I hurry after him, reluctant to let our time together end like this, but I’m still smarting from his comment about my dad. “Darren, wait—”
He yanks open my front door. “Goodbye, Amy. Good luck in finding someone else you can use for target practice.”
“Wait!” I yell at his rapidly retreating back. “Who’s your dentist?”
Turning around, he shoots me a disbelieving look, then he climbs into a fashionably battered Land Cruiser and roars out of my driveway.
I shut and lock my front door, then rest my back against it, closing my eyes.
Well done, Amy. Another evening at home alone.
Guilt stabs me. I’m not usually that nasty. Pushing away from the door, I drift toward the stairs. How many times is this pattern going to repeat itself? Who am I really punishing here?
I wander into my bedroom, unbuttoning my blouse as I go. Abruptly, I stop.
A man is standing in my bedroom. A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a black ski mask, golf shirt, and chinos.
I stand frozen, my fingers still circling a button on my blouse, my mind failing to comprehend the incongruous fact of a stranger in my room.
Then I see the gloves covering his hands. And the syringe he’s holding.
Shock leaves me dazed.
No, not me, no, please not me.
His voice, when he speaks, is soft. “Don’t bother to run.”
No, I won’t run. I’ve never been a runner. This intruder, however, looks like he can manage a strong sprint. He’s already rocking lightly on the balls of his feet, prepared to counteract any move I make. The trouble is, I don’t know any moves.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with air, as if that will prop up my courage. “My purse is downstairs. I don’t have much cash, but you can take my credit card.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I have jewelry—”
“Not interested.”
“My car. The keys to my car are hanging on a hook in the kitchen.”
“Good to know.”
“You can takewhatever you want,” I whisper.
“Oh, I will.”
The syringe. He’s going to jab me with it. Dread skims down my spine as I imagine what’s swimming in that liquid.
“What do you want?” I force myself to croak out.
“You, of course.”
It’s the answer I already guessed. One that chokes me with its terrifying implications. I spin around and bolt for the open doorway.
He’s on me in a second. I fight him furiously, relying on luck rather than skill in my effort to escape him. A litany of warnings pushes through the panic in my head.Don’t let him get you on the floor. Don’t let him knock you unconscious. Don’t stop fighting.
A desperate kick to his shin earns me the satisfaction of a pained grunt, but in a humiliatingly short time he has my arms pinned behind my back as he holds me tight against his chest.
“Calm down, or I’ll land up hurting you.”
