Paranoid(5)

Oh. God.

Swallowing hard, trying to clear her fuzzy mind, she slipped out of the sheets. When Honey started to follow she ordered, “Stay,” under her breath, then turned her gaze onto the other two dogs, who were now standing in their beds, and hissed, “Stay!”

It’s nothing. They most likely heard the neighbors . . . or maybe a mouse . . . or something, just not an intruder. Please, God, not an intruder.

She pressed her bare feet into her slippers and started for the door, nearly stumbling and dropping the damned pistol.

Get it together.

Another bark from Che.

“Shhh!”

Scraaape.

From the other side of the door.

She should call the police.

Who cared if they found her tipsy—no, drunk—and holding a firearm? It didn’t matter that she could be imagining the whole scenario of someone breaking in.

But the dogs.

All at attention, watching the damned door.

It’s nothing. It’s nothing.

She reached for the door with her left hand, the gun in her right. Letting out her breath she twisted the knob, then swung the door inward and peered into the hallway, where a night-light gave off a weak glow, barely illuminating the stairwell.

She blinked and squinted.

Nothing.

No shadows moving.

No one lurking.

All in your mind.

Wait a second.

The door to the second bedroom seemed ajar. Surely it hadn’t been that way when she’d passed it on the way to her room.

Or had it?

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted and she slipped to the door, pushed it open slowly, heard the slight creak of the old hinges.

She took one step into the room, saw the shades half down, light from the street lamp filtering onto the guest bed. She reached for the light switch.

Bam!

The door crashed into her.

Pain exploded in her face.

The cartilage in her nose cracked.

Her glasses crunched and fell to the floor.

Blood spurted everywhere.

“Ooow!” she screamed and raised her gun.

Strong fingers grabbed her wrist and twisted.

Agony tore up her arm and her elbow felt as if it would tear apart.

She forced her fingers to squeeze.

Blam!

The pistol blasted, the sound deafening. She flinched as whoever was in the room yanked the gun from her hand and wrenched her arm so hard she was certain it was breaking. She cried out in shrill pain and struggled to get away, but her attacker forced her backward. Her feet slipped. The dogs—her babies—were barking crazily now, scratching at the bedroom door.

She was being forced backward, bare feet sliding on the carpet, her eyes a blur with the blood. “No!” she cried as her back cracked against the railing. She blinked, tried to focus, just as something was forced over her eyes. A blindfold? Oh, Jesus, was this monster going to try to take her somewhere and didn’t want her to see the area or who was attacking her?

Fear curdled in her guts. This maniac was going to rape or mutilate her and surely kill her.

She fought harder. Frantically she scraped at her face, trying to remove the mask, but it was fixed solidly. Glued to her skin.

Oh, God.

Panicked, completely blinded, she flailed at her attacker, trying to scratch, to gain some kind of purchase, but it was for naught. Still drunk, her movements imprecise, her head pounding in pain, she swung wildly and missed, turning around just as she felt her body being hoisted with an effort.

No!

A raspy voice demanded, “How does it feel to really be blind?”

What?

And then she was flying through the air, and dropping, a hand brushing the chain on the chandelier, the crystals tinkling. She knew in that split second that the marble floor of the foyer was rushing up at her.

She screamed at the top of her lungs but was silenced by the smack of the stone floor.

Bam!

She hit hard, her body slamming against the floor.

Every bone jarred, her skull cracking on impact. Her breath swooping out in a hissing rush, her teeth broken and rattling. She let out a low moan that sounded wet and tasted of the blood filling her mouth.

Oh, God.

She tried to move.

Couldn’t.

Thankfully she remained conscious only long enough to be certain almost every bone in her body had shattered.





CHAPTER 2




Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots echo through the Sea View cannery.

Rachel flattens against the wall. It sounds so real. Not like the click of the soft-pellet guns. But the report of a real pistol. Here, in this cavernous, decaying building that smells of rotten fish and sweat.

Bang! Bang!

Someone screams.

She looks down, sees the gun in her hand.

Oh, Jesus!

Heart hammering, she tosses the damned weapon aside. It skids across the floor only to slide into the open chute and tumble to the raging river below.

“Rachel?” Luke’s voice comes to her and she sees him, pale faced and staggering, hand clutched to his chest, blood staining his splayed fingers. “Why?” He is perplexed as he falls. “Why did you—?”

Oh. God. No!

This time the scream is her own as he stumbles backward, his face disintegrating into a fleshy pulp being devoured by worms.

No! No! No!