A chill shuddered down her spine and she clutched her coat more tightly around her throat. The good news was this was exactly the kind of space she would expect Markus Dexter to hide something in.
The organized section of the attic smacked of Mary Dexter’s highly structured home management. Which meant Markus would likely not have hidden anything in the bins.
Gingerly, she made her way into the pile of junk. The dust was thick back here. Thick enough that she doubted the search party had even gone through any of this stuff. Of course, maybe they’d taken one look at the thick layer of undisturbed dust on the floor and decided no one had been up here for so long that it wasn’t worth their time to search it.
Not that she blamed them. It was painstaking work, going through the mess one object at a time, feeling each item, peering underneath it for something taped to the bottom, examining everything for secret spaces. She shoved her hands into the seams of chairs, lifted cushions, opened drawers and boxes and generally hunted for a needle in a haystack.
She’d been at it for long enough that her nose was numb and her fingers ached from cold when she thought she heard something downstairs. She paused, listening. If the furnace fan had been off, she would have put the hollow bump down to the heat turning on. But it had been running continuously since she came into the house. Maybe the police returning to their surveillance post? They’d probably seen her car and were coming in to say hello.
She opened her mouth to call out a greeting but a chill of foreboding across the back of her neck stopped her. Or maybe it was just the general creep factor up here that silenced her.
She made her way over to one of the dormer windows to peer out at the front of the house. That was weird. A sedan was parked at the curb, but no police cruiser was parked in the driveway behind her little car. Maybe they’d gone around back. Which made sense. It made the police less conspicuous in the upscale neighborhood and maybe they would catch Dexter unawares. She picked her way through the clutter to a window facing the back of the sprawling property. Only snow stretched away below her, pale and undisturbed in the darkness. No police cruiser.
Then who was downstairs?
A door closed somewhere below her feet.
Okay. There was definitely someone in the house. And it didn’t appear to be the police.
Her heart exploded into panic mode, sending blood surging into her ears, roaring a warning at her to run. Now.
A door opened nearby. Was that the attic door?
A surge of adrenaline made her entire body feel light and fast, desperate to move.
She heard a creak. That was a stair tread! Someone was coming up here.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
She looked left and right. There was only the one exit from the attic. No way to creep out of here stealthily, then.
A hiding place. She needed to hide.
Frantically, she hunted for a spot shrouded in darkness, large enough to hold her but small enough to avoid detection. Tiptoeing, she eased back into the corner of the eaves where the roof angled down close to the floor and wedged herself behind a rusty metal rack with outdated seventies and eighties clothing stuffed on it. She turned off her flashlight and crouched in the darkness.
Quickly, she pulled out her cell phone, shielding the glow with her body. She texted 9-1-1.
This is Yvette Colton. Am inside Dexter home with intruder. If cops, tell them to identify themselves. If not, send backup ASAP.
If it was police in the house, the emergency dispatcher would contact them and tell them to call out.
Another stair tread squeaked loudly, this one practically at the top of the staircase. She peered around the end of the clothes fearfully. Please, God, be a uniformed police officer. She was breathing so fast she was starting to feel lightheaded as a bulky figure cleared the stairwell.
That was a dark wool overcoat. Not a cop. The figure turned away from her and turned on a flashlight. She suppressed an urge to cringe away from the light. Human eyes were much better at catching movement than making out still shapes, so her only hope to remain undetected was to stay perfectly still and hope she’d picked an adequate hiding place.
The sounds of boxes shuffling and something heavy sliding across the floor interrupted the cold and dark.
She measured the distance from herself to the stairs. Nope, she couldn’t make a run for it unseen. The flashlight was hard and warm in her fist, and she gripped it so tightly her fingers ached. The shadow across from her in the dark was large. Undoubtedly male. She had basic self-defense training, but she didn’t relish a hand-to-hand fight against that much bigger an opponent. Especially alone, in the dark, with no one nearby to help.
Whatever the intruder was looking for was taking him a while to find. The occasional grunt and muttered curse were audible as the scraping and shuffling of junk continued. What on earth was he looking for? She hadn’t searched that side of the attic yet, which was both good and bad news. The good news was her footprints and handprints weren’t all over the stuff over there. The bad news was she hadn’t found whatever this guy was searching for so diligently.
Her nose tickled. An urge to sneeze built in her sinuses. No, no, no! She eased her hand up to her face and pinched her nose tightly, praying for the sneeze to go away. She held her breath for interminable seconds of terror until finally, blessedly, the urge to sneeze faded.
Something fell over loudly across the attic, and she jumped at the abrupt crash.
“Dammit,” the intruder bit out in a deep, gruff voice.
Was this Markus Dexter? In the flesh? Or maybe a friend he’d sent in to find something? Or was this a simple thief?
The sound of a vehicle’s engine outside interrupted the deep silence of the night. She saw the bent-over shadow straighten sharply and freeze. No doubt listening as hard as she was. Was that a police car pulling up? Normally, they would come in with sirens screaming in a situation like this to scare off an intruder without harming the civilian caught inside the house.
The shadow threw open a trunk lid and tossed out the contents behind him with thuds and clangs. He scooped up something and turned, picking his way fast toward the stairs.
Drat! He appeared to have found what he was looking for and was now going to flee with it. Whatever that thing was, she desperately wanted to see what he’d come for. What if it was the exact hidden thing she’d been searching for? She couldn’t let this guy just waltz out of here with it. And she had no idea who’d pulled up out front. It could as easily be this burglar’s accomplice as a police officer.
The guy cleared the pile of junk and raced for the stairs. He was getting away! Panic and urgent need to stop him spurred her to her feet.
She stepped out of her hiding place and turned on her military-grade flashlight, yelling, “Halt! Police!”
The man lurched violently and threw one arm up, shading his eyes and casting a deep shadow over his face, which totally obscured his features.
“Hands up! Lock your fingers behind your neck!” she shouted, moving quickly through the junk pile. What she wouldn’t give to be carrying a firearm right now. As it was, she scooped up a long candlestick in her off hand as she passed where it sat on top of a cardboard box.
But the intruder had other ideas. As she approached, still shining the light in his face and hopefully obscuring hers—so he wouldn’t see how young and small she was—the figure backed away from her.
She moved to block his access to the staircase, but he charged forward holding something square and bulky in front of him. He slammed into her, knocking her down hard on her back. Her head hit the floor hard enough to daze her and she dropped both her flashlight and the candlestick.
As he kept on going, more or less charging right over her, she grabbed at his ankle, hooking her left arm around it. He stumbled, forced to stop. Kicking violently, he freed his leg but dropped the object
he was holding.
A voice shouted from somewhere below. “Yvette! Where are you?”
The intruder, who’d started to turn around to grab whatever he’d dropped, jolted. For an instant, he hesitated. Then, he abandoned whatever he’d dropped and raced down the attic stairs, taking the steps three at a time. She pushed up to her hands and knees but her head swam with dizziness and nausea rolled through her gut. No way could she stand, let alone give chase.
“Up here!” she called weakly.
And then she did throw up. Blessedly, her stomach was empty due to her failure to eat pretty much anything all day, and only dry-heaved.
She heard running footsteps. Doors slamming. A car motor revving behind the house. And then silence fell once more. She lay with her cheek pressed to the cold floor, her head spinning, and failure roiling in her gut.
The intruder had gotten away from her. She should’ve been strong enough, fast enough, to stop him. But he’d run right over her. She hated being weak and small and vulnerable. It was all of her worst fears come true, save the part where she was murdered like Debbie. Panic still roared through her and realization that she’d just come very close to dying made her hyperventilate.
“Yvette! Where the hell are you?”
“Attic,” she managed to call back.
Light spilled into the stairwell from below, and running footsteps approached her. She braced automatically for another attack.
“Yvette?”
Well, fudge. She recognized that voice. Reese.
She exhaled a wobbly breath, and all of a sudden, tears were leaking out of the corners of her eyes. She’d lived. For a few minutes, there, she’d been pretty sure she was going to die.
Big, gentle hands rolled her over. Sat her up. She surprised herself almost as much as she seemed to surprise Reese when she flung herself forward into his arms and let the tears flow. She clung tightly to his waist, absorbing his warmth and strength gratefully, inhaling the crisp scent of his aftershave as snowflakes on his coat melted against her cheek. It wasn’t that she liked him for a second. It was just that…he was…well, safe.
“I’ve got you. The intruder’s gone,” Reese murmured into her hair. Then, “What the hell happened?”
“I… He… Ran… Fell…” she was gasping too hard to talk and her chest was being squeezed so tightly she couldn’t breathe. And just like that, she was sobbing and shaking. No words at all came then. Just total relief that help, any help darn it, was here and that she hadn’t died.
“Aftershock. Panic attack. Got it,” Reese murmured. His arms tightened around her and he waited patiently for her to calm down.
He really was being half decent. But she still hated his guts.
Eventually, he tried again. “Tell me what happened up here. Did he hurt you? I need you to use your words.”
Slowly, her terror receded in the shelter of his embrace. She shook her head.
“Can you talk, now?” he tried again.
She finally nodded against his chest.
Words. Right. She could do this.
She pushed back from his chest, and his arms fell away from her. The air was cold and unfriendly where his arms and chest had just been. She tried unsuccessfully to stand up, but Reese grabbed her shoulders lightly to hold her down.
“Let’s take it slow. Where does it hurt?”
“My head.”
Fingers passed over her scalp and neck carefully. “Jeez, short stuff. That’s a nice bump you’ve got going, there. Did he hit you?”
She blinked, and it was her turn to stare into the blinding glare of a flashlight. “Could you get that light out of my face? My head already is killing me without having to look at it.”
“Sorry.” The beam tilted up toward the ceiling, and for the first time since he’d arrived, she made out his features. They were tight with concern. “Glad you’re talking, again. Walk me through what happened, okay?”
“An intruder. Heard him downstairs. Then he came up here. I called for backup, but they—you—hadn’t gotten here yet. He found something and started to leave with it. I had to stop him, but he slammed into me, and he—” She broke off, not only because she was babbling, but also because a terrible thought had just occurred to her.
“Did he take it with him?” she asked urgently. It hurt like heck to move her head, let alone focus her gaze to look around for whatever he’d been clutching to his chest when he’d charged her.
“Take what?”
“A box, or something big and hard about the size of a bread box.”
“You mean this? It looks like a wooden jewelry box.” Reese straightened from his crouch beside her and moved to an overturned box on the floor beside the top of the stairs.
“Yes. I’m pretty sure that’s what the intruder was here to find.”
“Who was the intruder? Did you get a good look at him?”
“No. I never saw his face. It was too dark and he hid it from me when I shone my light at him.”
“What happened to you?”
“He charged me. Knocked me down. That’s when I hit my head. I grabbed his leg, though. He dropped the box. Then he kicked free and bolted. Did you see him?”
“No. I came up the front staircase, but he must’ve taken the back staircase and run out through the kitchen. By the time I figured out he’d gone around me and I got back downstairs, I only saw taillights retreating in the distance. I didn’t even get a model and make of vehicle, let alone a license plate,” he said in disgust.
Another wave of nausea rolled over her, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. No way was she barfing in front of Reese Carpenter.
“You don’t look so hot, Yvie.”
“Don’t feel so hot,” she mumbled.
“Let’s get you out of here. Can you walk?”
She honestly didn’t know if she could stand. Reese reached down to her and lifted her by her armpits, then set her on her feet. She swayed as angry little men with jackhammers went to work trying to escape from her skull. She must have groaned, for Reese moved quickly to her side and looped his arm around her waist.
“Can you put your arm across my shoulder?” he murmured.
“You’re hilarious. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a wee bit height challenged.”
He chuckled and shifted his arm to grip her shoulders, instead. “There. Now you can put your arm around my waist.”
“What? Are you that desperate to have me put my hands on—” She broke off. Do not initiate banter with the hot detective when you’re in no shape to make it down these stairs yourself.
His waist was hard and narrow beneath her forearm. She’d always been a sucker for a fit guy, darn it. She was a runner, herself. Although, the weather had been so bad the past few weeks and the workload at the lab so massive she hadn’t even been out for a jog since Christmas.
“Easy does it,” he murmured as he guided her down the steps. “Take your time. And let me know if you need to stop and rest.”
She had to give him credit. For once, he wasn’t being a total jerk. Gently, he all but carried her down to the second floor and guided her to a love seat in a reading nook. “Will you be okay here by yourself if I go get you a glass of water?”
She started to nod, but her head throbbed at even the slightest movement. “Yes,” she sighed.
He moved away from her swiftly, and the panic from before surged forward again. She was alone. Vulnerable. And this big, empty house was creepy as heck. She was relieved when he approached her swiftly carrying a glass brimming with water.
“Here you go. Sip it slowly.” She took the glass he held out of her and did as he ordered. While she worked on getting down the cold water, he pulled out his cell phone and asked for a patrol car to be dispatched to the Dexter home immediately. He told the dispatcher he would stay in the house until it arrived.
>
But given the weather and condition of the roads, “immediately” turned out to be more like a half hour. Long enough for her to start feeling a tiny bit more human and for her stomach to settle sufficiently for her to contemplate walking out of here under her own power. She listened as Reese ordered the uniforms to lock up the house, post no-entry tape and let nobody inside until he could get back here in the morning with a crime-scene kit.
And then he was back, standing in front of her, the jewelry box from before tucked under his left arm. She noticed for the first time that he was wearing jeans and a Kansas State University hoodie that made him look younger and infinitely less intimidating than the dark, severe suits he wore to work.
“Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you out of here?” he asked.
She looked up at him to see if he was making fun of her, but she saw nothing in his eyes to indicate that he was joking. Only worry shone in his baby blues. “I can make it on my own, thanks.”
But, as soon as she stood up, a wave of dizziness washed over her and she swayed a little. On cue, he stepped close and wrapped his free arm around her waist.
“I said I can walk.”
“I heard you. But I really don’t want you falling down the stairs and hitting your head again.”
“I can do it—”
He cut her off. “Yvette. I’m sure you can do it all by yourself. But let me help you, okay?”
“But—”
“Humor me. It’ll make me feel better to steady you. I’m gonna feel like a complete jerk if you tumble down the stairs and break your neck when I could’ve lent you a hand.”
How was a woman supposed to say no to that?
“Truce, okay? Just for tonight. You can go back to slugging me in the gut for no reason tomorrow.”
She opened her mouth to declare that she had a reason for punching him, but then he would ask what it was, and she wasn’t about to confess that she had a crush on him and was upset that he hadn’t thought of their evening in the lab together as a date.
Seriously. How lame was that? When she thought the words through, she sounded like a total stalker.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set Page 28
