Wait Until Dark: Carolina Moon Series, Book 3

by Christy Barritt

  “Maybe it’s the police, coming to give us a warning.”

  Felicity shook her head, continuing to stare. “I doubt the police can get down those roads.”

  “The Red Cross?”

  “I think they come after disasters, not in the middle of them.”

  “The milkman?”

  Felicity barely heard her. She stared at the figure outside. He was probably twenty feet from their porch. If anyone was out in a storm like this, it had to be an emergency.

  That, coupled with the fact that this house was out in the middle of nowhere, only made Felicity’s apprehension grow.

  Something was wrong. She was certain of it.

  Just then, the figure fell forward. Was it her imagination, or had the man staggered to the ground?

  Elements like this could wipe anyone out. Permanently.

  Felicity grabbed her coat and a scarf from the rack behind her.

  “What are you doing?” Aunt Bonny put a hand over her heart, as if appalled at the very assumption that her niece might be going out in this storm.

  “He needs help.” She wrapped the scarf around her neck and pulled it tight. Then she pulled on a stocking cap and gloves. These wouldn’t offer much protection. As soon as they got wet, they’d be useless. But they were a starting place.

  “And you’re going to be the one to give it to him?” She said the word “you’re” with such a sour surprise that Felicity had to bite her tongue. Sure, Felicity knew she was petite at only five two and 120 pounds. But she had to do something. She didn’t believe in turning her back on someone in need

  “Someone’s got to.”

  With that, she zipped up her coat and stepped into the whipping wind, into the smothering snow, and braced herself for what was to come.

  Chapter Two

  As soon as Felicity stepped off the porch, her legs sank into icy-cold snow. Her skin tightened at the burn, and her fingers instantly tingled with impending numbness.

  Despite the elements, she pushed herself forward. She’d lost sight of the man. He’d fallen. Snow probably covered most of him now as the icy precipitation continued to pour from the sky, laying claim to everything it touched.

  Snowflakes caught on her eyelashes. Felt like frozen papier-mâché on her cheeks. Made her lungs ache with every breath.

  She knew she couldn’t live with herself if she left someone out here to die while she stayed warm inside. No, she had to keep moving.

  The snow suctioned each of her steps. But, slowly, surely, she continued forward.

  Finally, she reached a dark spot in the snow. A patch of black.

  A man, lying face down. A dusting of snow covered him already. He lay motionless. She wasn’t even sure if his chest was rising and falling.

  She had to act fast.

  She grabbed the man’s arm and tugged. He hardly moved.

  Felicity hadn’t thought this far ahead. She’d reached the man, but now how would she help him?

  She only had one idea. She slipped her coat off, the sharp wind assaulting the skin beneath her sweater. Working quickly, she turned the man over and looped her jacket under his arms. She grabbed the sleeves and tugged.

  Movement. She had movement. It would still be slow. Painfully slow perhaps. But she’d take what she could get.

  Feeling a bit like a workhorse pulling a plow, she tugged and jerked and gulped in deep breaths of air so cold it froze her insides. Her muscles burned. Her calves felt like they’d snap. Her back ached.

  Keeping going. You can do it.

  She tugged and pulled and heaved.

  After what seemed like hours, her foot hit the bottom porch step.

  She looked up and saw her aunt standing there. She stared at Felicity, a hand over her heart still, and her eyes wide as if shocked Felicity had made it this far.

  “Help,” Felicity rasped. The cold had frozen her vocal chords, making it hard to talk.

  Her aunt stared at her another moment before sighing and crossing the porch. Aunt Bonny took one sleeve, and Felicity gripped the other. Together, they heaved the man up the steps, over the porch, and into their warm home.

  The smooth floor made it easier to drag the man in front of the fireplace. When Felicity finally deposited him there, she took only a minute to gasp in air and give her muscles a break. Her work was far from being done.

  Felicity stared at the man, soaking in his features as he lay like a corpse in front of the blazing fire. He didn’t look familiar. Of course, she hadn’t been in town long enough to know most of the people. Neither had her Aunt Bonny, though she had come to visit her family’s estate quite often.

  He appeared young—twenty-something—and healthy. Except for the awful bump and cut on his forehead.

  Aunt Bonny looked up at Felicity from her perch on the other side of the man. “He’s going to go into hypothermia unless we get these wet clothes off and get him dry and warm.”

  Working as quickly as she could with her numb fingers, she unzipped his coat and slipped it off. Pieces of glass fell to the floor.

  Glass?

  Had he smashed into a windshield? Been in a car accident?

  The white T-shirt was fairly dry beneath his coat, but his shoes and pants were soaked.

  As Felicity realized what she had to do next, her cheeks heated. “I can’t . . .”

  Aunt Bonny stared at her. “A woman in her twenties with scruples? I thought your kind were extinct.” She offered a half-laugh, half-snort. “I used to be a nurse. I can do this.”

  Nurse might be stretching it, Felicity thought. Rather, the woman had worked as a receptionist in a doctor’s office. But Felicity wouldn’t argue right now. At least she wouldn’t have to face this blush-inducing dilemma.

  Aunt Bonny knelt beside the man and slipped his shirt off. “Some of your father’s old clothes are still in the back bedroom. Why don’t you grab a shirt and sweats?”

  Felicity hardly heard her. Her gaze fixated on a scar on the man’s chest instead.

  It looked like a . . . an old bullet wound.

  “Felicity!”

  She snapped back to the moment. “Yes?”

  “Go get some clothes.”

  A weight bore down on Felicity’s chest as she started down the hallway. “Will do.”

  Felicity scrambled up the stairs. She’d grab the things her aunt had requested. But, after seeing that scar, she was going to grab her gun as well. She was no expert, but that injury looked like a battle wound to her.

  She just wasn’t sure what side of the battle this man had been on. Had he been a drug dealer? An escaped inmate? Or maybe he was a police officer. But where was his uniform, then? A veteran? Possibly.

  Until she knew for sure, she had to remain cautious.

  Less than a minute later, she was back downstairs.

  Fear pricked her heart, but the sense of urgency for this man’s life propelled her on. His lips were blue as he lay by the fire, as still as death. But, reassuringly, the man’s scarred chest rose and fell. If she didn’t get his body temperature up, that movement might not continue.

  “I have clothes,” she announced.

  Her aunt reached for them. “Now go get some blankets.”

  Relief filled her. “Got it.”

  She went room by room to gather as many blankets as she could find. Many of them smelled dusty and old, but they would work.

  Back in the living room, she scrambled to cover him with layer upon layer of warmth. First, an old afghan her grandmother had crocheted. Then a quilt Felicity had picked up in Amish country. Then a cheap, store-bought fuchsia-colored cover.

  With that done, Felicity retrieved a heating pad and some warm, wet cloths. She placed the pad under the blankets, before kneeling beside the man. Using a warm washcloth, Felicity wiped his face, trying to thaw his skin.

  “You look like you’re handling this just fine,” Her aunt stood with a groan, keeping a hand on her lower back. “I’m going to go stir my stew before it burns.”


  She hoped her aunt hadn’t pushed herself too hard. “Sounds good. Thanks, Aunt Bonny.”

  When her aunt walked away, Felicity stared at the man’s face. He was handsome, with strong features. Dark hair that curled slightly at the hairline. Thick eyebrows, and eyes with impossibly long lashes. Full lips. His cheeks were scruffy, in a way that was all too appealing.

  Her gaze landed on the gash near his temple. It was starting to swell. She needed to treat it. Leaving the warm cloth on his forehead, she hurried to get a first aid kit. After applying some ointment, she placed three butterfly bandages on the wound.

  What had happened? Hopefully when he woke up, he could tell her.

  Finished with that, she reached under the covers to clasp his hand. She worked it between her own hands, knowing she needed to get the blood moving. His hands and feet were the most likely places he’d have frostbite.

  “Maybe you would make a decent nurse. You should go back to school,” Bonny announced, entering the room again.

  “I don’t want to be a nurse, though, Aunt Bonny. I’m working on my PhD.”

  “There’s a nursing shortage, you know.”

  Felicity shook her head, still rubbing the man’s fingers. “But I’m happy doing what I do.”

  But was she? Had she ever really been happy, or was all of it an elusion? Had she simply been trying to forget her pain and losses?

  “Suit yourself then.” Her aunt leaned closer, raising her eyebrows almost comically. “By the way, whoever he is, he has amazing pecks.”

  “Aunt Bonny!”

  Her aunt shrugged. “Purely an observation. Of the medical variety. Of course. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  With that, she walked off.

  Felicity stared at the man another moment. She needed to call 911, but she doubted they’d come out in these conditions unless the situation was truly life-threatening. Still, she’d put in the call before she lost service.

  At least that way, if something happened to them, there would be a record that the man was here. Felicity really hoped that wouldn’t be the case, though.

  Felicity gathered the stranger’s wet clothing and took them into the ramshackle laundry room at the back of the house. She shivered when she walked inside. Though the heat was on in the house, the old place was drafty, and this room especially.

  If she studied the walls hard enough, she would spot at least one crack where the wall and the ceiling were supposed to meet. Instead, there was a gap there and traces of the cold outside slithered inside.

  It was one of the main things that needed to be done to this house to make it livable: the whole place needed to be patched up.

  Her poor grandma. Felicity could only imagine her living here alone for all those years. Felicity should have come home more. Should have opened her eyes to her grandma’s needs so she could help.

  Instead, her grandmother had been murdered, for such senseless reasons, at that. Even though her killer now sat in jail, that fact didn’t make Felicity feel better.

  Would things have been different if Felicity had been there? Most likely, yes. She could have watched out for Grandma more. Kept an eye on her. Stopped the man who’d claimed to be a friend from killing her grandma in order to keep her silent.

  But Felicity had been so wrapped up in her career. In her education. In Ricky. It had all been a mistake.

  She grabbed the man’s clothing from the floor and started to stuff it into the dryer so he would have some warm clothes to wear when he woke up.

  If he woke up.

  No, she couldn’t think like that. Of course, he would wake up. Why wouldn’t he? They’d found him early enough. She had called 911, and the operator walked her through the proper steps for dealing with hypothermia. Felicity had already done most of them. If he took a turn for the worse, they’d try to get an ambulance out here.

  Her throat tightened as she checked his pockets. There was a wallet there. Brody Joyner. Hertford, North Carolina. She saw his birthdate and calculated his age to be thirty-one.

  She dug deeper into his wallet, feeling nosy but casting her worries aside. He was a stranger in her home. She had to do whatever she needed in order to protect herself, her aunt, and her property. There was no question about that.

  She found no credit cards. Was that because he was responsible financially? Or did he have collectors after him, and he had such bad credit he couldn’t get cards?

  She also found a punch card from a yogurt shop in the neighboring town of Elizabeth City.

  How bad could a guy be who had a punch card from a frozen yogurt joint?

  She shivered as she put his wallet on top of the washer. She quickly stuffed his clothes into the dryer. As she did, something clattered onto the floor.

  She paused.

  What was that?

  A key, she realized.

  She picked it up carefully. This wasn’t any ordinary key. It was a skeleton key, the kind of key kids played with when they hunted for gold at the end of rainbows.

  Why in the world did someone like Brody Joyner have this? He didn’t wear a wedding ring. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have kids somewhere . . . kids who could be worried about their father right now.

  After she turned on the dryer, she held the key with both hands to examine it.

  This was heavier than most of the souvenir variety, like it was made of real metal. She squinted and looked closer. The key appeared slightly rusted, and the intricate yet imperfect design on the key’s handle made her pause.

  It was probably nothing. But, if she had a chance later, she wanted to examine it further. Right now, she needed to check on the stranger in her home.

  Chapter Three

  Ten minutes later, Felicity sat in front of the fire and sipped some coffee. The man lay behind her, a mountain of blankets piled on top of him. He still hadn’t regained consciousness, but his chest rose and fell, indicating he was still alive.

  The fire crackled in the fireplace, warming the room so much that it felt like a furnace. Why she was drinking coffee on top of all of the heat pouring into the space, she wasn’t sure, except for the fact that coffee always comforted her. That, combined with the hearty aroma of her aunt’s Brunswick stew on the stove, brought her a moment of consolation.

  Well, all of that, and the fact that she’d retrieved her gun from her room. It currently rested on the floor in front of her. She didn’t know what would happen when this man woke up, and she didn’t want to take any chances. Better safe than sorry.

  The snow still fell outside, making this a February to remember. The sun was beginning to sink lower and would soon be gone. In the background, the TV murmured and Aunt Bonny was using some bright-hued pencils to finish a page in an adult coloring book.

  If Felicity planned on living here, she’d try to fix up this place and help it return to its former glory. The ceiling and woodwork were remarkable, but everything was buried under years of age and neglect. As a child she’d imagined the parties that had once been held here, complete with women wearing corsets and fancy gowns and men dressed in their finest. She imagined soldiers returning from war, and residents covered in sweat and grime after working in the fields all day.

  Felicity glanced back at the man once more, to make sure he was still breathing. What was he doing out in this weather? Had he been called to an emergency? Had he been running from someone? Was he simply not very wise?

  “Handsome, isn’t he?” Aunt Bonny looked up at her.

  How long had her aunt been watching her? There was no telling.

  Felicity’s friends had always called her Crazy Aunt Bonny, but Felicity had never allowed herself that guilty pleasure. It seemed too disrespectful. But, since Felicity had moved to Hertford and gotten to know the woman better, she often wondered if her friends were right. Her aunt said some very strange things sometimes.

  Felicity glanced at the man’s face and shrugged. “I suppose.”

  There was no supposing about it. Of course
, he was handsome, even in his unconscious state. But Felicity couldn’t care less about his attractiveness or lack of attractiveness at the moment. All she cared about was that scar. She couldn’t get it out of her mind.

  Aunt Bonny nodded at her gun. “You ever used one of those before?”

  Felicity glanced at the Glock in front of her. “No, but I took lessons.”

  “I reckon that’s because you’re a city girl.”

  Felicity had actually purchased it because she had transported valuables from her office to her home on more than one occasion. Right now, she was glad she had it, even if that job was long gone . . . just like her reputation. And it had all happened at the hands of a man who supposedly loved her.

  “It’s a good thing I’ve got this. Did you see that scar on his chest?” Her blood went cold when she thought about it.

  Aunt Bonny wagged her eyebrows. “His very defined chest?”

  “Aunt Bonny!”

  She grinned before she shrugged nonchalantly. “Probably wrestled with a rooster.”

  Felicity stared at her aunt for a moment in bewilderment. “What?”

  “Those roosters. They can tear someone up.”

  Felicity said nothing. Let her aunt think what she might. Felicity knew it was a bullet wound. And she didn’t like the implications of that fact.

  Brody Joyner had a whopper of a headache and an aching numbness throughout his body. Somewhere in his semiconscious state, he heard talking. He felt warmth.

  Slowly, he began regaining feeling in his limbs—the pins and needles sort of feeling, but feeling nonetheless. His mind wafted from flashback to flashback.

  First, he remembered being out on the river. He remembered docking his boat. Then he saw whiteness surrounding him, as if stuck in an episode of The Twilight Zone. Then he drifted into nothingness again.

  Danger . . . the message seemed to call to him from afar.

  Wake up.