket, but it was worth taking the chance. Maybe it was the darkness and the almost empty streets as he raced along, but his gut kept telling him something was wrong. Something with Holly.
Hurry, man. Gotta get there now.
He slowed as he took the exit into her neighborhood, but still drove as fast as he dared. When he pulled up in front of her house, he braked quietly and turned the engine off. He got out, grabbed his bag, and strode quickly to the porch and up the wooden steps. Although lights shone from behind her curtains, the porch light hadn’t been switched on and there was almost zero ambient light at her end of the street. The only lamppost was at the end of the block, and the tall trees lining the street absorbed most of that light before it got to Holly’s house.
He decided to knock softly rather than try to unlock the front door with his key. He was sure she would have secured the chain, so she’d have to come to the door to let him in anyway, but at least he wouldn’t startle her.
“Holly, it’s me.” He tapped twice on the door. “I made it back early, babe.”
A terrified scream from inside the house pierced the night, shocking him into immobility.
Holly!
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
When Holly heard the knock at he
r door, then Nate’s voice, she didn’t think. She screamed.
“Nate! He’s got a gun!”
With a curse, Arnold slammed the flat of his palm into her chest, pounding her backwards. The back of her head smashed into the kitchen cupboard. Dazed, her vision swimming, Holly collapsed onto the cold ceramic floor.
“Stupid bitch!” Arnold roared. “Now, you’ve gotten your boyfriend killed, too. It’s your fault he’s fucking gonna die.”
He spun around, aiming the gun at the front door.
Holly pulled herself up, gasping in deep breaths to clear her head. She felt little pain, the adrenaline pouring through her body keeping it at bay. For now, all she could focus on was that black killing machine in Arnold’s steady hand. It pointed straight at the front entrance. Straight at where Nate must be standing behind the door.
She rolled onto her side and screamed again. “Don’t come in, he’ll kill you! Call the police!”
Please, Nate! Get out of here or he’ll kill you, too.
Arnold fired three times, each shot a terrifying explosion. The bullets tore through the front door, splintering the wood in their path. Holly flinched and cowered against the cabinets.
“You bastard!” she screamed. “It’s me you want. Not him!” She grabbed the oven door handle and used it to pull herself to her feet.
Arnold snorted, his face contorting into one of those sickening grins. If it was the last thing she ever did, she’d try to wipe it off his wretched face.
“If the son of a bitch gets the hell out of here right now, he lives,” Arnold spat. “If he comes in that door, he dies. His choice.” Arnold grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. “You’re coming with me.”
She stumbled forward with him, pushing aside the pain now blossoming in her injured hip. She had to stay strong. For Nate as much as for herself.
Arnold moved carefully, and as he passed the open door to the garage he poked his head inside, obviously checking it out. He must have been satisfied, since he resumed his careful steps toward the front door, dragging her behind him as she tried uselessly to yank herself free from his powerful grip. She let her weight hang heavily, trying at least to slow him down.