Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(18)

“He’s in the house.” Her voice shook as hard as her hands as she heard him move around the living area, then walk toward the bedrooms. “He broke down the door, and he’s looking for me.”

“Do you have a weapon?” He stayed calm but authoritative.

“No. The knives are in the kitchen.” She’d considered grabbing one, but the fear of having Jared take it from her again was too real. She had the scar on her side to prove it. Tonight, before racing into the laundry room, she’d shoved the knife block under the kitchen sink.

“Do you have anything aerosol close by? Cleaning supplies?”

She pushed the curtain around the sink aside and studied the small room, lit only by the moonlight streaming through a small high window. “Yes. I have wasp spray.”

And an iron. But what if he took it from her? Or God forbid, he took the iron and tormented her, slowly, taking his time to burn her as he’d done once before.

“Get the spray. Now. If he finds you, aim straight for his eyes and run. We need to keep him away from you for just a little while longer. The police are close, Stacy. Hang on. Where is he now?”

“I think he’s walking down the hall toward my room, but it’s a small cottage, only two bedrooms and everything’s so open if I go to the front door he’ll see me. The back door leads to my garage, and I don’t want to be trapped in there by him.” She scrambled from under the sink and walked softly in the small, dark utility room, groping along the shelf over the washer until her fingers wrapped around the can of bug spray for ants, roaches, spiders. Appropriate. “He’ll check the kitchen next when he realizes I’m not asleep.”

“Help will arrive before then.” He sounded so certain she almost believed him.

She scrambled back under the sink, phone in one hand and can in the other. “How are you telling the cops? You’re talking to me.”

“There’s another dispatcher on the line. She’s listening and relaying everything to the police. Two units are on their way, Stacy. Not just one. Now, explain the floor plan. Let us know how to find you fastest.”

“He broke in the front door, which brings you into a combo living room and dining room. The bedrooms are to the left. The kitchen is to the right. There are three doors in the kitchen—to the garage, the pantry, the laundry room.” His footsteps grew louder. He was back in the living room. “Oh, God, he’s walking toward the kitchen. I can’t talk anymore.”

“Don’t hang up.” The strength in his voice carried her through. “Listen to me, and be sure to breathe so I know you’re there. You’re doing great.”

Sirens sounded in the distance, growing louder, closer. Help. Maybe this time they would catch him in the act and the nightmare would be over. She dared to whisper, “The police. I hear them.”

“You’re doing great, Stacy. You’ve protected yourself. Just a little longer.”

“He’s stopped.” She held her breath, listening. “He’s…I think he’s leaving. I think he’s running away. Because of the sirens.”

How strange to be upset over that, but if the police had caught him he would be in violation of the restraining order. He would go to prison, even if only for a short time. She had security cameras, but she held little hope they would reveal anything helpful. He would have thought to cover his face. He was careful. Dangerous. She had to try harder to leave this place again. She couldn’t live this way any longer. More than just move, she would buy a whole new identity if she had to, but she couldn’t just wait for him to kill her.

She sagged against the pipes under the sink as the police announced themselves at the front door. Tears clogged her eyes and throat. “Please, please tell them to catch him.”

“Anastasia.” The dispatcher’s low rasp of her full name froze her. “I promise, he will never hurt you again.”

Anastasia?

Her full name. She sat up straighter, thunking her head on the sink, stunned for more reason than one. Only two people had ever called her Anastasia. Her mother.

And Gavin.

The first man she’d ever loved. The first one to break her heart.

The voice might not sound like him, but somehow, someway, it was Gavin. And how damn ironic that just as she finally decided to cut ties to this town for good…

Gavin Novak was back.

? ? ?

The next afternoon, Tech Sergeant Gavin Novak lounged in a hammock in the backyard of his duplex with his dog Radar on the ground beside him. He wouldn’t have long to get his thoughts together before talking to Stacy face to face. He couldn’t avoid the inevitable any longer, not after last night.

He’d worked the graveyard shift, so his day had started late, the afternoon sun warm on his face, a breeze rustling the maple tree branches overhead. Not that he’d been able to sleep after taking that 9-1-1 call last night from Stacy Currie, the last person he’d expected to be on the other end of the line. At first, he hadn’t realized it was her. She’d been whispering so softly.

Then she’d given her name, and he realized she didn’t recognize his voice at all. Possibly because he was just a part of her past. But then he didn’t sound the same either, not since the accident that had ended his Air Force career as a pararescueman. The helicopter crash a year ago, the flames, the crushed bones. He was a walking miracle, lucky to be alive and talking at all.