As the fire edged closer, their lovemaking grew more intense and Belinda realized if they didn’t stop, if they didn’t run, the fire would consume them both.
She struggled against him, but he held her tight, so tight she could feel the frantic pounding of his heart. Sweat bathed both their bodies and her skin felt flushed, taut from the heat surrounding them.
Outside the ring of fire, her sisters stood, urging her to stay with Derek, save the ranch for their children and their childrens’ children.
She awakened with a gasp, her legs tangled in the bed covers, her heartbeat pulsing at her temples. Remaining unmoving, she drew in several deep breaths in an attempt to slow her heart, slough off the remnants of the nightmare.
Her breath caught in her throat as an alien noise broke the silence of the night. She froze, willing herself to stop breathing and listen. A thud, followed by the soft tinkle of breaking glass. A window breaking? Was somebody in the house?
Each muscle in her body tensed. Making no sound, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, searching in the moonlight for something that could be used as a weapon.
For the first time in her life she was sorry her father hadn’t been a proponent of handguns. The only guns in the house were two shotguns in her parents’ old bedroom.
Scanning the top of her dresser, she frowned at the perfume bottles and makeup, no bottle or container big enough to be hefted over her head and used in defense. She grabbed a can of hair spray, oddly comforted by the mere act of holding something—anything—in her hand.
She briefly considered hiding in the closet, but a vision of being trapped in the small confines by an attacker made her dismiss the idea.
Holding her breath once again, she peeked out her bedroom door and down the long, shadowy hallway. Nothing. Nobody. Maybe a tree branch had knocked against a window. Perhaps one of the glass knickknacks in one of the bedrooms had fallen and crashed to the floor. Maybe nobody at all was in the house.
She stepped out into the hallway, her finger on the nozzle of the can she held. Slowly, cautiously, she made her way down the dark corridor. Once again her heartbeat thrummed in her temples, the rapid, aching beat of fear.
Passing the first bedroom off the hallway, she looked inside. Nothing amiss. No shattered window, no broken knickknacks.
She moved on to the second bedroom. As she reached the doorway, cold night air caressed her face. She stepped into the room and immediately spied the broken window. Shards of glass littered the carpeting, shining like gems in the moonlight. At this particular window there was no tree, no branches that might have accidently crashed into the glass.
Somebody did this. Somebody is in the house. The words of alarm screamed in her head. A rustling sound behind her caused her to whirl around. A blackclothed figure, face hidden beneath a ski mask, stood in the doorway.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Belinda shouted.
The intruder raised a hand overhead, the moonlight glinting on a knife. Belinda froze, watching in horror as the assailant began to advance.
All rational thought left her mind as survival instincts kicked in. She crouched, making herself as small a target as possible, at the same time looking around for a weapon better than the hair spray can.
Cold air poured through the window at her back, but perspiration dotted her skin as she watched her attacker draw closer. “What do you want?” she repeated. “Just take what you want and go.”
Still the dark-clad figure advanced. Reaching out to the nearby table, Belinda picked up what she could and threw it. A paperback book. A box of tissues. A candle in a thick jar. The assailant easily dodged each item, continuing toward Belinda with frightening single-mindedness.
Despite Belinda’s desire to scream—to run—she knew if she panicked, she would die. Instead she held her ground, waiting until the figure was close enough to strike. As the knife arced toward her, Belinda pressed the nozzle of the can, directing the spray into the eye slits of the mask. A white-hot pain riveted through Belinda as the knife glanced off her shoulder. Still, she directed the spray, sobbing in relief as the knife clattered to the floor and her assailant also fell to the floor, rubbing his eyes.
Belinda dropped the can and without hesitation dove through the window. She hit the ground on hands and knees, but instantly got up and took off running.
She didn’t look behind her, didn’t consider stopping as she ran past the bunkhouse. There was only one place she’d feel safe, only one person she truly trusted, and she headed there, running like the wind.
Her white nightgown billowed as she ran and she prayed it didn’t act as a beacon to whoever might be chasing her. Her bare feet flew over the land, unmindful of rocks and brambles.
She didn’t stop running until she reached Derek’s front door. Pounding with her fists, she screamed his name. Hoping, praying he was home. Hoping, praying he would keep her safe.
DEREK AWAKENED to the banging on his door, immediately eyeing the luminous hands on the clock next to his bed. Two o’clock. He’d been in bed less than an hour.
“Derek!”
Belinda’s voice reached him. Frantic with fear, it instantly propelled him out of bed. He yanked on a pair of jeans and raced down the stairway.
He disarmed the new security system and pulled open the front door. She collapsed into his arms. “Belinda. Dear God, what happened?”
He held her at arm’s length, his gaze riveted on the red splash of blood that oozed from her shoulder and stained the white of her nightgown. He could instantly tell the wound was wicked, but not life-threatening.
She looked down at herself, then back at him, her eyes blackened with fear and near shock. As sobs racked her body he led her to the kitchen and sat her at the rich, oak table, then rummaged beneath the sink and withdrew a first-aid kit.
His hands trembled as he took out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and cotton balls. Questions assailed him, but at the moment she was obviously in no condition to answer them.
“Shh, you’re all right now,” he murmured soothingly as he slipped her shoulder strap down to expose the slash that caused the blood flow.
“I—I didn’t know where else to go…what else to do…” Any further words were drowned out as she once again sobbed.
“Don’t try to talk now. Let me clean you up, then we’ll talk,” Derek said. Gently, he wiped the cotton ball over the wound. He breathed a silent sigh of thanks as he saw that the injury was already beginning to stop bleeding.
He worked silently, efficiently, trying to ignore the sweet floral scent that emanated from her. What had happened? Had she somehow cut herself, then panicked when the blood flowed? By the time he had the wound completely cleaned, she’d calmed down enough to talk.
He placed a bandage on the cut, then pulled a chair in front of her and sat. “Now, tell me what happened. How did you hurt yourself?”
“I didn’t hurt myself.” In her eyes, her lovely blue eyes, he saw fear. Her words caused adrenaline to pump through him.
“What happened?”
“I—I was asleep, having a nightmare, and I woke up. I was trying to fall back to sleep when I heard a thud, then breaking glass.” She shivered, her eyes once again welling with tears.
He took her trembling hands in his. She clutched his tightly and drew in a deep breath, then continued. “I left my bedroom to see what had happened. The window in Abby and Luke’s room had been broken. Before I could figure out exactly how it had happened, somebody attacked me…tried to stab me.”
Derek swallowed a curse bred from impotent helplessness. He’d been watching her house every night since her family had left town, not liking the idea of her being all alone. It had been sheer exhaustion that had driven him back home in the wee hours of each morning. This night had been no different, although the exhaustion had caught up with him earlier, driving him home from her place around midnight.
She winced and Derek realized he was squeezing her hands too tightly. “Sor
ry…” He released the pressure, but didn’t let go of her hands. “Go on,” he urged. “Tell me everything that happened.”
“Whoever it was, had on a ski mask. I had a can of hair spray and when he got close enough to try to stab me, I sprayed him in the eyes, then dove out the window and ran here.”
Derek stood and went to the phone and quickly punched in a series of numbers.
“Who are you calling?” Belinda asked, her voice still trembling from the shock and terror she’d experienced.
“Junior. You’ve got to make a report of all this.”
“I don’t want to go back there…at least not for tonight” Her eyes were huge, radiating a vulnerability that made Derek more determined than ever that nothing and nobody would ever harm her again.
“You can stay here for the rest of the night,” he replied, then spoke into the phone, explaining the situation to the groggy, half-asleep sheriff.
“I’m to meet him at your house in fifteen minutes,” Derek said to her as he hung up the phone. “I’m sure he’ll want to question you, but he can do it here.”
She nodded, then shivered and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Her fingers plucked nervously at the bandage over the wound. “I—I just wish I could tell Junior who it was, but it was too dark and I was too scared to pay attention to any details.”
“You did the right thing in getting out of there. How about a cup of coffee before I leave to meet Junior?” She nodded and Derek busied himself preparing the coffeemaker.
What he wanted to do was take her in his arms, hold her until her frightened shivering stopped and another kind of trembling began. He wanted to wrap his fingers in the golden spill of her hair, kiss her mouth until it was swollen. But he knew that was the want, the need, of the man he’d once been and had nothing to do with the man he was now.
He poured them each a cup of coffee, then joined her at the table. “If you want to get out of that nightgown, there are T-shirts and sweatpants upstairs in the master closet. You can help yourself.”
“You think you’ll be gone long?”
He heard the fear once again in her voice, knew she dreaded staying in his big house all alone for any length of time. “Belinda, I’ve got a security system that covers every door and every window. If anyone tries to get in, an alarm will sound that’s so loud, Junior and I will hear it at your place. I’ll arm it as I leave.” He reached out and touched her hand, his fingers stroking her knuckles. “I promise you’ll be fine.”
Her fingers closed around his. “Thank you, Derek.” Her cheeks pinkened slightly. “I knew I’d be safe here with you.” She released her hold on his hand and instead wrapped her fingers around her coffee mug.
“I’d better head out,” Derek said as he rose from the table. “I want to be there when Junior arrives.”
She walked with him to the door, where he punched in a code on the security control panel. “You’ll be fine until we get back,” he said, then left.
He opted for walking rather than driving to Belinda’s. The chill night air caused his leg to ache more intensely than usual, but he ignored the pain, instead focusing his thoughts on Belinda and who might have attacked her.
He wondered, Who knew her family was out of town? Who had known she would be at the house all alone? Dammit, who was responsible for this latest attack and why…why did somebody want to hurt her?
There was no way to mistake the attack tonight as an accident, no way to assume it was meant for anyone other than Belinda. Who was it and why had Derek received the notes warning him of the danger to her? It seemed as if not only did somebody want to kill Belinda, but that somebody wanted to make sure Derek was a witness to her death. His blood ran cold at the very thought.
As the Connor ranch came into view, he was unsurprised to see that-Junior hadn’t yet arrived. He stopped some distance from the house, scanning the area intently, looking for anything amiss.
The cloudless sky allowed the light from the quarter moon to dust the house in silvery hues. All appeared quiet…normal.
He eyed the surrounding wooded area, the dark; silent bunkhouse and the rest of the outbuildings. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing out of the ordinary caught his eye. Still, he approached cautiously, knowing the shadows of night could hide things from view.
Instead of investigating on his own, he went directly to the porch and sat to await Junior’s arrival. Derek was no cop and didn’t want to disturb any evidence Junior’s seasoned eyes might discover.
Within minutes Junior’s patrol car pulled up the drive. Derek was grateful the old man didn’t have the lights flashing and siren blaring. No sense in stirring all the workers, who could only add to the confusion.
“I hope this middle-of-the-night stuff with you and Belinda isn’t going to become a habit,” Junior grumbled as he unfolded his call length from the car.
“I’m not exactly pleased to be here, either,” Derek observed dryly.
“Where’s Belinda?”
“At my place. She was shaken up, scared, and didn’t want to come back here. I told her you can talk to her at my house after we take a look around here.”
Junior nodded and placed a hand on the butt of his holstered gun. “Let’s see what we find.”
The front door was locked and appeared undisturbed. The two men walked around to the side of the house and instantly spied the broken window. “There.” Derek pointed to a thick piece of wood just beneath the window. “Looks like that was used to smash in the window.”
Junior pulled on gloves, then picked up the piece of wood. “I’m going to put this into the trunk of my car. I’ll be right back.” He handed Derek his flashlight, then disappeared around the corner of the house.
While Derek waited for his return, he directed the beam of light along the bottom of the window. The jagged edge of remaining glass had snagged several dark threads. Derek remembered Belinda saying the intruder had been dressed all in black. It was obvious this was the point of entry.
When Junior returned, Derek pointed out the black threads, which the sheriff collected in a small evidence bag. They looked around the outside of the house for anything else that might identify the assailant, but found nothing.
All the doors were locked and rather than breaking one down to get inside, Junior suggested Derek enter through the broken window, then unlock the front door to admit him.
Careful not to cut himself on the pieces of glass the window still retained, Derek lifted himself up and through the opening. Shards of glass crunched beneath his feet as he stepped into the bedroom. He didn’t stop to look around, but went right to the front door to unlock it and let the sheriff in.
“The first thing we’ll do is make sure nobody is still here,” Junior said. “Although I’m sure whoever did this isn’t still hanging around.”
Together the two men went from room to room, turning on lights and checking any space where a person could hide. They found nobody. What they did find was a burlap bag in the middle of the living room floor. Inside the bag was a pair of silver candlesticks, a gold-plated mirror and several collector figurines.
“Looks like Belinda surprised a burglar,” Junior observed. “Probably some lowlife who heard she’d be out here all by herself.”
“Maybe.” Derek couldn’t keep the skepticism from his voice.
Junior eyed him curiously. “You don’t think so?”
Derek raked a hand through his hair, then rubbed his thigh thoughtfully. “Why would a burglar choose to take this stuff and leave the television, the stereo and that stack of Cody’s computer games?”
Junior shrugged. “Maybe he intended to get the other stuff but before he could, Belinda woke up.”
“Maybe,” Derek repeated, not convinced.
“What do you think? That somebody wanted us to think it was just a burglary, but the real motive was to attack Belinda?” Junior heaved a deep sigh. “Have you told her about those notes you received?”
“No.”
�
��I think it’s time you do, don’t you?”
This time Derek sighed. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, had thought that by keeping her in the dark he was somehow protecting her, making things easier on her.
In the recesses of his soul, he recognized that he’d been using her as bait. Whoever had sent him those notes knew about his relationship with Belinda years ago. That meant they knew about the fire that had destroyed his life, might be responsible for that fire.
He hadn’t wanted Belinda to know because he hadn’t wanted her changing her habits, becoming so cautious that the hunter stopped the hunt.
But the hunter had nearly succeeded tonight. Had Belinda not grabbed that can of hair spray, had not awakened at all, he knew she’d be dead. Yes, it was time to tell Belinda and hopefully by working together they could find the person who hated enough to kill.
Chapter Eight
Derek’s house radiated a still silence after he left, but the glowing light on the security panel assuaged any lingering fears Belinda might have. She was safe here, as she’d known she would be.
She wandered around the living room, admiring the casual but attractive furniture Derek had chosen. By his choice of furnishings, he’d somehow managed to imbibe the large room with warmth, with a feeling of intimacy and home.
As she passed a mirror hanging on the wall, she paused in front of it, studying her reflection. Who might want to hurt her? Why would anyone attack her with a knife? She plucked at the bloodstained nightgown, suddenly wanting it off.
She turned from the mirror and went upstairs to the master bedroom, again amazed at the transformation of the room now complete with furniture. The color scheme was peach and blue, and Belinda wondered if when Derek had chosen these colors, he’d remembered that they were her favorites.
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