She glanced up to make sure no one was nearby and then quickly went through the series of steps to access the secure server. She held her breath waiting for the page to load and then she saw that she had not one but several messages. Nearly a dozen. All from Marcus. Most saying the same thing with little variation.
Damn it, Sarah, where are you?
Sarah, contact me immediately. I’ll come for you.
I’m worried. You shouldn’t have gone off on your own. Tell me where you are.
And then the last.
Sarah, I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want you anywhere near. It had to be done. I don’t regret it. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. Never of me. People will be looking for you. Because of me. I need you to tell me where you are so I can make arrangements.
With shaking fingers she typed a response to the last email.
I’m okay. I’m safe. It’s better if you don’t know where I am. I don’t want to be used against you. I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid for you. You’re the only one who’s ever stood up for me. It’s time I stood up for myself. I promise to contact you if I need you. Let me know when things are safe for you.
Then she hurriedly shut the laptop. She closed her eyes against the ache in her throat. There was so many “if only”s. They ran through her mind like an out-of-control merry-go-round. But it was time to put the “if only”s behind her. Move forward. New life. New resolve.
A sound jerked her from sleep. Sarah came fully awake, sitting up in bed, hands shaking and nausea welling in her stomach. For a moment she was paralyzed with fear, and then she realized the room was steeped in darkness. Her gaze swung frantically to the lamp she always left on. She rolled, reaching for it and nearly knocking it off the nightstand in her haste to turn it back on. She twisted the knob but nothing happened. Had the bulb burned out? It had to have gone off after she’d fallen asleep. Her shoulder brushed against the book she’d been reading, and she shoved it under her pillow.
She listened, straining for the sound. Had she imagined it?
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet hitting the old wooden floor. It creaked in protest when she rose and she reached down for the only means of self-defense she had—an old pipe she’d found lying outside the cottage.
Her fingers curled around it and she pulled it up to her chest as she peered through her open doorway into the hall. Her vision blurred and her head swam before she realized she was holding her breath. She let it out slow but it stuttered across her lips and she clamped then shut so she didn’t make any sound.
She crept down the hall, so terrified and yet determined not to be a powerless victim again. If only she could have that moment back. She’d replayed it so many times in her mind. She could have fought harder. She could have defended herself better. But no matter how many times she went back, the result was always the same. She’d failed.
She wouldn’t fail again.
With renewed determination and courage, she gripped the pipe and increased her pace down the hall. At the end, she hesitated, surveying the small living room. The night-light plugged into the wall cast a glow over the area, and nothing looked out of place.
A faint rustle from the kitchen sent her pulse soaring. She leaned against the wall and pondered her options. She could run out the front door, but to where? The beach? She was a mile from town and at least two hundred yards from the closest cottage, which was currently vacant.
Still, outside was away from whatever was in her kitchen, and avoidance was always preferable to confrontation.
She swallowed, closed her eyes and then reopened them, her sights on the front door. There were two dead bolts, a chain and the regular lock to contend with. She’d need to be fast because as soon as she started fumbling with the door, the intruder would be alerted.
Before she could overthink it, she lunged for the front door, her fingers reaching for the first dead bolt. She had it undone, when she heard a very distinct meow.
She froze. A cat?
She whirled around to see a scruffy calico cat standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The cat looked at her, then meowed again and proceeded to pad across the floor to rub against Sarah’s leg.
Her relief was so staggering that she sagged to the floor still clutching the pipe. She leaned her head forward onto her knees, eyes closed and laughed. She laughed until tears ran down her cheeks and then she gave up and sobbed.
Warm fur rubbed against her arm and the low rumble of a purr reached her ears. She raised her head to see the cat up on its hind legs, paws on her thigh as she rubbed her head against Sarah’s skin.
“You scared me to death,” Sarah said hoarsely. “How did you get in here?”
The cat meowed and dipped her head, obviously wanting Sarah to pet her. Sarah laid the pipe on the floor and reached to scratch the cat’s ears. The cat responded with an even louder purr and a ripply sound of pleasure. She began kneading Sarah’s arm and Sarah gently removed the claws from her skin.
Pitifully grateful for the affection of the cat, she gathered the animal closer, putting her against her chest. The cat nudged at Sarah’s chin and repeatedly bumped her head over Sarah’s jaw.
“Are you hungry? Is that what you were doing in the kitchen?”
Had she been so lost in her thoughts when she’d returned from town that she hadn’t seen the cat come in? Or had she left the door ajar earlier? The thought worried her. She was going to have to be more careful. She couldn’t afford any lapse in attention.
The cat responded with more purring and Sarah smiled as she wiped the tears from her cheek. Gathering the cat under one arm, she got to her feet and walked into the kitchen. She flipped on the light and grimaced. The cat had knocked a glass off the counter and it lay in pieces on the floor, the edges gleaming in the light.
Sarah sighed and put the cat up on the counter so she wouldn’t cut her paws. “You were a very naughty cat,” she chided. “Stay there while I clean the mess up and I’ll find you something to eat.”
The cat settled on its haunches and began licking her paw and wiping it over her jowls. Sarah collected the dustpan and the broom from the pantry and cleaned up the shards. Afterward she perused the contents of the small refrigerator and decided that leftover chicken breast was the most suitable meal until she could buy dry food from the market.
The cat tried to stick her nose in the chicken multiple times as Sarah sliced it into bite-sized pieces. She pushed at the cat’s head to ward it off but it only purred and rubbed against her palm. With a laugh, Sarah piled the chicken onto a saucer and set it in front of the cat.
She leaned tiredly against the counter, watching as the poor animal devoured the meal like it was her last. Unable to resist, she slid her hand over the cat’s fur, petting as the cat continued to scarf down the bites.
Every once in a while the cat would pick her head up and give Sarah sweet eyes and Sarah smiled. “You don’t look or act like you have a home, sweetie. Do you want to stay with me?” In truth, the idea of having a pet here appealed. It made the cottage less intimidating and the idea that she wasn’t alone—even with just a cat for company—was a huge relief.
After the last bite was demolished, the cat licked the saucer and then looked up at Sarah and meowed. Sarah scooped her off the counter and headed for the bedroom. Tomorrow, in addition to food, she’d need litter and a pan. For tonight, she’d just have to hope the cat could hold it until morning, because she was closing her bedroom door and locking it.