Her pelvis.
Her head.
Bam!
Bam!
Bam!
With each hit, a new pain erupted to scream up her body.
Her chignon unraveled.
The vaulted ceiling whirled overhead.
Crack!
She landed hard, the side of her face slamming against the glorious marble, a horrible crunch assuring her that her cheekbone had shattered, momentum throwing her onto her back.
Agony rippled across her face, pain searing through her body. Her legs were tangled on the stairs.
Could she move? Not yet. And her phone … oh, God where was her phone?
She heard him.
Felt the vibrations of his footsteps as he slowly descended.
She had to get away. To escape!
Lying on her back, her skirt bunched at her waist, her legs untangled of their own accord. Now her feet pointed to the landing above. She needed to turn over, to crawl away, but couldn’t make herself move.
Come on, come on, come on!
She willed her legs to shift, even just an inch. To push herself backward, away from his slow but determined advancement.
Nothing.
Oh. Dear. God.
Her mouth turned to dust, and her eyes widened in dread. She tried to scream but was unable. All she could do was to turn one blurry eye up at this monster who had invaded her home. She blinked. Tried to focus. But only saw the image of a man in black and something in his hand. It glinted in the fading illumination from the chandelier, and her heart stuttered.
A knife?
He had a knife?
Or …
He raised the glittering weapon as he approached.
Mother of God—No!
She let out a weak croaking sound just as he reached her.
“Meet your maker,” he whispered, before … before … spoutingsome kind of Bible verse, or was it a song? Her brain was too dazed to think clearly. But she knew she was about to die, about to feel the puncture of that wicked blade into her eye or nose or throat or wherever he chose to thrust it.
“No, please—” she forced out in a gurgle of salty blood, but was saved from the pain as she blessedly lost consciousness.
Chapter 11
