Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(3)

A little thrill rushed through her, followed by another burp. Olivia rubbed the fire behind her breastbone. “Tonight isn’t a good night. I ate way too much of my mother’s food.”

He snorted. “That happens. She’s an incredible cook.”

“Plus, I have to get up early to take her to the doctor.” Her mother had offered her the couch for the night, but Olivia preferred her own bed.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“She’s worried about my sister’s separation, and her blood pressure has been up. She likes me with her as an extra set of ears.”

“Makes sense. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Get some rest and feel better.”

“Good night.” Olivia lowered the phone.

Satisfied he would help her make her decision, she slid into bed and picked up a book. At midnight, she still wasn’t sleepy. She set down the book and redirected her mind. Lincoln was teaching her to meditate. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her breaths. She conjured a mental image of the beach in her mind and synced her breathing to the ebb and flow of the imaginary waves. At first she had trouble concentrating, but eventually her body felt heavy.

Olivia jolted, her heartbeat quickening, sweat dampening her T-shirt.

What was that?

A glance at the clock on her nightstand told her hours had passed. It felt as if she’d just closed her eyes, but she must have fallen asleep. She scanned the darkness of her bedroom. Her gaze passed over her dresser and chair. Had she heard something real, or had it been a dream?

She concentrated, listening hard to the sounds of her house, but she heard nothing unusual. A thunk and hum signaled the heater switching on. Hot air blew out of the floor vent and moved the sheers that hung over her windows.

The alarm hadn’t sounded. She reached for her cell phone. It was far too early to rise for the day. She double-checked the security system app on her phone. The house was secure. She needed to go back to sleep.

She shifted her legs under the covers, closed her eyes, and tried to get comfortable.

Something whooshed. Her eyes snapped open. A large shape rushed toward her. A heavy body landed on top of her, pinning her to the mattress. The weight and size of her attacker felt male. She flailed and tried to push him off, but her arms and legs were trapped as he straddled her. She was cocooned in her comforter like a swaddled baby. Her throat constricted. She couldn’t scream.

Panic sprinted through her bloodstream as she stared up at the dark assailant looming over her. His face seemed distorted, his features brighter and flatter than normal. He was wearing a mask.

With a bolt of gut-twisting horror, she recognized the character as Michael Myers from the movie Halloween.

A flash of terror shot up her spine. She inhaled, preparing to force a scream out of her tight throat.

He slapped her across the face. Pain, bright and sharp, sang through her cheekbone but faded in seconds as her adrenaline surged. The scream died in her chest.

He waved a knife in front of her face and then pressed a gloved finger to the rubber lips of the mask. “Shhh.”

Olivia stilled. Given their positions, she couldn’t move anyway, and it was unlikely a neighbor would be able to hear her scream, not with her insulated windows closed.

Pretend to cooperate. Wait for an opportunity.

Her instinct was to flail, but he’d disabled both her flight and her fight responses. Her pulse echoed in her ears, each beat of her heart ramming against her breastbone. Her breaths came faster, until she was nearly hyperventilating.

What was he going to do?

After shrugging off his small backpack, he tossed it onto the bed next to her and unzipped it. Putting the knife in his pocket, he shifted his weight from knee to knee and jerked her hands one at a time out from under the covers. He held both her wrists in one of his hands. She tried to pull away, but her wrists were thin and his grip secure. He pulled something from his bag, and fresh fear raced through her. She swallowed the metallic taste as he wrapped duct tape securely around both of her wrists. Once her hands were bound, he slapped a piece of tape across her mouth as well.

Tears ran from her eyes. Her nose clogged. She couldn’t draw in enough air through only her nose. She grew light-headed. Could she suffocate with her mouth covered? Her vision dimmed. Spots appeared in front of her eyes.

She needed to control her breathing. Lincoln’s voice echoed in her mind. Inhale, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Exhale, two, three, four. After three breath cycles, her vision cleared.

The intruder climbed off the bed and yanked the blankets off her body. Under her flannel pajama bottoms and sweatshirt, Olivia shivered, fighting the panic that threatened to debilitate her. Whatever he was going to do, she needed to be ready to react. If he was going to rape her, he’d need to take his hands off her to unfasten his pants. But he made no movement in that direction. Instead, he bound her ankles with duct tape.

Olivia’s muscles went rigid. If he was going to kill her, he would have done it already, right?

While she was battling panic, he appeared calm. His movements were efficient and smooth, calculated, as if he was simply performing a chore. He didn’t hurry, and he didn’t appear to be excited.

Maybe he just wanted to rob the house. He acted almost professional. Hope blossomed inside her. She didn’t care what he took as long as he left.

Please.

He showed her the knife again and whispered, “Don’t move.”