Hidden Away (KGI #3)(33)

Sleep was a long time coming and when it did, it was fractured with images from the past blending with present circumstances. In her dream she was running and Stanley pursued her with a bloody knife. Even as she fought the dream, knowing it wasn’t rational, she couldn’t shake the veil of sleep so that the images would stop.

He called her name. It sounded like a crackly whisper. She frowned. He had a foreign accent. Stanley didn’t have an accent.

She heard it again and this time her eyes flew open just as another boom of thunder exploded across the sky. She lay there, so still her chest barely rose and fell with her breaths. A creak sounded down the hall toward the kitchen.

She bolted from the covers, sending Patches scrambling from the bed. Oh God, oh God. How was she supposed to get out if someone was in her kitchen? Her gaze latched on to the rickety dresser she’d shoved in front of the window. Not such a good idea in hindsight. Still, if she was quiet, she could push it aside enough that she could crawl out the window and run down to Garrett’s cottage.

Who could possibly be after her? If it was the authorities, surely they wouldn’t skulk around in her kitchen. They’d bust in, arrest her and haul her away. But what if Stanley had sent someone after her?

The idea sent a chill snaking down her spine that nearly paralyzed her. She had to force herself to move, to overcome the panic spreading through her like a wildfire.

She inched the dresser away from the window, holding her breath and praying she wouldn’t alert her intruder to the fact she was escaping.

The window slid upward with a groan. Sarah didn’t wait to find out if her intruder had heard. She threw herself out the window and hit the ground below with a painful thud. She slipped in the mud as she struggled to her feet, put her hands down to catch herself and then threw herself forward again.

She hit the beach at a dead run, her feet bogging in the saturated sand. Rain beat down on her, slicking her hair and pajamas to her like a second skin. Her only thought was to get to Garrett.

A prickle of alarm went up Garrett’s nape and tightened every hair on his head. His eyes flew open just seconds before his front door reverberated with fierce pounding. He came awake instantly, reached for the gun underneath the cushion and leapt to his feet.

He was halfway across the room when he heard Sarah’s voice. “Garrett!”

He yanked open the door to see Sarah standing on his porch, soaked to the skin, her hair plastered to her face as water dripped from the ends. Before he could say or ask anything she launched herself at him.

She hit him square in the chest and he wrapped his arms around her to keep them both from going down. She shook violently against him and burrowed deeper as if seeking a way to bury herself completely in his protection. Her heart pounded against his chest, way too fast. As much as he wanted to stand there holding her, he had to find out what the hell had scared her so bad.

He maneuvered them inside and kicked the door shut behind her. Then he laid his gun down on the small table by the window and gently pried her away from his chest.

“Sarah.” He took her shoulders in his hands and forced her to look up at him. He couldn’t tell if the wet was from the rain or her tears, but her eyes were huge and the pupils dilated. He touched her cheek and found her skin icy cold. She shivered underneath his touch and tried to push her way into his arms again. “Sarah,” he said again. With more force this time. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

The blankness in her expression concerned him. The shaking hadn’t stop and had in fact gotten worse as reaction seemed to settle in. She shook so hard that her knees buckled, and she would have gone down if he hadn’t tightened his grip on her arms to keep her standing upright.

With a curse, he hauled her toward the couch and sat her down. He left her long enough to grab a blanket and then he wrapped it gently around her, gathering the ends under her chin so she would be warm.

Her lips quivered and she closed her eyes, her face crumpling. She lowered her head, and her shoulders hunched inward as if she was closing herself off from the world.

He sat beside her and pulled her into his arms, holding her against him so his warmth would bleed into her too-cold skin. Ignoring the fact that she was soaked, he tucked her head underneath his chin and smoothed a hand over her tangled, wet hair.

“Hey, it’s okay now. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything hurt you. You’re safe.”

She snuggled farther into his embrace, her arms leaving the confines of the blanket to clutch desperately at his waist. Finally he gave up on trying to keep her in one place and hauled her into his lap. He leaned back and reached with one arm to gather the blanket around the both of them.

Realizing he wasn’t going to get a word out of her until some of the shock had receded, he concentrated instead on getting her warm and soothing some of the horrible fear in her eyes.

“It’s all right,” he crooned as he stroked down her arm. “You’re safe now. Take some deep breaths.”

She shuddered against him and he tightened his hold until they were wound so tight around each other that his clothing soaked up all the wetness from hers.

Gradually her heartbeat slowed and he could no longer feel the erratic thump of her pulse. She raised her head, bumping his chin as she stared across the room at the table where his gun rested.

“You have a gun,” she whispered.

He winced. Trust her to notice that detail. She was probably one of those women who fainted at the sight of a weapon.