A Deep and Dark December(44)

He crept around to the back of the house, passing through a half gate into the backyard. The rich scent of foliage and damp earth filled the air. The back of the house was even darker than the front. He’d have to talk to her about getting motion detecting security lights.

A noise in the bushes froze him in place. He listened hard over the beating of his heart as he slid his weapon from the holster and held it against his thigh. A cat leapt onto the path in front of him. He’d raised his arm to aim before recognition hit and he lowered the gun back to his side again. Damn cat.

The wooden back porch steps creaked beneath his feet as he crept toward the back door. The house was just as still and quiet on this side. She’s in trouble. The thought hit him hard, knocking him down a step. He charged toward the door and banged on it.

“Erin!”

Nothing.

He tried the knob, but it was locked. He raced around the house to the front door. He pounded on it with the flat of his hand.

“Erin!”

This time the knob twisted in his hand. He went in low, gun raised. Silence. He mentally sketched the layout of the house as he remembered it. The living room was first, the kitchen at the back, a hall opened on the right. He slid his feet across the hardwood, not wanting to trip over something. He thought about calling out again, but if Erin was able to hear she would have answered his earlier calls.

He came to the turn into the living room, paused, then went low around the corner. A lamp lay on its side on the floor behind the couch. The light he’d seen through the window. Yeah, definitely something wrong here. He scanned what he could see of the room in the dimness. His gaze snagged on something sticking out from behind the couch.

A hand.

He raced forward.

Erin lay sprawled on her back, her face turned toward him. A thin stream of blood oozed from her nose into the carpet.





Graham sank to his knees beside Erin, his heart galloping in his chest. He placed two fingers to her neck. Her pulse was slow, but measurable. His breath whooshed out and he gripped his knees to keep from collapsing next to her.

She was alive.

His training kicked in and he was back on his feet, gun up. Whoever had done this to her could still be in the house. He reached for his phone to call for back up, remembering too late that he’d left it in the car. He strained to listen. Nothing. Inching his way across the floor, he checked the rest of the house. Empty. Whoever had attacked her was gone.

He dropped back down beside her. “Erin.” He patted her cheek. “Come on, Erin. Wake up.”

She moaned, turning her face away.

“That a girl. Come on.” He took her hand and rubbed it between his. “Wake up and give me shit like you always do.”

“I only give you the shit you deserve,” she murmured.

He grinned like the fool he was when she was near. “That’s true.”

“Where…?” Blinking, she looked up at him and in that moment all he wanted to do was hug her and tell her it would be okay. “What happened?” she asked.

“You tell me. Who did this to you? Please tell me it was that goofy grocer so I have a reason to punch him in the face.”

“He left… I think.” She struggled to sit up.

He held her shoulders down. “Stay put. I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No. Don’t. No one did this to me…exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just let me up and I’ll tell you.”

“What if you hit your head? You should see a doctor.”

She reached a hand up to feel her scalp. “I didn’t. I’m fine. Let me up.”

He watched her closely as he helped her into a sitting position.

“Let me see.” He gently ran his hands through her hair, feeling for any lumps. He ignored how amazing her hair felt in his hands and just how damn good it was to be near her. After a few moments, he reluctantly removed his hands and sat back on his haunches. “No bumps.”

“Told you.”

“Now tell me what happened.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket—a habit drilled into him by his father—and dabbed at the blood on her face.

“I’m bleeding?”

“Yeah,” he answered grimly, holding her chin in his hand to keep her still. He could feel her watching him as he gently wiped away the blood. Each red smear was like a knife through his gut. “Here.” He handed her the handkerchief to finish up, trying to hide how badly his hands were suddenly shaking as he crossed his arms. She scared the shit out of him in more ways than one. He cleared his throat and watched her wipe at her nose. “Better?”

“I never get bloody noses.”

He regarded her with a frown, trying to get a handle on a few minor things like what the hell had happened here? What was her emotional and physical state? And this new, perplexing awareness he associated only with her.

“What caused it?” he asked.

“I had another vision, but before I could get control of it I got broadsided.”

“Broadsided.”

“That’s the only way I can describe it except that it was kind of like getting hit over the head with a metal folding chair.”

“That’s happened to you before?” he asked, his head jerking back in surprise.