by Arlene James
Jack is a Christian, yet he is sometimes grumpy and obviously confused about what is best to do where his family is concerned. If you were counseling Jack, to what Bible verses would you point him?
Kendra’s memory returns after she bumps her head again, but her love for Jack remains even after she recalls her past. What if her memory had not returned? How would you have advised her if her amnesia had seemed permanent?
Jack and Kendra’s story is pure fabrication. Their romance is based upon the supposition that God can and does arrange circumstances in our lives to bring us to the places and peoples He wills us to be and know. Does that ring true for you? Why or why not?
When Night Falls
Margaret Daley
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Excerpt
Chapter One
In the dead of night, darkness closed in on Dr. Jocelyn Gold as she approached her car, parked in the last row in the large lot, full of vehicles but not people.
Glancing up at the security light, she couldn’t remember it being out when she’d arrived at the apartment building earlier. She had been meeting Sam Pierce to consult with him and interview a teen who was involved in an FBI case. She should have waited for Sam and left with him, but she wanted to get home. Usually this place was teeming with people. She checked her watch. One in the morning. That would explain the emptiness. She’d been here longer than she thought. She hurried her pace, clicking her remote to unlock her car.
She reached for the door handle of her yellow Thunderbird. A sweaty hand clamped over her mouth. The taste of salt gagged her as a large body flattened her against her vehicle. The force of the action knocked the breath from her lungs and her purse from her grasp. A knife pressed into her neck while a musky odor assailed her nostrils.
Terror held her immobile. Her breath trapped in her lungs, she tried to recall her self-defense training. Her mind blanked.
The man leaned into her, the scent of beer chasing away all other smells. “You should have left my daughter alone.”
The gruff, muffled sound of his deep voice pierced the thundering of her heartbeat in her ears. Daughter? Who?
Her assailant shoved her head into the soft top of her convertible, his hand no longer over her lips, the sharp weapon no longer at her throat. But before she could scream, he stuffed an oily rag into her mouth. With her body still trapped between her car and him, he tied a gag on her. When he lifted the knife, even in the darkness she could see its glinting steel. She squeezed her eyes closed, anticipating the bite of the knife.
Seconds passed.
The hammering of her heartbeat in her ears proclaimed she was still alive. She stared at the black shroud of night, the apartment building a hundred yards away. He shifted, bearing his full weight on her body.
Then it came—the steel blade sliding across her flesh, nicking her. The sweat running down her neck stung the cut. A cold, clammy feeling washed over her.
“I’m gonna enjoy slicing you up. But not here.” He used the tip of the knife to toy with the shell of her ear.
The threat shoved her survival instincts to the foreground. Snippets of her training finally leaked into her thoughts. She ground her foot into his, and the instant his hold lessened, she jabbed her elbow back into his soft stomach. A whoosh of air blasted from his lips.
The hulking man struggled to breathe. His grip loosened even more. Jocelyn went limp, totally slipping from his grasp. Wrenching away, she swung her arm against his wrist, and the knife flew from his fingers. The clanking noise reverberated in the quiet. She kicked his shin, then whirled and ran toward the building.
The sound of his pounding footsteps filled her ears. Her own breathing shallow and ragged, Jocelyn knew the distance between them was shrinking, but she dared not look back.
Eighty yards.
I can make it. She tore at the gag over her mouth.
Sixty. She spat out the rag. She felt a catch in her side.
A hand grabbed her jacket. She shrugged out of the garment and kept going.
Forty more yards to safety.
But the thud of his footsteps sounded right behind her. She screamed.
He slammed into her, and she crashed to the asphalt, all the air rushing from her. Pain shot up from her knees and palms. A heavy weight pressed her into the cement, constricting the rise and fall of her chest. The grit of the pavement dug into her cheek. Her lungs burned with the effort to draw oxygen into them.
Suddenly the pressure on her back eased. She started to scramble away when he yanked her arm up, hauling her to her feet, facing him. Over six feet tall, he towered in front of her. Through slits in a black ski mask, she felt his gaze boring through her although it was too dark really to tell.
“I’ll make you pay for destroying my family.”
His mumbled threat, a menacing whisper, hung between them. They were mere inches apart. Squeezing her arm so tight that her fingers were going numb, he yanked her closer until her length mashed into his. Again the smell of beer accosted her. Bile rose into her throat. With one hand fisted in her hair and the other digging into her arm, he began dragging her toward some bushes off to the side. She fought to block the pain and focus on getting away.
She screamed. Her voice barely worked. Swallowing hard, she started to shout again. He locked his arm across her front and braced his fleshy palm against her mouth.
“Stop! FBI.”
Her attacker jerked around, taking her with him. He knocked her to the ground, then fled.
“Jocelyn, you all right?”
She blinked and looked up. Sam Pierce hovered over her, his gun drawn.
“Yeah,” she answered in a raw whisper while the blackness around her threatened to swallow her.
He thrust his cell into her hand. “Call the police. I’m going after him.” Sam raced after the man.
* * *
The pounding of his feet ate up the distance. A picture of Jocelyn with her long, blond hair clutched in her assailant’s hand and her blue eyes full of fear and pain spurred Sam to run even faster.
He glimpsed the large perpetrator dashing into a dark alley. Sam followed. Thoughts of hearing Jocelyn’s scream propelled him into a situation he knew was dangerous. When he got his hands on the man, the guy would regret messing with Jocelyn. Rage fed Sam until he realized he’d lost sight of the attacker.
Slowing his pace, Sam searched the shadows. He had to stay focused on his target, not on his anger. He saw a movement up ahead and increased his speed. His grip on his weapon tightened, all his instincts sharpened. The only illumination came from the buildings lining the sides of one back alley after another.
When he reached a dead end, an eight-foot chain-link fence towered before him. Scaling it, he leaped to the ground and scanned the inky curtain surrounding the abandoned warehouse. He dug into his suit pocket and retrieved his penlight, then made a sweep of the area.
A crashing noise jerked him around to the left.
* * *
Jocelyn picked herself up from the pavement. Her legs wobbled. She stumbled and nearly went down. The trembling started in her hands and quickly spread throughout her body. She hugged her arms across her chest and trudged toward the apartment building.
At the double glass doors that led inside, she pulled on one and nearly cried out when it didn’t budge. Yanking on the other produced more frustration. The locked lobby afforded no safety for her. She raised her hands to hammer her fists against the glass when she remembered Sam’s cell. Quickly she made a call to the police, then wilted to the pavement before the doors, hoping help arrive
d soon.
Finally Jocelyn looked down at herself and gasped. Through her torn black pants she could see her bloodied knees. Turning her hands over, she examined her scraped and bleeding palms. She brought her finger up to her neck and felt the sticky wet of her own blood.
What if something happened to Sam because of her? That question renewed all her panic and fear. With everything else going on in her life, how would she forgive herself if it did?
* * *
A white cat darted in front of Sam, and for a few seconds he relaxed his tense body, drawing in a calming breath.
Then he continued his search of the tall weeds and trash-littered yard encircling the warehouse. Nothing but a black wall greeted his inspection.
Suddenly he realized where he was. The assailant had doubled back around. The apartment parking lot was nearby. Visions of Jocelyn at knifepoint flashed through his mind.
Sam set out in a jog, skirting the abandoned structure. Lord, protect her.
He rounded a corner when something hard whacked him across the chest. He stumbled and fell to his knees. His grip about his weapon momentarily went slack.
Sucking in gasping breaths, he lifted his head at the same time he strengthened his hold on his gun. A two-by-four came at him, catching him on the side of the head. He collapsed forward. A pair of white tennis shoes was the last thing he saw before the darkness rushed in.
* * *
Jocelyn hugged Sam’s cell phone as though it would protect her from her attacker if he reappeared. She continually scanned the parking lot, so tense that her muscles ached.
A movement in the shadows at the edge of a pool of light from the nearest security lamp caught her attention. A figure emerged. She struggled to her feet, praying it was Sam coming back.
In the distance a siren broke the stillness of the night.
The unknown person froze, stared down the street then spun about and ran.
Jocelyn slid down the glass as patrol cars came to a shrieking halt. Two police officers raced toward her. One placed a call, while the other homed in on her.
“Jocelyn, I heard the dispatcher and came as quick as I could.”
Relief washed over her. She knew her. Terri Morgan. She quickly explained what happened, finishing with the fact Sam was still gone. Her mounting fear crept into her voice as the other officer joined Terri.
“I called for an ambulance,” the newcomer said.
“Why?” Jocelyn asked, trying to stand, needing to go look for Sam.
“Jocelyn, stay right there until the paramedics can check you out.” Terri placed a hand on her shoulder.
“No! Something’s wrong. I can feel it.” Her voice rose.
“You’re hurt, Jocelyn.”
The patience in her friend’s voice did nothing to alleviate her dread. “I’m okay. Find Sam.”
She took a step forward and sank to the pavement, Terri’s arm about Jocelyn in support. Her body throbbed in pain.
More sirens disturbed the night.
An ambulance slammed to a stop in front of the building. One paramedic jumped out and hurried toward her while another opened the back of the vehicle.
She shook off Terri’s assistance and shoved to her feet, determined to remain upright. “You don’t understand. I’m not going anywhere until I see Sam. Make sure he’s all right.”
The other policeman murmured something in her friend’s ear, then made a call for backup. Panic surged through her.
Where was Sam?
A paramedic wheeled a gurney to her. A protest welled up inside her, but before she could utter it, a figure staggered out of a dark alley across the street and pitched forward.
Chapter Two
All that kept Jocelyn calm through the doctor’s examination was the knowledge that Sam was alive and being treated in the next cubicle. A lump on the side of his head near his temple would give him some trouble the next few days, but she’d never seen such a wonderful sight as Sam stumbling toward her.
“It’ll take a week or so, but you’ll be as good as new in no time.” The doctor pulled the curtain back.
Except I have some madman out to get me.
“The nurse will be in to finish cleaning your cuts and give you a tetanus shot.”
Jocelyn waited five minutes then couldn’t hold back any longer. She had to see Sam. She inched off the bed and padded to the cubicle next to hers. Peeking inside, she found Sam alone, his eyes closed. When she stepped inside, they popped open and fastened on to her.
The warmth radiating from his dark gaze chased away the chill of the cold air in the emergency room. His mouth lifted in a lopsided grin that made her stomach flutter. She’d worked with him on several abduction cases for the FBI as a child psychologist and consultant and admired his professionalism and abilities as an agent. But right now that wasn’t what she focused on. He’d saved her life, put himself in danger for her.
“I’m almost afraid to ask how you’re feeling.” Jocelyn crossed the small area and stood next to his bed.
“Probably about as good as you.” His gaze fixed upon the white bandage at her neck where the knife cut her, thankfully not too deeply.
“At least I didn’t need any stitches, but I think I lost a quart of blood and my clothes are ruined. Terri Morgan is bringing me something to wear.”
“You aren’t going home, are you?” Sam shifted and winced.
“They’re releasing me soon, but it sounds like you’re going to have to stay overnight.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it. You can’t go home. You shouldn’t be by yourself.”
Jocelyn put her hand on her waist. “So what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m taking you home with me. There’s some maniac after you.” Wrenching back the sheet, he started to swing his legs over the edge. He paused, closing his eyes. The color leached from his tanned face.
She moved his limbs back onto the bed and positioned herself to block him getting up. “No, you aren’t, and don’t worry about me—”
“Someone needs to worry about you because you aren’t.”
“If you’d let me finish, I was going to tell you Terri and Adam Morgan have insisted I stay with them. What’s better than staying with two police officers?”
“Having me watching over you,” he grumbled and slowly lay back on the pillows.
“No, that’s not an option.” She’d never put herself in that position. She might be confused about her faith in the Lord, but she’d learned she needed a total commitment from a man.
His frown slashed his mouth. “You aren’t going in to work this morning?”
“No, it’s Saturday, and occasionally I do take a day off, contrary to what I hear about you.”
“My work requires long hours, even on Saturdays.”
“Since it’s four in the morning, I think it’s safe to say you won’t be going in today. I had a concussion once, and I’m sure the doctor has told you to take it easy for the next few days.”
He waved his hand. “It’s just a headache.”
“Probably more like a couple of elephants having a dance competition in your skull.”
His smile returned, transforming his pain-etched features for a few seconds. “Something like that.”
“I wanted to thank you again for saving my life.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Well, I’d better go and let you get that rest. I figure Nurse Ratched is looking for me about now with that big old needle.” She moved toward the curtain that afforded a patient some privacy in the E.R.
“Jocelyn, you do understand the gravity of the situation?”
She glanced back at him, and her heart twisted at the sight of him in the hospital bed because of her. “Yes.”
* * *
Bright sunlight streamed through the slit in the drapes. Jocelyn wanted to surrender again to sleep, to forget what had happened the night before. But each time she moved, her cuts and bruises reminded her of the ordeal and what she had to face: someone wanted to kill her.
Why?
Every time she thought about it, her head pounded. She didn’t want to think about her situation because she wasn’t sure what to do. Being in control had been important to her, but right now her life was definitely in some madman’s hands. She needed to figure out who had attacked her. Her life depended on it.
She slipped from the bed in Terri’s spare bedroom and quickly dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. The scent of coffee drew her toward the kitchen, where she found her friend.
“Where’s Adam?” Jocelyn asked Terri while pouring a large mug of the dark liquid.
“He went to the station to see what information they have on the assault last night. He should be back soon. Do you want any breakfast, or maybe you’d prefer lunch since it’s noon?”
“Nothing, just coffee. I need to think, and in order to do that, I need to stay awake.”
The doorbell rang. Terri reeled around at the same time Jocelyn stiffened and stared toward the front of the house.
“Expecting anyone?” Jocelyn asked, placing her mug on the counter.
“No.” Terri walked to a drawer and removed her gun. “And I doubt your attacker would announce his arrival, but I’d rather be prepared.”
Jocelyn followed her friend into the foyer, her pulse racing. Through the beveled glass she could tell the man was very large—like her attacker. Flashes of the night before—the glint of the knife, the nasty taste of the rag, the gravel digging into her flesh—played across her mind as Terri opened the door.
Sam stood in the entrance, filling it with his commanding presence. Jocelyn sank back against the wall in relief. With his dark brown hair damp and tousled, Sam wore jeans and a Tulane T-shirt. She’d never seen him dressed this casually. She liked the look.
