Fuck.
Though instinct demands I race up there heedless of stealth or caution, I know that’s not how it’s done. If there’s someone up there—ah, fuck, if someone is inDarcy’sbedroom—I don’t want them to know I’m here until the last second.
Pulling my Sig from the holster, I move on silent feet back through the living room and to the stairs. Halfway up, I hear a loud slap, followed by a pained feminine cry.
Darcy!
Barely tamped panic urges me faster. As I draw closer to the room Darcy used to use as her bedroom, I quickly pull together a plan.
Whoever’s up there will be focused on Darcy, and most likelynotlooking at the doorway. If he’s unarmed, it’ll be easy to take him down. If he has a weapon, it’s more difficult, but nothing I haven’t trained for. Nothing I haven’t dealt with dozens of times.
But who’s in there?
It seems unlikely a random stranger would choose tonight for a break in. Or an assault?—
Shit.
Don’t think about his hands on Darcy.
It has to be her ex. Alex, she said. The piece of shit who convinced her she didn’t deserve better. That she wasn’t normal. That she’s not the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.
Now in the hallway, I creep closer towards Darcy’s old bedroom; the last in a row of three on the right. It’s possible she could be in the master, but knowing Darcy, I don’t see it. She wouldn’t want to sleep?—
Another slap. Another cry.
FUCK.
I lift my gun, keeping it at low ready. My finger cocks the trigger. Tightens on it.
And then.
I move.
Past the first two doors and to the last, the only one partially open.
At the doorway, I pause. Take a deep breath. Prepare myself for anything, just as I was trained.
“Please,” Darcy says quietly, “just leave. I don’t even know your name. I can’t report you. We can pretend this never happened.”
“That’s not possible,” a male voice responds. It’s solemn. Matter of fact. “I was going to give you time to come around. Toseeme. But then I saw you talking to that guy in the bar. And I knew I couldn’t want any longer.”
My jaw sets. With another deep breath, I try to tamp down my anger.
I peer around the corner of the doorjamb, spotting Darcy standing by the bed in just her jeans and a T-shirt. A strangely familiar man is no more than six feet from her, holding a knife by his side.
“Wait for what?” Darcy asks. “I don’t understand.”
“To come with me,” he answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I knew it was supposed to be you from the first time I saw you in town. You’re going to be my wife.” He chuckles. “Not legally. But in everything else.”
“No,” she replies. “I won’t.”
“Yes! You?—”
“PUT THE KNIFE DOWN!”
I step into the bedroom with my gun aimed at the man. My voice is loud. Echoing in the small room. “Put it down,” I repeat. “Now. Or I’ll shoot you.”
He turns to me, surprise all over his face. “What?—”
