Alarm constricted her insides. She’d locked the door behind her, hadn’t she? The Fosters weren’t due to arrive for another week. Who else had the security code to the house? With silent steps, she peeked out the doorway and saw four men milling around the base of the stairs, red bandannas tied around their mouths and black ball caps on their heads. They wore nondescript black T-shirts and jeans. As one of the men turned around to talk to the guy next to him, Ellen saw a handgun shoved in the waistband of his pants.
Handguns were illegal and difficult to come by on Canadian soil. Fear crept up the back of her throat as the reality of the situation sank in—she was trapped upstairs in a house during a break-in, and whoever these men were, they weren’t your average break-and-enter “crime of opportunity” hooligans.
One of the men began barking orders. “You two, upstairs. Check the bedrooms while we hit the main floor. We have five minutes, starting—” he clicked something on his wrist—a timer on his watch, Ellen guessed “—now.”
Two men thundered up the flight of stairs to the upper floor. Ellen gasped and flattened herself against the wall. If the men came to the master bedroom first, she’d be discovered immediately. Calling for help wouldn’t work—she’d left her purse and cell phone downstairs, which she hoped none of the men had noticed. And the closest landline phone was in the office next door.
She briefly considered resorting to prayer, but why would God care to help her out? He hadn’t been there for either of her parents when they needed Him, and as a result, she and her older brother, Jamie, had only had each other to rely on for the past fifteen years.
She held her breath and inched along the wall. Only when the men stomped off in the other direction did she dive back into the room.
Under the bed? No, surely that would be the first place they’d look. The attached bathroom? No, someone was bound to pull back the shower curtain. She glanced at the mirrored closet. What other choice did she have? The master bedroom was too high to jump out the window—best-case scenario, she’d break her leg, and the potential consequences only worsened from there. She rushed over to the closet and slid one of the mirrored doors open, cringing at the rough noise as it slid on its track. She didn’t have time to wait and see if the noise had caught anyone’s attention, however. She slipped into the closet, relieved when she saw that it was full of boxes, bags and piles of extra blankets and towels.
She pushed aside several boxes in the corner and dropped down, then pulled the boxes back around her as tightly as possible and draped a pile of blankets over her head. She hoped that when the thieves inevitably opened the closet searching for valuables, they’d mistake her for a messy pile of linens.
She didn’t have time to slide the closet door closed the rest of the way behind her. Footsteps pounded down the hall and into the room.
“I’m telling you, I heard something,” said one of the men. His voice was low and scratchy. Like it’d been damaged by years of heavy smoking.
“Don’t know how you heard anything over the racket you made in the other room,” growled another. This man had a slight lisp, like he was speaking around a missing tooth. “Hey, what’s this we have here?”
Ellen held her breath at the sound of her cleaning supplies being slid out of their plastic caddy.
“I thought you said nobody was home.”
“Nobody is home. We ain’t seen nobody.”
“Folks like this don’t just leave window cleaner and stuff lying around.” The man began walking around the room. Ellen’s heartbeat pounded in her ears, each thud so hard she was surprised they couldn’t hear it, too. Through the filmy blanket that covered her head, she made out the man’s profile as he stopped in front of the closet. He looked from one side of the room to the other. Then he trained his gaze directly on the open closet door.
A scream rose in Ellen’s throat as he stepped toward her—then froze as another voice called from downstairs.
“Ellen? Hey, Ellen? I saw your car by the road and thought I’d stop in to say hi—oh, hello... Excuse me...”
Ellen’s jaw dropped, and horror washed over her from head to toe. The voice belonged to Rod Kroeker, a friend from the local business owners’ association. Rod was a good person, a kind middle-aged man who went out of his way to help other small-business folks and bring them thoughtful gifts like coffee or donuts, or even just a friendly word on a bad day.
And today was turning out to be an awful day—but she had no idea how to help Rod without making things worse for both of them.
Turn around, Rod. Say you got the wrong house.
But the very first man who’d spoken downstairs piped up, and the men in the bedroom with her took off in the direction of the front door. She couldn’t help it—she pulled off the blankets as the men’s footsteps pounded down the stairs, then crept back to the doorway.
“Who do we have here?” said the first thief. “You’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, mister.”
Rod gasped and raised both hands as the thief casually withdrew his handgun and pointed it at the ceiling. “You’re absolutely right,” Rod said. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be on my way.”
“How did you know the door would be open?” the first thief growled. “Who’s Ellen?”
Rod shook his head. “No one. A... One of the people who own this cottage,” he lied. “I thought she might have come up for vacation early. Clearly, I was mistaken. I’ll be going now.”
The first thief waved his gun. “You won’t be going anywhere.”
“There’s no need for anyone to get hurt,” Rod said. Ellen swallowed hard on a lump in her throat as the thief waving the gun advanced on the older man. Rod backed toward the door, keeping distance between himself and the thief. “I promise, if you let me go peacefully, I won’t say a thing.”
“I don’t trust him, boss,” said one of the thieves who’d come upstairs.
“Now, listen.” Rod kept backing up as the thieves moved toward him. “Like I said—”
But the man who’d been addressed as the boss lowered his handgun until it pointed at Rod. This time Ellen couldn’t hold back her soft gasp, and the instant it left her lips, Rod’s eyes flicked up to her hiding place as he stepped back—and in the moment of distraction, his foot caught the small lip of the door frame and he fell backward, pinwheeling his arms. Although Ellen couldn’t see his entire body as he fell, there was no mistaking the hard thwack sound of a head colliding with a hard surface.
She watched and waited. Rod didn’t move. Neither did the thieves. They seemed as stunned as she was, having entirely forgotten the noise she’d made, if indeed they’d heard it at all. After several moments, one of the men on the stairs shouted and ran down the steps and out the door.
“What did you do?”
“Is he dead?”
“Boss, did you shoot him?”
“We got what we came for, now let’s get out of here! Leave it!”
Strings of curse words and shouting followed afterward. Ellen slid down into a crouch, a chill washing over her from head to toe, freezing her in place as the thieves scrambled to place blame on each other and decide what to do with “the body.” There was more yelling, the sound of a heavy object being dragged and then silence.
She hunkered down there, quivering. What was she supposed to do now? What if she went downstairs and those men were outside? They’d suspected someone else had been in the master bedroom, so what if they were waiting her out? Had they actually killed Rod?
At that last thought, a wave of grief caught hold and she choked on her next breath—then stilled again at the sound of footsteps reentering the house. She didn’t wait another second but dove back into the closet, grabbing a heavy bottle of bleach from her cleaning caddy as she did so.
They’d possibly killed Rod and stolen something from this house, and she wasn’t going to be their next victim. If anyone
so much as peeked into the closet, she’d be ready to defend herself. Her brother worked for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. She needed to get to the phone and call for help, and he’d be here in no time—but if she had to fight her way out of this cottage to survive, she’d give it everything she had.
Her heart continued its incessant rhythm as footsteps once again came up the stairs.
“Hello? Anybody here?”
As if she’d be foolish enough to fall for that. She gripped the bleach bottle tighter and lowered her stance until she squatted behind the closet door. A creak down the hall told her that the man was checking each room in sequence. She took a deep breath in an effort to calm her shaking limbs. She tried to shove away the memory of Rod falling backward and the sound of a head meeting concrete. Dizziness rushed up to meet her as footsteps entered the room.
“Hello?” The man drew closer. His shadow passed in front of the closet. “I’m not going to hurt you—” Fingers curled around the closet door.
Here goes nothing.
The door slid open. With a scream of determination, Ellen launched herself at the intruder, swinging the bleach bottle toward his head.
The man shouted in alarm and stumbled backward, but he was too fast for her—he caught her raised arm in one hand, squeezing her wrist and twisting until the bottle tumbled to the floor. With her other hand, she slammed a fist into his gut, but he caught that arm, too, and spun her around until he held her pinned, arms behind her back. He swept his leg and she was forced onto one knee.
The tears finally threatened to spill as she gritted her teeth and prepared to keep fighting until her dying breath—when the intruder suddenly released her.
“Hang on... Ellen?” the man said.
She spun around, ready to throw another punch—and found herself face-to-face with her brother’s childhood best friend. “Leo Thrace? What are you doing here?”
* * *
He knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t seem to close it. He hadn’t seen Ellen in years—and the past few times he had seen her had been in passing, when he’d returned to Fort St. Jacob to visit his friend Jamie. Only a short drive from Schroeder Lake, Leo and his brothers had grown up on the same street as the Biers siblings, and he’d become childhood best friends with Ellen’s brother. And while Leo had always had a crush on her, Jamie had made it quite clear early on that his sister was off-limits.
“I’d ask what are you doing here,” he said, breathing heavily after the exertion of fending off her surprise attack, “but I suppose you have more reason to be in this area than I do. I’m here for my brother’s bachelor weekend at the Schroeder Lake community hall.”
She blinked at him and tilted her head, frowning. “Which one?”
“There’s only one community hall, isn’t there?”
“Which brother.” But she didn’t wait for a response, instead shaking her head, hands waving next to her shoulders. “No, forget it, that’s not the right question. Did you see men outside? Or a man in his fifties with graying hair?”
“I didn’t see anyone outside, sorry. There does appear to be blood on the front steps, however. Are you hurt?” He let his eyes scan her lithe form, but saw no evidence of injury. “I picked up a 911 call on my radio for this address. There are other police coming, but I was closest to the location so I came over to see if I could help.”
Her brow creased. “I didn’t call. I didn’t get to a phone.”
“Well, somebody made the call. The dispatcher gave this address.”
Ellen frowned, then her features softened, and she turned sad eyes toward him. “Rod. Rod Kroeker. He must have called it in and then come inside to see if I needed help. He’s such a kind-hearted person... He probably saw my car and maybe spotted the men with bandannas around their faces coming into the house and wanted to help until the police arrived...” Her voice hitched, and Leo’s gut churned.
“And where is Rod now?”
She shook her head again. Her eyes had turned red and she pressed a hand against her mouth as she backed into the wall, leaning against it as if it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Oh, no. He responded as gently as he could. “The blood outside?”
She nodded, and when she spoke, her words were choppy. “He fell. I couldn’t see past his waist once he fell, but it sounded like he’d been hurt and the men who broke into the house acted like he’d died—”
“Hold on. I think we’d better start from the beginning.” He reached for her hand and pulled her next to him. She sank onto the end of the bed and he crouched in front of her. “Men broke into the house? How did they get inside?”
“Four, I think. Wearing black ball caps and red bandannas to obscure their faces. They were looking for something but they didn’t say what—and a few of them had handguns.” She glanced at him pointedly and he waited for her to continue. “I didn’t hear the door getting smashed in, so either they had the code for the house or I forgot to lock the door behind me. The company that monitors the security system should be able to give the police a record of when the code was entered.”
“And you didn’t recognize any of these men?”
She pressed her thumb and forefinger into the corners of her eyes. “No. I saw part of one of their faces, but it was blurred by the blanket I was hiding under. Plus, the bandanna covered from the top of the nose down. I might be able to recognize their voices, though. They were fairly distinct. Shouldn’t we go looking for Rod?”
Leo ran a hand through his hair. “If there are men with handguns around, we’re safest inside. And if Rod is injured, we won’t do him any favors by courting danger, too. Police and an ambulance should arrive at any moment.”
“But what if he’s still alive and hurt?” Her voice cracked on the words, and she buried her face in her hands. “Sorry. I can’t believe this. How did—” A thump sounded from outside. Ellen grabbed at his shirtsleeve.
“I’ll go check it out. From inside, don’t worry. I’m not armed right now, so I’m not about to dive into danger.”
Ellen stared at him, wide-eyed. “But, Leo—you might not have to go outside to be in danger. Please tell me you didn’t leave the door open.”
Copyright © 2018 by Faith Boughan
ISBN-13: 9781488088131
Protected Secrets
Copyright © 2018 by Heather Humrichouse
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