She snuggled deeper into the covers. Her cell phone rang again…once more, she pushed the speaker phone button. “What? What do you want?”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me again, Betsy.” Cain barked the order loud and clear. “Every burglar alarm at your car lot is going off full blast. The police called me when you didn’t answer.”
Her feet hit the floor a second after her eyes popped open. Every nerve in her body was awake now. “Why would?—”
“No time for questions. Just get dressed. I’ll pick you up in five minutes.” A door slammed behind Cain’s voice. “I’m heading out now. Wait inside. By the way, Crayton Police has already checked your security camera footage from yesterday. A gold Honda Accord had pulled out of Peyton’s lot about a minute before you arrived.”
Quick and to the point, she dressed, gargled, and zipped her jacket into place. Grabbing a couple small bottles of orange juice from the fridge, she headed to the front door and stepped outside. She set the alarm and pulled the door closed behind her. This way she’d be ready to run to the end of the driveway as soon as she saw Cain’s truck lights round the corner.
She wrapped her coat tighter and shivered with the morning cold. The crisp air flared through her nose as the memory of another night flashed in her mind. Another time she’d stood on her front porch waiting.
Waiting for the police. Waiting for protection. Waiting to survive.
A cold tremble overtook her as she rubbed her gloved hand back and forth on her coat-covered forearm. Her breaths barrel-rolled out through her parted lips and into the cold, fogging the air around her face. At least she wasn’t in pain tonight.
The pine tree at the corner of the house creaked as a hunk of leftover snow from last week’s storm tumbled to the ground. Where was Cain? He’d said five minutes. Her watch showed that was six minutes ago. Of course, he’d also told her to stay inside, but she figured the sooner she ran to the truck, the sooner they’d get to Peyton’s.
She jumped at the sound of a thud against the side of the house. Then another thud closer to the front of the house. A footstep-like crunch shivered through the night along with more falling snow from the pine.
“Who’s there?” What a thing to ask. If someone was there, which they weren’t, would they have answered? Not likely.
She should have done what Cain said. Stayed inside. Kept the doors locked. But just like years ago, she’d run outside. That time she’d had no other option than to leave the house and hide in the dark.
A scrape of pine branches sounded against the siding. Strange. There wasn’t any wind. Why had it moved this time? Maybe someone was there after all. Did she stand a chance at unlocking the door? Getting back inside?
She glanced at her keys. At the lock. Where are you, Cain? Where are you?
A crisp, closer, crunchy step pulled her back to stay-alive mode. She clutched her keys in her palm, one key pointing outward between her fingers. Where was the mace? Where was the canister she always carried in her purse?
Her warm insides shivered. “I said, who’s there?”
Another crunch. And another. And…
The roar of a truck’s motor barreled down the street, coming in her direction. Cain? Please be Cain. She stumbled down the steps and ran to the curb, waving her arms in the glare of the headlights.
Reaching for the door handle before the truck even stopped, the jolt of her panic attack reached the crest and began a fast free fall back down. She sucked in a breath as she climbed into the truck cab before glancing back at her front porch. Counting to ten, she slowed each breath, then closed her eyes and focused on the dashboard.
Strange to think that even after being panic free for over a year, the stress of darkness and the danger happening at her car lot had triggered an attack. Should she tell Cain what she’d heard? No, make that what she thought she’d heard. Panic had got the best of her, but no one had been there. She was sure. Absolutely sure.
Nothing but memories of a night years ago. Memories she refused to let take hold of her life.
Cain felt his brow bunch as he spotted Betsy running to the curb. She looked like a woman scared for her life. He slammed on the brakes, but before he could jump from the truck cab, she flung the passenger door open and climbed inside. Glancing back over her shoulder, she slammed the door closed, then popped the seatbelt in place.
“What’s wrong?” He braced his arm across the back of the seat, narrowing his focus to try and see whatever had her spooked.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I’m just cold.” She shook her head. “Let’s go.”
“I told you to stay inside.” Cain flicked the heat to high. Something told him she had been scared. Scared as hell. Of what? “You’re trembling.”
Shucking her gloves, she rubbed her palms back and forth in front of the vent. “You’re late.”
He pulled away from the curb with one final look over his shoulder.
She scrounged in her oversized purse and produced the two bottles of orange juice, opening his before handing it to him. “Why would all the alarms at Peyton’s be going off at once?”
Evading another explanation about information he’d withheld, he chugged the small bottle dry. He’d kept her in the dark this long, what was two more minutes.
“You’re ignoring me.” Swallowing the last drop of juice, Betsy stretched her neck, straining to catch the glow of Peyton’s lights above the Main Street business district.
