0968348001325302640 brenda huber shadows

by Unknown

  No, no, no. Oh, no, please… Her mind screamed the plea, but she refused to let the words roll past her lips. She wouldn’t beg. She’d never beg again…but, damn her eyes, tears began to well. No.

  Stop it, damn it. She couldn’t show weakness.

  Weakness of any kind invited prolonged torture.

  That was a lesson she’d learned well. Her mind screamed she fight on, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her traitorous limbs had turned to jelly.

  “I’m gonna let go of your head,” a disturbingly sensual, husky voice informed her. Her assailant’s lips brushed her ear, velvety smooth, and a chill coursed through her. “Do not bite me again.” She nodded understanding. She’d agree to anything…right now. Once she was loose, they’d be in a different ballpark altogether. With obvious caution, as if he were just waiting for her to lunge again, he loosened his fingers first, then slowly 52

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  dragged his palm away from her head, though he kept her wrists caged.

  Mud soaked her from the back of her head to the backs of her boots. She wanted to squirm, but she didn’t dare. She lay still, until a sharp beam of light lanced into her face. Snapping her eyes closed, she jerked her face away, humiliated by the trail of moisture leaking from the corners of her eyes.

  “You!” It was a harsh, disbelieving accusation—

  that one word—and it carried a wealth of emotion behind it. Peeping an eye open, JJ eased her head back, but the face beyond the light was locked in the shadows, featureless and threatening.

  “What are you doing out here?” He didn’t sound any less dangerous the more he spoke.

  Reckless fear shot through her, turning the edge in her voice to snapping fury. “This is my damned land. What the hell are you doing out here?” That gave him pause, even if only for a moment.

  Good. Now he knew he couldn’t intimidate her. She bit her lip to quell the disloyal trembling.

  “I’ll be the one asking the questions here,” he grumbled.

  “Like hell you will,” JJ hissed, praying the last dregs of terror weren’t as clear in her eyes as she feared they were. “Get off me.” He shifted atop her, easing his grip a bit, but by no means did he release her…or get off her. He eased the hold he had on her thighs, sliding one of his legs between hers as he eased some of his weight from her. No, her assailant seemed to be doing nothing more than getting comfortable. Damn him.

  “I don’t think so, honey,” he murmured near her temple, his hips shifting a little more, centering, as he readjusted his grip on her wrists. “Not until I get some answers.”

  Despite her fear, his voice slipped over her like luxurious velvet. Sensual and enticing. She shivered, 53

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  gritting her teeth, unwilling to acknowledge the involuntary movement as anything more than a reaction to the temperature, though, truth be told, he was radiating enough heat to thaw half of Alaska in the dead of winter. He didn’t even have a coat on.

  Why wouldn’t he move?

  “Well, that’s not likely to happen, asshole.” She squirmed beneath him, trying to wriggle her way to a little more breathing room. Instead, all she managed to do was thrust her breasts against his chest and settle his pelvis more firmly against the juncture of her thighs. She cut his sharp hiss of breath off with a snarled, “Get off me, you rotten son of a—”

  “Now, now, honey,” he cut in, sounding oddly pained. “Don’t go saying something you’ll—”

  “— bitch!” JJ ground out between clenched teeth, jerking at her arms. “Get off me, now!” A low, appreciative chuckle met her demand.

  “You know, you’re awful bossy for such a little thing.

  Didn’t your mother ever teach you that you can catch more flies with a little sugar?”

  “Sugar, my ass… Get that damned light out of my eyes, I can’t even see your face,” she snapped, squinting against the beam.

  He paused, as if weighing his options, then the beam angled away. With the loss of the glare in her eyes, she got her first good look at the man pinning her to the ground. The glittering emerald eyes that met hers knocked the wind from her sails…just as they had early that morning at the diner. Her eyes widened, and she gasped, “You!” Her assailant was the carpenter from Maggie’s…the one with the come-hither eyes and the worship-at-my-altar body. Oh, hell, wasn’t that just freakin’ perfect? The first time in over a year she so much as snagged a glimpse of a man who could ignite sparks of interest, and he turned out to be 54

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  some demented nighttime prowler. Go figure. It must be a genetic aberration of the women in her family, this fascination for the wolf in sex-god skin.

  Narrowing her eyes, she tamped down on the urge to sink her teeth into him again. He was twice her size. He still held her pinned to the ground. And she still didn’t know whether he intended to hurt her, or worse. She wasn’t out of the woods here, not by a long shot.

  She forced level calm into her voice, a calm she was a long way from feeling. “Get off me.” Ignoring her demand, he cocked his head to the side. His eyes gleamed like jewels as they searched her face, and a groove began to form in his cheek.

  “What are you doing out here in the dark?”

  “I asked you first,” she spit back, yanking at her wrists, serene façade forgotten.

  She bucked against him. She gained not an ounce of leeway.

  Above her, his eyes widened, then narrowed and darkened. He shifted atop her, the edge of his lips—

  attractive, sensual lips—curved up.

  The bastard.

  He was enjoying this. Her nostrils flared and her teeth clacked together loud enough to make that sexy groove in his cheek a little deeper. Sucking in a deep breath, she willed herself to relax. No way was she pushing at him with her body again. She flat out refused to give him any more opportunity to cop a feel. “I saw lights moving around out here.” Her frigid tone threatened frostbite. “I came to investigate.”

  “Well, now, that’s just plain stupid.”

  “Excuse me… stupid?” This from the man who seemed perfectly comfortable carrying on a conversation while lying in the mud.

  “Stupid, I said.” He scowled down at her now, 55

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  and his voice took on a decidedly scolding tone. “You could’ve been hurt. You’re new around here. You have no idea the kinds of things that might be lurking around out here in the dark. Damn it, you could have been attacked.”

  She dropped her head back on the ground, lifted a sardonic brow. Her stare bore into his, but she uttered not a sound.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, sounding very much like her mother had whenever JJ’d gotten herself grounded. “Why the hell didn’t you call 911?”

  “You know, you’re right,” she agreed, sticky-sweet, smiling thinly veiled malice. “Why don’t you let me up, and I’ll just run along like a good little girl and do that right now?”

  Answering her sarcasm with a snide snort, he pressed, “Did you see anything suspicious out here at anytime today?”

  “You mean other than the glow of your spaceship? Or maybe you mean a big, arrogant prick who might jump out of the shadows, knock me into the mud, and sit his heavy ass on top of me?” By the time she’d gotten to the end of her spiel, her nose was an inch from his while she glared daggers at him. If she couldn’t bloody him with her claws, she’d damned well do her best to draw a few drops with the sharp side of her tongue. “If this is your version of the welcome wagon, thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” Grim admiration danced in his eyes, but the smile fell from his lips. “Look, honey, this is serious.

  I’m—”

  “You’re damned right this is serious,” JJ ground out through clenched teeth, giving her wrists a vicious, useless tug again. “This is assault, and trespassing, and holding me against my will, and…and Lord knows what else you’re involved in out here. Is it drugs? It’s drugs, isn’t it? No, do not 56

 
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  tell me, I don’t want to know, just get the hell off me.

  And stop calling me that.”

  The way the word “honey” kept dripping off his tongue was a little too familiar…and much too intimate…for her comfort.

  Forgetting her vow not to give him any more jollies, she arched her back, planted her heels in the mud, and strained to buck him off again. He only settled farther into the vee of her thighs. She bucked, and his hips wedged tight against her. He swore beneath his breath, ferocious and feral, and the light in his eyes shifted, darkened even more.

  His hungry gaze slid to her lips, smoldering with an intensity that stole her ability to breathe, robbed her of all lucid thought.

  For half a second, she froze, lost in the deep awareness in his gaze and the searing jolt of desire etched on his face. Would his lips be soft and persuasive, or hard and demanding? An odd pressure swelled where his pelvis rested against her—a rigid, thick, long line hard as steel—and it didn’t take her more than a heartbeat to realize it wasn’t the gun strapped to his hip.

  Desire pooled, molten liquid, deep in her core, but panic chased the lust from her veins. His nostrils flared, and he drew a deep breath. His eyes dilated, until only the smallest sliver of emerald remained.

  As if of their own volition, his hips did a slow, rolling surge, grinding his all-too-evident erection hard against her. The corner of his mouth curled upward in seductive invitation, and his delectable lips began an unmistakable descent.

  She gasped. Her eyes flared, and she renewed her struggles, but her efforts were no more effective than a lamb defending against a wolf. Then, without warning, the strangest expression flickered over his face. As if he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He looked startled. Embarrassed.

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  Releasing her, he bound to his feet in one graceful economy of motion, bending to offer her a hand.

  She wouldn’t have accepted his help had she been practicing her breaststroke in quicksand with an anchor sailor-knotted to each ankle. Scrambling to her feet with much less grace than determination, she leaped back a healthy foot or two. Her entire body shivered with awareness, tense and prepared for flight. Her eyes darted from him to the general direction of the house and back. Was she fast enough?

  “Look, this is easy to settle,” he coaxed in a hypnotic, husky voice.

  She hadn’t missed the Glock at his hip, stark black against his faded jeans. Oh, yeah, let’s be reasonable. That’s easy to say when you’re the one with the gun. Damn it, how the hell could she have dropped hers? Maybe if she hadn’t, he wouldn’t be so damn confident, so damned smug.

  One large, calloused hand lifted, empty palm toward her. He took a step closer as his other hand slowly reached around behind his back. Terror raked icy claws through her, instantaneous and brutal. She panicked, and, for a moment, the sexy handyman in a skin tight, plain white T-shirt no longer stood before her. Jerry did. And he was covered in blood.

  Her sister’s blood. Hers. She couldn’t give him time to pull the knife out from behind his back.

  She wouldn’t give him the chance to run her to ground.

  Launching herself at him, she brought her knee up as hard as she could between his legs. As he sagged to the ground, his hands clutching his abused privates, wheezing in shock, she doubled up a fist and swung with all her might.

  She needed to improve her aim. She’d been angling for his nose, but ended up delivering not much more than a glancing blow off his cheek. Still, 58

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  it was enough to surprise him, whip his face to the side. JJ didn’t stop to see if he would follow. She didn’t pause to search for her fallen flashlight or that cursed gun. She just ran. Ran as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels. Tree branches tore at her hair, ripped at her jacket, slapped at her face. Tree roots and loose stones made every step a treacherous gamble, but still she ran.

  Run, JJ. Run…

  ****

  From behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak some distance off, the killer watched it all, his night-vision binoculars trained on the woman tussling with Cam in the mud, struggling for the upper hand.

  At first glance, one could easily mistake her for timid, frail even. A poetic soul might have dubbed her haunted. She was a looker all the same.

  Feminine and fair. Delicate. The kind of woman that made a man want to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off, protect with his life.

  He’d underestimated her, though. He could see that now. He cringed in male sympathy as she rammed her knee into Cam’s balls. From the way the good sheriff dropped to the ground at her feet, it was safe to assume Cam had underestimated her as well. God helps those who help themselves.

  He chuckled, even as his eyes narrowed in speculation. This little beauty had gumption and spirit, more than met the eye. She was a little spitfire all right. God would surely smile on one such as her. Interesting.

  Very interesting.

  Miss JJ Frost, brand new owner of the derelict Victorian at 123 Shady Lane, had just earned herself a blip on the Apostle’s radar.

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  Chapter 5

  JJ’s boots pounded across the yard. Blood thrummed in her ears, a raging river of adrenaline and terror, her breath ragged on her trembling lips.

  The cool night air seared her heaving lungs. She took the steps of the back porch two at a time, and slammed into the door with a bone-jarring crunch.

  Frantic, she jiggled the handle in fumbling hands, tossing a terrified glance over her shoulder. The solid panel of wood refused to budge.

  Sinister shadows at the edge of the woods swayed and bowed, but no man-shaped silhouette broke free. That fact offered little solace to her erratic pulse. Wrenching her attention back to the doorknob, she broke a nail wresting with the tarnished metal. Cursing aloud, JJ pounded her palm against the peeling paint near her face in desperation, kicking at the unyielding barrier between her and safety. The door gave at last.

  Sobbing, she shoved her way inside, slammed the door behind her, and forced the decrepit lock into place with weak, shaking fingers.

  Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

  How could she have lost her gun? She wasn’t about to go back outside in the dark to search for it now though. The phone…she had to call for help.

  Her phone was in her purse, wasn’t it?

  Where was her damned purse?

  The parlor…on the secretaire…

  Scrambling through the kitchen, she stumbled down the long hallway and tore into the parlor. Her feet tangled in the pile of dust rags again. Careening 60

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  to the side, she narrowly avoided a pail of filthy water, but luck was not on her side. She crashed into an end table instead. The small antique lamp wobbled and tipped. Instinct took over. She dove, arms outstretched, to catch the delicate bit of brass and stained glass before it crashed to the floor. Just that quickly, the memories sucked her back.

  She staggered past the freezer, groping in the dark for the banister. Each step of the back staircase was a landmine of sound, creaking and groaning beneath her. Somewhere near the top—was it the third or the forth step that creaked the loudest?

  Heaven help her she couldn’t remember—she tripped, knocking her shin on the next step up, banging her already smarting elbow against the landing. She reached out, fingers splayed, clawing to regain her balance.

  Torn nails dragged bloody trails across the wall beside her. Dozens of tiny cuts stung her bare feet as they slapped against polished mahogany, leaving behind weaving smears of blood. A tiny shard of glass, still embedded in her heel, sank ever deeper as she hobbled through the long, second floor hallway.

  JJ braced her hand against the wall as she threw a frightened glance behind her, fleeing for her very life.

  Her breath sawed in and out of her burning lungs. Cold sweat dripped in her eyes and trickled down the side of her bat
tered face, tracing an icy finger down the middle of her back. The gash on her forearm and the slash across her shoulder blade burned like a red-hot poker had dragged against her bare skin. But she didn’t have the benefit of cauterization, no, her wounds inexorably dripped more of her strength away, leaving behind an unmistakable path of dark splotches leading Jerry straight to her.

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  throbbing ribs. It hurt so much. A slow creak from the bottom step spun her around, and crimson splattered across the vintage, Victorian wallpaper she’d helped Sarah hang only a few short months ago. Her momentum and dizzying waves of lightheadedness tipped her off kilter, and she slipped on a decorative braided rug. Arms flailing, she crashed into a small hall table, tipping the crockery vase atop it sideways before regaining her balance.

  Diving for the container, her heart lurched in her chest. If the vase shattered, the sound would give her away. He’d know right where to look, and he’d find her faster than she was prepared to die. Not that she wanted to die. She’d never be ready to die.

  Oh, God, Sarah…

  No. No, Sarah was dead. And JJ wasn’t there anymore.

  She wasn’t in that house.

  Frantic hands swiped across the wooden surface of the desk, propping the lamp on its side, knocking she knew not what to the floor as she fumbled for her purse. Tearing it open, JJ thrust her hand inside and stirred around in the mess until her fingers closed over the slim device. Her wide-eyed gaze skidded over the room, her ears straining for the tiniest sound. Just as she flipped the phone open, her alarmed stare collided with the window…the open window.

  Every window in the house was wide open.

  Her heart plummeted to her hiking boots. Her vision blurred, and her knees buckled. She clutched at the side of the secretaire for balance as the blood in her veins turned to sleet. Forcing down the bitter taste of fear swimming up her throat, she thrust her hand inside her purse once more and wrenched out the bottle of pepper spray. The purse fell to her feet, contents scattering in wild abandon. Her gaze flew 62