Page 177 of It Happened on the Lake

The sound of rapid footfalls?

But she was alone. Maybe it was just the fact that she’d had her bell rung—Geez, she might really be concussed. She had to get up and—

Strong hands clamped over her shoulders.

“Hey!” she cried.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of her attacker. Someone all in black.

“Stop it!” she sputtered. “Who the hell are you?” She struggled, twisted, throwing punches, kicking wildly. But the man was strong. “Let me go!” Jesus God, he meant to hurt her, or kill her or—

She screamed as loud as she could. Loud enough to wake the dead.

“Stop that!” he commanded gruffly.

But she didn’t. He placed a gloved hand to shut her up, and she bit with all she had. Tasting the leather. Cutting through. Her incisors meeting flesh. Sinking deep enough that she gagged.

He yowled, his grip releasing, and she squirmed, trying to get away, now on her hands and knees. But he snagged a hank of her hair and twisted it while she screamed and writhed and kicked.

“You always were a bitch,” he growled, wrestling her down, face first.

She knew that voice, she thought wildly, thrashing and still wrestling frantically to get free.

But his weight on her back forced her down.

She bucked.

To no avail. With his handful of hair, he drew her head back and then, with one forceful shove, slammed her face onto the concrete edge of the step.

Bang.

Pain burst behind her eyes.

Her body convulsed.

She tried to scream again but only managed to gasp and drag in air.

Her voice wouldn’t work, her vision distorted.

The world began to disappear in the darkness.

She felt him, breathing hard, climbing off of her back. From the corner of one bleary eye, she saw him bending over her, his wavering silhouette caught in the light from the open kitchen door and strangely familiar. And then as he lifted her head once more, intent on banging her face against the cement, everything went black.

Chapter 44

Something moved.

Harper’s eyes flew open.

She was lying in her makeshift bed and told herself she’d imagined it.

But, no, she sensed air moving when it should be still.

That’s crazy. You double-checked the doors and windows. Points of a star—remember.

She turned on the bedside light.

There was nothing . . .

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