Storm Warnings

by Judi Lind

  So exhausted and terrified she could hardly think, Elisa faltered when she came to an unexpected fork. She couldn’t take time to think, she had to keep moving. She chose the right branch, only because her pursuer was on her left.

  After a few seconds, she no longer heard him rattling through the scraggly bushes, no longer sensed his presence. She allowed herself to slow down, to take in healing oxygen. Then she rounded a curve and stopped. She’d taken the wrong fork. This one was a dead end.

  Her tormentor had boxed her into a corner. And he was between Elisa and the only way back to the beach.

  STORM GLANCED at his watch. She’d been gone over an hour. He was just wasting his time. She had certainly gone back to the hotel; he wouldn’t find her sunning herself on the beach.

  He turned around and trudged back up the sandbank. She’d been plenty miffed; maybe he should give her time to cool off. He should go back to the cabin, draw some water from the cistern and clean himself up. She’d be more likely to listen to him if he didn’t look like the wild man of Borneo.

  When he reached the top of the ridge, Storm jogged over to a little trail that ran along the outside edge of the marsh. Even though that route was slightly farther from his cabin, the going would be a lot easier, and he’d make better time.

  He yanked off his white T-shirt and draped it around his neck. What a scorcher the day had turned out to be. With all the storm clouds gone, the sun’s blazing fury had been unleashed on the island. He hoped she was indoors by now. Even with her creamy tanned complexion, she could still get a bad burn.

  Walking along the edge of the two-mile-square swamp, he wrinkled his nose at the dank, decayed odor emanating out of the mire. He reached the small clearing leading to the path through the bog, a shortcut to the village that only the native islanders used. He hesitated. He wondered if Elisa knew about this shorter, but more arduous, way back to town.

  Nah. Besides, she was a city girl—she’d never go into that dark, spooky place alone.

  ELISA LOOKED AROUND, searching for something she could use to defend herself. The man in black hadn’t reappeared, but she didn’t delude herself that he was gone. Obviously, he knew this swamp, and all the paths that twined through it. He also knew she would reach a dead end and have to turn back.

  Until she did, he could rest. And wait.

  She spotted another downed cypress, just a few yards off the path. She gingerly made her way toward it, her sneakers squishing deeply into the saturated ground. She wondered if she was surrounded by quicksand, and stuck her toe into the soil before she took each step. When she neared the fallen trunk, she shuffled her foot through the mucky layer of decaying leaves blanketing the ground. There had to be a twig, a piece of wood, something…

  Ah-ha! Just what she was looking for. She held up a sturdy limb, about a yard long and two inches thick. Brandishing it in the air as if it were a sword, she decided it might serve as a weapon. If it didn’t break in half the first time it struck something.

  Still, she thought, heading back down the path toward the main fork, it was more than she’d had for protection a moment ago.

  Walking slowly to conserve her strength, she paused when she came to the sharp curve. What if he was right around the bend, waiting for her? She stood motionless for a full minute, listening. Relieved when her ears detected no unusual sound, she inched forward. When she rounded the arc, the path was clear all the way to the fork.

  Releasing a huge sigh of relief, she stepped slowly, lightly, to avoid making a sudden noise that would expose her location. A yard, then two. The fork in the road, and relative safety, was only a dozen yards ahead.

  “Eliiisa!”

  She whirled around. The shadowy figure was only fifteen feet behind her.

  Frozen in place, she stared at her stalker. Dressed in black from his feet to the top of his head, a black sweatshirt hood cloaking his face, the vile apparition moved slowly toward her.

  “Eliiisa…Don’t be afraid, little Eliiisa.”

  Terror wrapped her in its folds, like the wide mantle of a vampire. She clutched the limb behind her back, praying this was a horrid joke—praying her trembling hands could hang on to the wood long enough for one good blow.

  She had no alternative but to wait for him to step within striking range. If she tried to run, he’d overcome her in an instant. Her strength was nearly gone, and her foot throbbed unmercifully.

  She knew her only hope was to will herself to stand still, to lull him into believing she was too frightened to move, and hope to take him by surprise.

  He took another step and laughed—an evil chortle that sent shivers down her spine.

  But her heart felt relieved on one count: This wasn’t Storm. It couldn’t be him. She would have sensed his presence.

  The figure stepped forward. He was only ten feet away. Any moment, he would lunge forward and grab her. But her feet were welded to the ground. She wouldn’t move until he was closer. Near enough for her assault to do some damage.

  As if she were mesmerized by a dancing snake, she watched his progress, seeing every nuance of his clothing and movement, branding him deep in her soul. He held up his hands, as if he were preparing to clutch her throat. He wore dark work gloves with worn threads breaking loose like black hairs sprouting over his hands.

  Glancing down, she noted his black tennis shoes, and the only color visible, fluorescent orange grommets behind his black laces. His somber black garb reminded her of a deadly black widow, with that single spot of color. The red hourglass to remind its prey that time was running out.

  Without warning, she was struck by an explosion of forgotten memories. She was showered with unrelated images, like fragments of shattered glass. A drop of blood. A tiled corridor. A pair of black athletic shoes with Day-Glo orange grommets.

  She’d seen those shoes before! But when, and why did the memory evoke as much fright as the reality coming toward her? So close, almost within reach.

  Goaded out of her self-enforced paralysis, she shrieked like a banshee and reared back, swinging the heavy branch as if it were a nightstick. The wooden club struck him in the solar plexus, and he bent over, clutching his stomach.

  Seizing her advantage, Elisa tore down the path. The pain in her ankle was burning with white-hot fire. She didn’t know how long she could maintain the pace, but she wouldn’t quit. The stalker might overcome her and force her to the ground, but she wouldn’t willingly give in. Never.

  Behind her, the brush rattled as he thrashed toward her, bellowing in rage. She’d almost reached the fork when the marshland suddenly stilled. Then, a shadowy figure appeared. Directly in front of her. Impossible. There was no way the killer could have gone around her, yet there he was.

  Bracing herself for another battle, she poised to swing her branch, just as the shadowy form stepped into a pool of sunlight. Storm!

  STORM STOOD in the crux of the Y crossing. He should have gone straight to the hotel, instead of following his hunch. Even if Elisa had somehow taken this godforsaken route, she’d have reached the village a half hour ago. Unless she was lost. Or hurt. Or…

  If he’d allowed logic to guide him, he would have gone straight back to the hotel. But the dark premonition that kept gnawing at his gut had told him she was in trouble. Needed him.

  He’d already let her down once. This time, he had to make the right decision.

  Although he heard no sound, sensed no movement, Storm felt prickles climb up his neck. Slowly, he turned, to meet the eyes he felt watching him, and saw her hobbling toward him. She must have been lost after all, but, thank God, she was all right. He would never have forgiven himself if anything happened to her.

  She looked incredibly weary, and even from this distance he could see the fear etched on her face. She must have been running through this swamp, frightened and lost, since she left his cabin.

  He rushed toward her, stopping suddenly, when he got a clear look at her expression for the first time. Her face was white with f
ear, the mindless horror of being lost in a dank, creepy marsh. He could understand that. But what was slicing his heart like a lance was the way she was staring, wild-eyed, at him. She was afraid of him. A sick, nauseating pain gripped his stomach.

  The idea that he was somehow responsible for her terror hit Storm like a sucker punch to his diaphragm.

  Chapter Fifteen

  She seemed dazed. Disoriented.

  Afraid to approach her, lest he frighten her more, Storm watched the play of emotions flicker across Elisa’s face. As if she were seeing him for the first time, she studied him for a long, expectant moment. Then she seemed to reach some kind of decision. She blinked twice, and the frightened-doe expression on her face slowly evaporated.

  She dropped the stick she was wielding like a weapon and lunged for him, hurling herself into his arms. Holding him so tight he thought a rib might break, she burrowed her face in his chest.

  “Oh, my God, Storm, I’ve never been so afraid—”

  “I know,” he said soothingly. “This marshland is pretty hairy if you don’t know your way around.”

  She pulled away and looked fearfully over her shoulder. “But I wasn’t lost—not at first, anyway.”

  Wasn’t lost? He’d seen her emerge from the dead-end trail.

  “I noticed you were limping. Your ankle give out?”

  “Yes, but…” Her voice trailed away as she took another wary look down the trail.

  He suddenly realized his gut instinct had been right, after all. He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “What is it? What happened?”

  She straightened up, wincing as she unintentionally put too much weight on her sore foot. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she kept casting nervous glances behind her as she haltingly told him about her flight through the swamp. And about the intimidating man in black.

  The simmering anger that had been building in him for days boiled into a red, all-consuming rage. She had been through enough! He was going to catch this creep and beat him to a bloody pulp. He turned slowly, willing the stalker to show himself. But it appeared the coward only liked scaring defenseless women. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to track him down like the mad dog that he was.

  “What if he’s still back there? Watching us right now?” Her questioning dark eyes caressed his face.

  He blew out a deep, frustrated breath. Yeah, he’d like to go after this punk. Right now. Except that to do so would leave Elisa alone and vulnerable.

  Praying that he’d have another chance to vent his fury on this thug, Storm pulled her close and led her back to the beach path. Though she never complained, and only occasionally clutched his arm for support, by the time they hit the first dune he knew her ankle was putting her through eight kinds of hell.

  Bending over, he slipped an arm beneath her knees and hoisted her to his chest.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Hush, and put your arm around my neck.”

  She complied, her small fingers feeling like soft velvet against his skin. Her voice was calmer now, and the color was slowly returning to her cheeks. “But I can walk. Really.”

  “Yeah, but I can walk faster. Longer legs. Besides, I’m expecting a hell of a tip for this highly personal taxi service.”

  Her head nestled in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “But I don’t have any money with me,” she murmured.

  Storm laughed, hoping that was an intentional double entendre. If so, it meant she felt safe now, safe enough to relieve her stress with humor. With that thought in mind, he teasingly replied, “No problem. I was, um, thinking of a different form of payment anyway.”

  “American Express?”

  “Nope.” He glanced behind them to make sure they were still alone. The stalker must have slithered back into the swamp with the other reptiles.

  “No cash, no credit cards,” she said, continuing the game. “How about trading beads?”

  He could feel the tension easing from her body. This innocuous game of innuendo was working wonders to redirect her emotional focus. Besides, he was kind of enjoying it himself. “Nope. No beads.”

  Her mouth brushed against his chin, channeling a rush of heat so strong, Storm thought he might drop her. Keep your mind on the next dune, Delaney. Where’s that professional detachment you’ve always been so proud of?

  “Hmm…” she whispered thoughtfully. “I’m running out of ideas.”

  “Keep thinking.”

  “Oh! I’ve got it.” She jiggled, twitching her sweet little butt against his arm. How much farther could the cabin be? “Wampum,” she announced.

  He swallowed. Forming words was a major undertaking. He had to keep reminding himself that Elisa was vulnerable right now. She could easily be swayed by any show of affection. As a therapist, he knew the warning signs. As a man who cared about her, he couldn’t take advantage of her insecurity. “No wampum, either.”

  “I suppose you don’t want furs or muskrat skins?”

  “That’s a definite no.”

  Sighing with mock frustration, she said, “Well, Storm. If you’re not willing to accept any of the traditional exchanges, however will I satisfy the debt?”

  Forgetting his vow of only moments before to stay emotionally detached, he threw his head back and laughed. “You’re a wicked, wicked woman. And, Princess, I’m not the least bit worried about either of us being satisfied. I’ll take care of that part.”

  Elisa flicked the shadowy whiskers along his jawbone with a fingernail. “I’m sure you’ll be up to it.”

  Storm choked, then chuckled again. He’d never seen this…playfully bawdy side of her before. Hell, he’d never seen it in himself. But he thought it was something he could get used to. In fact, he looked forward to it.

  But if she said one more provocative word, they were going to finish this “discussion” right here in the sand. A man could take only so much.

  Fortunately, Storm’s cabin was right below the next dune, and he didn’t have to concern himself with getting a sunburn on any of the tender parts of his anatomy.

  When they reached the clearing, a new, and more disturbing, problem took precedence. What if the man in black had outmaneuvered them and was lying in wait in the cabin? Storm could be delivering her right into the arms of a murderer.

  Slowly lowering her to the ground, he whispered, “Wait here while I check things out.”

  She opened her mouth as if to argue, but didn’t follow.

  The front door was wide open, but he’d left in such a hurry, he wasn’t certain he’d closed it. The wooden porch squeaked if a mouse ran over it, so Storm knew a covert entry wasn’t an option.

  Sucking in several deep, fortifying breaths, he raced across the clearing, vaulted up the three steps and hit the door running. Half expecting the killer to smack him alongside the head with a crowbar, Storm hunkered down and rolled across the hardwood floor.

  When he looked up, the room was empty.

  He made his way to the gun cabinet. Pulling the key from his pocket, he pulled out his twelve-gauge shotgun and slammed five shells into the magazine. With the powerful weapon pumped and ready, he made a thorough search of the cabin, glancing out the window from time to time to check on Elisa.

  After checking every nook and cranny, he knew the place was empty. He slid the loaded shotgun into the rear of the coat closet. He’d feel better if it was handy.

  They’d outwitted the killer. This time. But Storm had no doubts he’d make another try.

  “THE COAST IS CLEAR,” Storm called from the porch.

  Elisa’s shoulders sagged with relief. He’d been inside for so long she’d started to fear the stalker had beat them back. She started limping to the cabin, but Storm met her halfway and hauled her into his arms again.

  She was grateful for the opportunity to pamper her lame foot. But snuggling in his arms, drinking in his heady scent and feeling the slight tickle of his chest hair teasing her nose through his T-shirt, was starting to take their
own toll. Her knees were wobbling so much she doubted she’d be able to stand upright.

  Never in her life had she felt this…almost savage need for any man. She understood the cause, of course. She’d seen at least a hundred movies in which the hero and heroine had survived some terrible ordeal, then found release from the pressure in each other’s arms. Still, even knowing that this overpowering sensual awareness was a physiological result of her near-death experience, she didn’t know if she could trust herself alone in the cabin with him.

  He carried her straight through the living area, down the hallway and kicked open a door on the left. It was a small room, dominated by a queen-size bed made of massive posts of peeled pine. An old-fashioned patchwork quilt, in a rainbow of colors, lay invitingly over the mattress.

  “Can you stand for a minute?”

  “Sure, I think so.”

  He slowly lowered her to the floor, and she leaned on her good leg to ease the pressure on her aching ankle.

  Storm stripped back the covers, and helped her climb beneath the clean, cool sheets.

  “Comfy?”

  “Umm.”

  He strode over to the closet and brought back two more bed pillows. “Lift your foot.” When she complied, he carefully untied her sneaker and eased it off her foot. After studying the swollen joint, he removed the other shoe and patted her shoulder. “Looks pretty grim, swollen and bruised, but I don’t think there’s any serious damage.”

  She nodded. “My shoe felt so tight I was afraid it was cutting off the circulation.”

  He lowered his hip to the edge of the bed and fingered an errant strand of hair off her forehead. “I started to say you’d had a rough day, but your whole summer’s been shot to hell.”

  Elisa smiled through her weariness. “I’d say that was a fair assessment. Storm?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I—I’m sorry about this morning. I know you thought I wasn’t taking the threat seriously, but…I just wanted it to be over. And when you kept saying it wasn’t—it just made me mad. Some kind of defense mechanism taking over, I guess.”