CHAPTER 11
THE next day another storm rolled in and by early afternoon, the skies were black and threatening and the wind blew in a ceaseless line from the water to shore. Sarah was vexed. She’d woken up feeling alive and ready to roll. She’d planned a trip into town for picnic supplies and then she was going to march over to Garrett’s cottage and invite him to go swimming and have a late lunch.
Now she was stuck indoors watching it rain when she wanted to be outside. With Garrett.
Instead, she curled up with one of the books Garrett had bought her and she cracked open the last chocolate bar. Still, there was a niggling of hope that Garrett would pop over. At what point she’d come to rely on his company, she wasn’t sure, but he’d crept in, slipped through her defenses and she found she quite liked it—a lot. It was nice to have a friend. Someone she could let her guard down around even just for a little while.
She ate some of the leftover brisket. Even cut a piece of the chocolate cake. Then she went back to her book, but unease had settled over her as the sky grew blacker and the wind blew harder. Eventually she gave up on trying to read when she figured out she’d read the same page no less than a dozen times.
She walked back and forth between the front window, which overlooked the beach, and the side window, which afforded her a view of Garrett’s cottage. Waves crashed on the beach with angry slaps and the water, which the day before had been aquamarine was now gray and ominous.
She was being fanciful and letting her anxiety have far too much control.
Then her lights flickered and her pulse ratcheted up about twenty beats per minute. She held her breath as the flickering stopped and let out a sigh of relief.
Her head pounded from all the stress. What she needed was some Tylenol and then she was going to bed and hoping for a better tomorrow. No reason she couldn’t have that swim and picnic then.
She chased the medication down with a glass of water and then changed into her pajamas. Patches was waiting on the bed, having given up her perch beside Sarah on the couch at the first boom of thunder.
“Coward,” Sarah muttered as she crawled under the covers.
Patches gave her a bored look and began licking her paw.
“The least you could have done was keep me company.”
Patches settled her chin flat on the mattress and closed her eyes to show Sarah how really impressed she was with her disdain. With a sigh, Sarah flipped off the lamp and snuggled under the sheets.
Sleep was a long time coming and when it did, it was fractured with images from the past blending with present circumstances. In her dream she was running and Stanley pursued her with a bloody knife. Even as she fought the dream, knowing it wasn’t rational, she couldn’t shake the veil of sleep so that the images would stop.
He called her name. It sounded like a crackly whisper. She frowned. He had a foreign accent. Stanley didn’t have an accent.
She heard it again and this time her eyes flew open just as another boom of thunder exploded across the sky. She lay there, so still her chest barely rose and fell with her breaths. A creak sounded down the hall toward the kitchen.
She bolted from the covers, sending Patches scrambling from the bed. Oh God, oh God. How was she supposed to get out if someone was in her kitchen? Her gaze latched on to the rickety dresser she’d shoved in front of the window. Not such a good idea in hindsight. Still, if she was quiet, she could push it aside enough that she could crawl out the window and run down to Garrett’s cottage.
Who could possibly be after her? If it was the authorities, surely they wouldn’t skulk around in her kitchen. They’d bust in, arrest her and haul her away. But what if Stanley had sent someone after her?
The idea sent a chill snaking down her spine that nearly paralyzed her. She had to force herself to move, to overcome the panic spreading through her like a wildfire.
She inched the dresser away from the window, holding her breath and praying she wouldn’t alert her intruder to the fact she was escaping.
The window slid upward with a groan. Sarah didn’t wait to find out if her intruder had heard. She threw herself out the window and hit the ground below with a painful thud. She slipped in the mud as she struggled to her feet, put her hands down to catch herself and then threw herself forward again.
She hit the beach at a dead run, her feet bogging in the saturated sand. Rain beat down on her, slicking her hair and pajamas to her like a second skin. Her only thought was to get to Garrett.
A prickle of alarm went up Garrett’s nape and tightened every hair on his head. His eyes flew open just seconds before his front door reverberated with fierce pounding. He came awake instantly, reached for the gun underneath the cushion and leapt to his feet.
He was halfway across the room when he heard Sarah’s voice. “Garrett!”
He yanked open the door to see Sarah standing on his porch, soaked to the skin, her hair plastered to her face as water dripped from the ends. Before he could say or ask anything she launched herself at him.
She hit him square in the chest and he wrapped his arms around her to keep them both from going down. She shook violently against him and burrowed deeper as if seeking a way to bury herself completely in his protection. Her heart pounded against his chest, way too fast. As much as he wanted to stand there holding her, he had to find out what the hell had scared her so bad.
He maneuvered them inside and kicked the door shut behind her. Then he laid his gun down on the small table by the window and gently pried her away from his chest.
“Sarah.” He took her shoulders in his hands and forced her to look up at him. He couldn’t tell if the wet was from the rain or her tears, but her eyes were huge and the pupils dilated. He touched her cheek and found her skin icy cold. She shivered underneath his touch and tried to push her way into his arms again. “Sarah,” he said again. With more force this time. “What happened? What’s wrong?”