It was dark, but her eyes had grown accustomed to it as she’d hidden on the stairs. It was hard to see the extent of the mess these men had made, but it was clear enough that furniture had been overturned and the place made to look ransacked.
And there, in the middle of the studio, stood two men. One held a piece of Nate’s equipment that Ruthann couldn’t put a name to, while the other was empty-handed. They both had the lower half of their faces covered, and neither had spoken in a raspy voice or had blond hair.
Neither one of these men was the one to whom the gun in her hands belonged.
She raised the weapon and waited for them to notice her. One finally did, dropping the equipment he held. Ruthann winced as it clattered against the floor.
He pushed the arm of his compatriot, who turned and stilled when he spotted Ruthann.
“I’ll kindly ask you to leave my home,” she said in a voice that sounded much braver than she felt.
The man who’d been empty-handed raised his hands now. “I thought you said she was upstairs.”
“Didn’t say nothing of the kind,” the other man responded. “Look here, lady, we don’t mean you no harm.”
“Your actions say otherwise.” Thank goodness it was dark, or they’d be able to see her hands shaking for certain. All she had to do was make them believe she would use this gun—and get them out. “It’s past time for you to leave.”
She should ask them questions. Find out why they were here. Why they felt the need to destroy Nate’s hard work. If they knew the man who had cornered her outside in broad daylight.
Whether they knew Sissy.
But she didn’t entirely trust her voice to remain strong. And the longer they stayed, the more likely it was that they’d notice she was utterly terrified.
“All right, we’re going,” the more reasonable of the two men said.
“We weren’t done yet,” the other replied.
“We’redone.” He reached out and pushed the other man forward, toward the door.
Ruthann stepped back as the men passed. She willed her hands to steady and her eyes to remain steely as the more irritated of the two glared at her as he passed. His blue eyes were so bright there was no mistaking the color even in the gray shadows of night.
The first man opened the door and slipped outside. The second, the blue-eyed man, began to follow, but paused halfway through.
“Your husband had this coming. Give him our regards.” And then he was gone.
Ruthann stood there for what felt like hours, afraid to move. Afraid to lower the gun. Afraid to get nearer to the door.
Slowly, the anger she’d used to propel herself to do something she never could have imagined yesterday began to subside. Her breath shuddered, and her arms ached as she lowered them. Before she lost her nerve, she stepped along the edge of the room to avoid broken glass and slid the bolt into the lock.
They must have forced their way in through the back door. Pushing aside her need to run upstairs and collapse into tears, Ruthann carefully made her way to the rear of the building. The glass in the back door was shattered. There wasn’t much she could do about that right now, even if her mind had been perfectly clear. She locked the door and then dragged the stool—which, thankfully, wasn’t broken—from Nate’s darkroom to prop beneath the handle.
It wouldn’t do much good, but fatigue had begun to work its way through her body. She’d lock and secure the door upstairs, just in case this didn’t hold.
Back upstairs, she did just that. And then she huddled on the floor and cried as she never had in her life.
