“Are you out of your mind?” Well, that came through clearly enough. But then Riley heard, “Best I can…police…emergency band…” and then nothing but static.
He swore, and in a gesture of rage and futility, hurled the phone onto the passenger seat. His lungs burned with cold fire, as if he’d been running. Like a nightmare-his nightmare. From out of his past, from the distant echoes of memory, he felt it-the icy paralysis of fear.
He wasn’t going to be in time. He’d left them unprotected, knowing that even then the syndicate thugs might be closing in. If they’d taken the FBI’s bait, picked up Hal Robey’s trail, if they came for Summer and the children now, in this…and why wouldn’t they? It was the best possible moment. Power and phones were out, roads blocked, Jake and his agents cut off, the local police helpless to respond even if the security alarm did sound. Dammit, they were alone…helpless.
He wasn’t going to be able to save them. Dear God, he raged, Why? Why did he always seem destined to fail those he loved most?
He had only one hope left. Tom Denby. Please, God, he prayed, let him be there, even in this. Please, God, let him be in time.
“Shh-not a sound,” Summer whispered. With one arm around each of her children, she herded them, tiptoeing, out of her room and into the dark hallway. She’d turned off her flashlight, figuring the one advantage she had was that she knew the layout of the house better than any intruder would.
“Where’s Beatle?” David hissed. “Mom-”
“Shh’ I’ll find her. Never mind that now. Come on-m here.” As quietly as she could, she led them across the hall and into the room where they’d discovered Helen in the magnolia tree. “Quick-under the bed. Stay there and don’t move. And not a sound, do you understand me? No matter what happens. Not one sound.” For once there was no argument, no squabbling. Just silence. Summer watched her children wriggle under the edge of the canopy bed, then smoothed the spread and left them there. Left the room and closed the door soundlessly behind her.
Out in the hallway she stood for a moment, listening. Her heart was pounding, but her head was clear. As she weighed the flashlight in her hand, she knew what she had to do. It was obvious to her that the FBI wasn’t coming, at least not in time; all their carefully laid plans had been blown apart by the hurricane. No one was going to come and rescue her. She was on her own. The flashlight was the only weapon she had, and it wasn’t enough. Her best hope was to get outside. If it was just a burglar she’d heard, taking advantage of the storm and the power outage, let him ransack the place. He could take whatever he wanted-he wasn’t going to find the children. If it was Hal-please, God, let it be Hal-he’d make himself known and then she could talk to him, convince him to turn himself in. And if it wasn’t Hal or a burglar…if it was the same thugs who had burned her house…well, then she’d draw them out after her, make them chase her, like a mother lark pretending a broken wing. They’d probably catch her, but she’d convince them the children were somewhere else, somewhere safe. Then…
Beyond that she didn’t dare think. First, she had to get past whoever it was…get outside. But where were they? She couldn’t hear anything!
And then Beatle began to bark. Furiously, viciously, growling and snarling the way she did when she was shaking and mauling one of her practice “kills.” Summer heard mutters… swearing. A muffled shout. A soft but dreadful thud. A sharp, shrill cry.
“Oh, no,” she whimpered. “Oh, Beatte-” She lunged for the stairs, her heart racing.
And stopped, stifling her sobs with her hand. No-she couldn’t go to pieces now. She had to stay calm. Keep her head. Brushing tears from her cheeks, she crept silently toward the stairs.
Someone was coming up the stairs.
Summer dropped down into a crouch in the shadow of the banister, and as she did, felt something brush past her face. Something silent as a breeze or a puff of smoke. Or a cat’s tail. Oh, God-Peggy Sue! Once more she clamped a hand over her mouth and held her breath, this time to stifle a hiccup of half hysterical laughter. It was almost too much-no doubt about it, the cat was heading down the stairs. Completely unperturbed by either storm or strangers, parading right down the middle as if she owned them, as she always did. And the intruder was coming up. Somewhere, the two were going to have to meet. And, of course, only one could see in the dark…
No sooner had the thought formed in her mind than there came an outraged feline screech, followed by a muffled cry and then a whole series of bumps, thumps and clatters. Almost the moment they began Summer was on her feet and running as soundlessly as she could down the stairs, counting on the racket to cover any noises she did make. Near the bottom she halted, warned by some primitive sense. No help for it-she had to risk turning on the flashlight, just for a second. Just for an instant-but it was enough to reveal what she had already suspected. And though she had been prepared, she couldn’t stop the sharp intake of her breath.
A man lay sprawled on the floor at the foot of the stairs-not dead, or even, she feared, badly injured; he was already beginning to move and groan a little. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew it wasn’t Hal-too big and broad to be Hal. And there was no doubt in her mind about what she needed to do. Leaning over the man and gripping the flashlight upraised like a club, she switched it on once more.
But before she had time to bring it down on the dazed man’s head, or even cry out, someone grabbed her from behind, knocking the flashlight out of her hand. She could hear it rolling across the tile floor as a powerful arm clamped across her throat, cutting off her air supply. She struggled, kicking at her assailant’s legs and making contact at least once. She heard a satisfying grunt of pain and a vicious snarl. “Do that again and I’ll break your neck.”
She believed that, so she stopped struggling. And in the sudden stillness a voice came quietly from the darkness near the door to Riley’s study. “It’s me you want. Let her go.”
Hal!
The pressure on her windpipe eased, and her body dragged in air in a shuddering, convulsive gasp. There was a roaring in her ears. Fighting to remain conscious, Summer heard garbled bits of conversation: “…is it, Robey?” “Haven’t got…” “Tell… kill her.”
Her head cleared just as a flashlight beam slashed through the darkness, pinioning the figure of a man…the man Summer had been married to for twelve years, the man she had once loved. Her children’s father. He looked strangely unchanged, she thought. His smile was as charming as ever.
“What’s that you got there?” the man holding Summer growled.
Still smiling, Hal held up a package wrapped in bright paper. “This? Just some presents for my kids.”
“Yeah? Let’s see it.” A hand moved into Summer’s line of vision-a hand holding a gun.
What happened next happened so fast, she was never sure of the exact sequence. And yet, some things seemed in slow motion: The package and Hal’s hand moving in a short downward arc. The gun flying out of the man’s hand. Hal’s scream. “Run!”
Then she was running, through the dark kitchen, through the mudroom and out into a chaos of howling wind and driving rain. The eye of the hurricane had passed; the storm was on them again in its full force and fury, the noise so intense she couldn’t hear her own sobs. She ran instinctively, down the driveway and into the lane, heading toward the gate. Around her trees lashed and groaned like tormented souls. She couldn’t tell what was happening behind her-shouts, running footsteps, even gunshots were swallowed up in the storm.