Page 12 of Protected from Malice
No.
Not Eden.
Not when I’m so damn close.
Drawing on all my training from the Army, I shove down my fear and force myself to focus.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“The laundry room. There’s a lock on the door. I… Oh.” More frantic breathing. Then so quietly I can barely hear her, “I think I hear someone inside.Rafe…”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I’m still minutes away.
In the same commanding tone I used while training foreign allies overseas, I say, “Here’s what I want you to do. Grab a weapon. Something sharp. Scissors, if you have them. Something you can spray in a person’s face if not. Don’t hang up, but I want you to put me on hold for a second. Call 911. I’ll probably be there before the police, so once you tell them what’s going on, get back on the call with me.”
For a few seconds, there’s no response.
My heart slams hard in my chest.
“Eden.”
“Okay. I got some scissors.” As I hoped, given a task, Eden sounds more in control. More focused. “I’m hiding between the washer—ouch—and the wall.”
Shit. I don’t want to think about how she might have hurt herself.
“Call 911. Then get right back to me.” I make a sharp right turn onto the next road, my tires squealing. “I’m almost there.”
The next minute is one of the worst of my life.
Listening to the silence on Eden’s end of the line as she calls 911.
Racing to her house, not knowing what I’ll find inside.
Not knowing if she’s hurt.
Not knowing if I’ll get there too late.
Fuck.
Why didn’t I find a flight last night?
Why didn’t I insist she stay with someone? Go to a fucking hotel?Something?
I finally reach Eden’s street—fucking finally—and reluctantly slow the car as I approach her house. Not because I want to, but it’s a residential street. And even at night, there’s no guarantee someone might not be out walking their dog or jogging in the dark like a crazy person.
Just as I’m about to turn into her driveway, Eden whispers, “Okay. I called. They said they would send?—”
Another one of those awful, heartbreaking scared whimpers escapes. “I can hear him.Inside.”
Slamming the car into park, I reach into the glove box and grab my Sig. My Ka-Bar. A set of handcuffs. “Stay where you are. I’m coming in.”
“Rafe.”Her voice fucking wobbles. “Don’t get hurt.Please.”
“I won’t.” I leap from the car and survey the front of the house. It looks normal. Just a few lights on inside, but no telltale shadow crossing in front of the window. No sign of the intruder. Yet.
In the seconds it takes to sprint to the house, I plan my attack.
