Emily And The Stranger

by Beverly Barton

  She had two choices. Stay in the lit room and face her attackers. Or crawl out the window and run for safety in the darkness. The killing darkness. The darkness that had encompassed her that day five years ago. The darkness from which she had awakened to find her husband and child dead.

  “If you promise to be a good little girl and stay away from Mitch Hayden, we won’t hurt you.” The doorknob rattled again.

  “Sooner or later, we’ll get you. Unless you cut Mitch Hayden out of your life for good,” the other masculine voice said.

  Emily lifted her leg up and over, bending her back as she slipped out the window. One foot and then the next landed on the porch. The blowing rain covered her, dousing her with its cool wetness. She shivered, as much from fear as from the damp chill.

  On the porch, braced against the outside wall, she heard the two men’s voices coming through her locked bedroom door. Get away! she warned herself. Run! Now!

  She turned to face the night and froze on the spot. She couldn’t see anything, not even her own hand in front of her face. Glancing back at the open window, she saw the faint light coming from the kerosene lamp.

  She couldn’t stay here, cowering like a fool. She had to do something.

  Mitch phoned for help before he stormed out of the house. He had no gun, no real weapon other than a baseball bat a former tenant had left in the hall closet. He had no idea what he would encounter when he got to Emily’s house. All he knew was that if anyone had hurt her, he’d kill them! With his bare hands, if necessary.

  He fought the cool, drenching rain that seeped into his jeans and shirt, pelting his face, slicking his hair against his head.

  Clutching the flashlight in one hand, waiting to turn it on, waiting until he needed it, he gripped the baseball bat in his other hand. He rounded the side of the cottage. Making his way onto the porch and to the back door, he stepped on shards of something that crunched under his feet. Flipping on the flashlight, he saw that he’d stepped on glass—glass broken out of Emily’s back door. Just like last time, he thought. Shining the flashlight, Mitch ran the beam up to the electrical service entrance and saw the line dangling in the branch of a nearby bush. The severed telephone wire lay on the ground.

  Dammit, why had Emily been so stubborn about refusing to have a security system installed? Of course, even a security system couldn’t stop the most determined culprit. Whoever was inside Emily’s house could kill her before the police arrived. But he wasn’t going to let that happen.

  Turning off the flashlight, Mitch walked through the open back door and into the kitchen. He heard the crash of wood breaking. He ran through the house, down the hallway and toward Emily’s bedroom. His heartbeat roared in his ears. The door hung precariously on the brass hinges. A soft pool of light spread across Emily’s room. In front of an open window, their backs to Mitch, stood two dark-haired figures, shrouded in rain slickers. Neither man appeared to be more than five-eight or nine, and despite the bulkiness of their slickers, both appeared to be slender.

  Could he take them both? Maybe. Possibly. But if they were armed, he was a dead man.

  Glancing around the room, he couldn’t find Emily. Had she slipped out the window? God, he hoped so.

  A surprise attack would be his best bet. With the sleek, silent movements of a panther, Mitch crept up on the two dark figures. one bent over, his head out the window.

  “We scared her good.”

  The guy laughed, and Mitch wanted to break him in half.

  “This was easy, huh? Five hundred bucks just to scare some woman who’s afraid of the dark.”

  “Yeah, and more money than last time,” the other man said, pulling himself out of the window. He started to turn around.

  Neither man knew what hit him. Mitch strategically aimed the baseball bat and knocked first one and then the other to his knees. Then Mitch kicked one man in the groin, and while he fell onto the floor, yelping in pain, Mitch dropped the baseball bat and landed a hard right cross to the other man’s jaw. He reeled from the blow, then lunged at Mitch. Mitch rammed his fist into the guy’s belly. He fell to the floor, his head thumping loudly when it made contact with the hard wood. With both men lying in crumpled heaps on the floor, their legs and arms crisscrossing, Mitch glanced down and saw that the men were actually only teenage boys.

  “Dammit! What the hell!” Mitch kicked the baseball bat across the floor. The sight of the boys, one moaning loudly, the other not even moving, urged Mitch into action.

  Leaning down, he felt for a pulse in the silent boy. They were both still alive, although the one Mitch had knocked out was still unconscious.

  Quickly Mitch rummaged around in Emily’s dresser, finding the drawer where she kept her panty hose and stockings. Using the panty hose, he hog-tied the assailants’ hands and feet together and left them lying on the floor.

  Rushing back outside, he turned on the Hashlight and began his search for Emily. She had to be out here somewhere. Wet, cold, alone and probably scared half to death in the darkness.

  He circled the house, searching the porch and the shrubbery in the yard, then he made his way toward the beach. He called her name, but it was lost on the wind. He called again and again, hoping she might hear him.

  His feet caught in the wet sand, slowing his movements. “Emily. Where are you, honey?”

  “Mitch!”

  He scanned the area with his flashlight and saw her there in the sand, on her knees, halfway between her cottage and his.

  He ran to her, dropping the flashlight as he fell to his knees and drew her into his arms. “It’s all right, honey. You’re safe. I’m here now.”

  “Two men...in my house...threatening...” She gulped the words, breathless, her body quivering.

  “They’re not going to hurt you. I took care of them. And the police are on their way here.” Mitch held her, stroking her wet hair, kissing her forehead, the side of her face, her ear.

  “I crawled out the window.” She clung to him, her fingers biting into his arms. “I was so scared, but I knew I didn’t have any choice. The darkness! Oh, Lord, Mitch, the blackness was like the day Stuart died, the day I—”

  “You were very brave, Emily. You faced your worst fear. You saved yourself.”

  The rain poured down over them, but neither cared. Mitch held her there, both of them on their knees in the sand. He knew he’d die for this woman, and felt certain Emily knew it, too.

  “Come on, honey, let me get you back to my place, where you’ll be dry and warm.”

  “Those men... My house...”

  “The police will take care of them.”

  “When the police get here, I want to go back to my house. I want to see those men. I want to know who they are.”

  “There’s no need for you to do that. I’ll take care of it.”

  “No! I have to find out for myself who they are. They warned me to never see you again. They said if I didn’t get you out of my life, they’d come back and get me.”

  The two teenagers, who’d finally given their names as Tony Grissom and Paulie Beall, told the police, Mitch and Emily that a man had offered them two hundred dollars to break into Emily’s house the first time and scrawl a specific message on her mirror. Ransacking the living room had been their idea. Then the same guy had offered them another five hundred dollars to come to the cottage and scare the hell out of Emily tonight. He had instructed them on how to cut the electrical and phone wires and exactly what to say to Emily. He’d also told them not to harm her in any way.

  “We were just supposed to scare her and warn her to stay away from some guy named Mitch Hayden,” Tony explained.

  They swore they didn’t know the man who had hired them, that a friend of a friend had told them this guy was looking for somebody to do a job for him.

  “Honest to God, we never met the guy. We just talked to him on the phone,” Paulie said. “He mailed us half the money before the job and the rest afterward. This deal was the same as the first time.�
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  Understanding the ordeal Emily had been through, the police said it would be all right for her to come down to the station the next day. Mitch never released his hold on her, not even when she tried to pull away from him after the ambulance carried away the two badly bruised boys. One of the attendants said Tony Grissom had a mild concussion and Paulie Beall a few broken bones.

  Finally alone, Mitch suggested Emily pack an overnight bag and come home with him. She adamantly refused. No one was going to keep her from staying in her own home.

  Shaking his head, both amused and irritated by her stubbornness and pride, Mitch lifted her in his arms and carried her down the hallway. After sitting her on the edge of her bed, he began unbuttoning her wet blouse. She slapped at his hands.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “I’m helping you get out of these wet clothes. You need a warm bath and some hot coffee.”

  “I can undress myself, thank you very much.”

  Tugging on her arm, he pulled her to her feet, then reached out and picked up the kerosene lamp. “I’ll walk you to the bathroom, and while you’re taking a bath, I’ll light a few more lamps. But I don’t guess I’ll fix you any coffee, though, with the electricity off.”

  “I have some brandy in the kitchen. The shelf above the sink.”

  “I’ll get us some in a few minutes.”

  Emily walked with Mitch down the hallway and allowed him to set the lamp on the side of the bathroom sink. Then she ushered him out. He made his way back down the dark hallway with the aid of his flashlight, halting momentarily when he heard the sound of running water in the shower.

  She showered quickly, savoring the warm water as it cleansed her body. Then she toweled herself dry, wrapped her hair turban-style and slipped into her robe that hung on the back of the bathroom door. The robe had been a Christmas present from Nikki, a silk-lined, damask robe in a soft taupe, designed in a subtle jacquard similar to fine European linen. She tied the belt securely, making sure her body was completely covered from shoulders to below knee level.

  She couldn’t allow herself to think about what had happened tonight. If she did, she might fall apart, and no matter what happened in her life, she never intended to lose her sanity. She’d been through too much, suffered too greatly, to allow recent events to bring her down.

  But the one thing she couldn’t stop thinking about was the fact that she’d called Mitch when she needed help. Not the police, but Mitch. Of course, he lived next door. He’d been close. But she admitted to herself that no matter where Mitch lived, she would have called him first. In that one moment of sheer desperation, when she’d needed someone she could count on, she’d wanted Mitch.

  Opening the bathroom door, Emily immediately noticed the light coming from her bedroom. Not the pale, distant glimmer of one lone kerosene lamp, but the intensity of a blazing forest fire. She eased her way down the hall, stopping on the threshold of her bedroom. She gazed inside and was awed by the incredible sight she beheld. She gasped, then sighed.

  Two kerosene lamps burned brightly on each side of the bed. Candles, dozens of white and beige and pink and blue and lavender candles, had been placed on every table, on the dresser, on the chest of drawers. Their flickering lights illuminated the room with an ethereal, misty glow, bathing everything in a muted gold wash.

  And there in the middle of her bedroom stood Mitch Hayden. Big and tall and naked, except for the green-and-tan plaid cotton-knit throw he’d wrapped around his waist, which hit him midthigh, giving him the look of a Highland warrior.

  Chapter 13

  Emily couldn’t take her eyes off Mitch. His blond hair and hard, muscled body appeared as golden as everything else in the room. The thick, curly hair covering his arms and legs and chest glistened as if it had been dusted with burnished gilt.

  Gazing at her with those incredible, ice-blue eyes, he held out a snifter of brandy, it, too, a topaz-tinted brown in the antique crystal glass.

  She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She could only stare at him, her heart beating wildly, her breasts tightening to diamond points, her body moistening and softening.

  “Come on in, Emily, and sit down.” He nodded at the damask chaise longue where he’d held her in his arms all night, on that night so many weeks ago. “I found the brandy.”

  Taking a deep breath, Emily moved one tentative step forward. Then another. And another. Until she stood directly in front of Mitch. With trembling fingers, she reached out and accepted the brandy, grasping the snifter, clutching it in her hand.

  “Sit down. Drink your brandy. It’ll warm you,” Mitch said, taking a sip of his own drink, then setting his glass on a nearby table.

  Emily obeyed. She sat down on the chaise, lifted the snifter to her lips and sipped the brandy. Mitch walked around behind her, unwrapped the towel from her hair and dropped it to the floor. He threaded his big fingers through the damp strands, then reached over and picked up a comb from Emily’s dressing table.

  “You have beautiful hair.” He lifted her hair in his hand, running the comb through from scalp to the ends, where her hair rested against her shoulder blades.

  Emily swallowed hard. “Did you light every candle you could find in the house?” She glanced around the room.

  “Yeah, I guess I did.” He laid down the comb on the dressing table. “I wanted you to have plenty of light. I wanted you to feel safe and secure.” He took her shoulders in his huge hands, kneading her through her robe. “I don’t want you ever to be afraid again.”

  Emily shivered. “Thank you.”

  “Finish off your brandy.”

  She lifted the snifter to her lips. He sat down beside her on the chaise, his makeshift kilt spreading apart over his muscular legs.

  She smiled, then looked up into his grinning face and laughed. “Was that the only thing you could find to put on?”

  “Yeah. I’m afraid all your clothes are way too small, even your other robes.”

  “It’s very becoming,” Emily said. “Makes you look a bit like a Scotsman in a kilt.” She didn’t tell him that the very sight of him conjured up images of an ancient warrior. Strong. Invincible. Come home from battle to claim his woman. Emily shivered again.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No. I...” She took another sip of her brandy. “I’m fine. The shower and the brandy warmed me.” And the nearness of Mitch Hayden.

  “I’ll go with you in the morning, to the police station. We’ll see this thing through together.” He touched her gently, placing his knuckles under her chin and lifting her face. “I’m not going to leave you. Not tonight. Not until we’ve put a stop to the person who’s doing this to you. After that, I’ll go whenever you ask.” He dropped his hand from her face, letting it skim the side of her neck and across her shoulder, grasping a handful of her robe as he clamped his fingers around her upper arm.

  Emily ran her tongue over her upper lip, then closed her mouth and stared at Mitch. What should she tell him? That he couldn’t stay? That they could never have a relationship? That the past would always stand between them?

  “Tonight, let me hold you, the way I did once before. Let me be here for you. Comfort you. Please, Emily, don’t try to send me away. I won’t go.”

  She finished off her brandy, set the glass on the nearby dressing table and turned to him, nodding in agreement. “You’ll stay with me, help me resolve our problems, help me find out who hired those boys to break into my home? You’ll do all that and ask nothing in return?”

  “Yes, I’ll do all that. I owe you even more. Let me do this for you.”

  “Because you feel guilty? Because you feel sorry for me?”

  “Dammit, Emily, there’s a lot more to the way I feel than guilt and pity!” He squeezed her arm, jerking her toward him.

  “Is there, Mitch? Is there really?”

  “If you only knew. If I could show you how I feel, I’d scare the hell out of you. I lie awake at night, hurting because
I want you so much. Don’t you know the difference between desire and pity?”

  She eased away from him, leaning her body against the back of the chaise. Did she dare believe him? The look in his eyes told her that he wanted her. The tension on his face, in his body, so very visible, assured her that he wasn’t lying. But it didn’t matter if what he felt for her right now was desire because, once he saw her scars, the desire would vanish and be replaced by pity and disgust.

  “I don’t want to care about you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I should hate you, and I think, for a just a little while, I did hate you. You were guilty of greed and pride and perhaps stupidity, but you weren’t guilty of murder. I know you didn’t intentionally do anything to harm other people.”

  “Are you saying that you’ve truly forgiven me?” He reached down and took both of her hands into his.

  “Yes, you already know that I’ve forgiven you, and I...I...”

  “You what?” He brought her hands to his chest, laying them there against his thick, curly hair, against his hard muscles, against his loudly beating heart.

  “I care... I—I fell in love with you before I knew about your past.” She spread out her hands on his chest and felt the heat of his body.

  “And now? How do you feel about me now?” He covered her hands with his.

  She quivered. “I don’t want to love you, but I do.”

  He couldn’t bear the look of fear he saw in her eyes. Dear God in heaven, why was she afraid of him? Didn’t she know, hadn’t he told her, that he’d die for her?

  He lifted one of her hands off his chest and brought it to his mouth, kissing her open palm. “I don’t deserve your love. I don’t deserve anyone as loving and kind and generous as you. But I want you, Emily. I want you more than anything.”

  She tried to smile, but the tears lodged in her throat acted as a deterrent, keeping her from expressing the pleasure his words gave her. She touched his face, allowing her fingertips to linger, to savor the sheer masculine strength of his features. Swallowing her tears, she sighed.