Emily and the Stranger (22 page)

Charles gazed down at Emily, then shook his head. "You'd be a fool to trust that man after all he's done to you. My God, woman, his construction firm was responsible for your husband's death."

"You warn me not to trust Mitch. He warns me not to trust you." Emily stood, facing Charles. "I'm very fond of you, but I don't love you. All we can ever be is friends."

"Yes, well, I had hoped for more. You're an incredibly lovely lady. One who would do credit to any man." Slumping his shoulders like a defeated soldier, Charles bent his head. "Fowler will be terribly disappointed that things didn't work out for us. He has his heart set on our marrying and moving into his home."

Emily touched Charles's arm, wishing she'd never met Mitch Hayden, wishing her heart were free so that she might have eventually accepted Charles as her life's mate. But now that she'd known what real passion felt like, she could never settle for anything less. Even if it meant spending the rest of her life alone.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could do what Uncle Fowler wants, but I can't."

"You're in love with Hayden, aren't you?"

She couldn't answer Charles. She simply stood there staring at him until he leaned over, kissed her on the cheek and walked down the front steps and out to his Mercedes.

* * *

Curled up on the damask chaise longue in her bedroom, Emily held a glass of peach-flavored sparkling water in her hand. A thin volume of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poetry lay in her lap. Closing her eyes as she leaned her head back, she listened to the steady beat of the rain, which had started nearly an hour ago. The spring rain had begun slowly, a soft peppering on the roof, but had turned into a heavy downpour within fifteen minutes.

Carl Reinecke's Harp Concerto permeated the room with the tender sweetness of a music that brought to mind moonlight and roses, good wine and warm smiles. Emily felt at peace for the first time in weeks. She had made a decision tonight. She couldn't go on lying to herself, pretending that she didn't want Mitch Hayden in her life. She accepted the fact that nothing could change the past. Hers or Mitch's.

Perhaps she and Mitch had no future together, but tomorrow, she would talk to him, be as honest with him as she could be and still maintain some semblance of her pride. Others might call her a fool. Perhaps she was.

Suddenly the room went pitch black. Emily screamed. Dear Lord, what had happened? Had the spring rain turned into a storm without her notice? When Emily jumped up, the book of poetry dropped to the floor. She gripped the glass in her hand.

Stay calm. Don't panic. Look out the window. Search for light.

But there was no light. The moon and stars were obscured by thick cloud cover and heavy rain. Then, unexpectedly, off in the distance, she saw a pale glimmer of illumination. A flashlight? Or her imagination?

She felt her way across the room and set the glass of water down on her dressing table. Listening for the sound of thunder, she heard only the pounding of the heavy rain. No thunder. No lightning. No storm. Why had the electricity gone off?

Light the kerosene lamp on the dresser, she told herself. The matches are in the top drawer.

Darkness, thick and heavy, surrounded her, bearing down on her like an enormous weight. She could feel the nervous pumping of her heart as she took slow, tentative steps in the direction of the dresser. Bumping into the dresser's edge, she grasped the side, then reached out, feeling for the lamp. Finding it, she kept one hand draped around the base while she opened the top drawer and searched inside for the box of matches. After retrieving the matches, she released the lamp momentarily.

On the first try, she couldn't seem to light the match. Nor on the second try. Her hands trembled.
Light the damn match!

A flicker of pale orange burned at the tip of the third match. Carefully lifting the glass chimney, Emily lit the lamp. The soft, warm glow illuminated the room with its dim light.

Emily breathed a sigh of relief. Some of the fear drained from her. More light. She needed more light. She kept a supply of candles and a kerosene lamp for every room. The electricity didn't go off all that often, except in stormy weather, but when it did, Emily was always prepared. She would never find herself alone in the dark if she could help it.

Holding the lamp high in her hand, she waked out into the hallway, but stopped dead still when she heard the shattering of glass in her kitchen and the murmur of two male voices.

Walking backward, Emily eased into her bedroom and closed the door, locking it behind her. Someone was breaking into her house. Two men, who'd been whispering to each other.

She had to get help. Immediately. She set the lamp on the table and picked up the phone. Without giving any thought to what she was doing, she dialed the number as she clutched the phone fiercely in her hand.

"Hello," the deep masculine voice said.

"Mitch! Help me! Someone's breaking into my house!"

"I'll be right there! Do you hear me, honey?"

"Yes, Mitch, please—" The line went dead. Emily dropped the telephone. Whoever had severed her electrical lines must have suddenly remembered that he hadn't cut the phone line, as well.

Emily never had owned a gun. She didn't believe in guns. But dear Lord, she wished she had one now.

Was there anything in her bedroom she could use as a weapon? If they broke down the door, how would she defend herself, one woman against two men?

Open the window and go out onto the porch, she told herself. But it was dark outside. Pitch-black.

She heard the sound of footsteps inside the cottage. She covered her mouth with her hand, sucking in her breath, resisting the urge to scream.

Stay calm. Mitch is on his way over here. But what if the men were armed? What if they shot Mitch? Dammit, why hadn't she called 911 instead of Mitch? If anything happened to him, she would never forgive herself.

And why had she insisted that Nikki return to her home, assuring her best friend that she didn't need a baby-sitter? Why hadn't she done as Mitch and Zed suggested and had a security system installed? She'd been stupid to think she was safe now, to think that the harassment was over, that there would be no more trouble. She had been wrong. Dead wrong.

The footsteps came down the hallway. The door to the bedroom beside hers opened and closed. With her eyes glued to her own bedroom door, Emily waited. The footsteps came closer. Her doorknob turned. A man's voice called out.

"Are you hiding, Emily?"

She didn't recognize the voice, had no idea who he was. She didn't move and barely breathed.

"Be a good girl and keep Mitch Hayden out of your life and we'll leave you alone," another male voice said.

"Now you're all alone in the dark and the boogeymen are going to get you."

On tiptoe, Emily crept toward the window, reached up and unlatched the lock. The doorknob rattled again. Emily eased the window upward. The wind blew the rain across the porch and through the open window, hitting her in the face. She peered outside into the deep, empty darkness.

She had two choices. Stay in the lit room and face her attackers. Or crawl out the window and run for safety in the darkness. The killing darkness. The darkness that had encompassed her that day five years ago. The darkness from which she had awakened to find her husband and child dead.

"If you promise to be a good little girl and stay away from Mitch Hayden, we won't hurt you." The doorknob rattled again.

"Sooner or later, we'll get you. Unless you cut Mitch Hayden out of your life for good," the other masculine voice said.

Emily lifted her leg up and over, bending her back as she slipped out the window. One foot and then the next landed on the porch. The blowing rain covered her, dousing her with its cool wetness. She shivered, as much from fear as from the damp chill.

On the porch, braced against the outside wall, she heard the two men's voices coming through her locked bedroom door. Get away! she warned herself. Run! Now!

She turned to face the night and froze on the spot. She couldn't see anything, not even her own hand in front of her face. Glancing back at the open window, she saw the faint light coming from the kerosene lamp.

She couldn't stay here, cowering like a fool. She had to do something.

* * *

Mitch phoned for help before he stormed out of the house. He had no gun, no real weapon other than a baseball bat a former tenant had left in the hall closet. He had no idea what he would encounter when he got to Emily's house. All he knew was that if anyone had hurt her, he'd kill them! With his bare hands, if necessary.

He fought the cool, drenching rain that seeped into his jeans and shirt, pelting his face, slicking his hair against his head.

Clutching the flashlight in one hand, waiting to turn it on, waiting until he needed it, he gripped the baseball bat in his other hand. He rounded the side of the cottage. Making his way onto the porch and to the back door, he stepped on shards of something that crunched under his feet. Flipping on the flashlight, he saw that he'd stepped on glass—glass broken out of Emily's back door. Just like last time, he thought. Shining the flashlight, Mitch ran the beam up to the electrical service entrance and saw the line dangling in the branch of a nearby bush. The severed telephone wire lay on the ground.

Dammit, why had Emily been so stubborn about refusing to have a security system installed? Of course, even a security system couldn't stop the most determined culprit. Whoever was inside Emily's house could kill her before the police arrived. But he wasn't going to let that happen.

Turning off the flashlight, Mitch walked through the open back door and into the kitchen. He heard the crash of wood breaking. He ran through the house, down the hallway and toward Emily's bedroom. His heartbeat roared in his ears. The door hung precariously on the brass hinges. A soft pool of light spread across Emily's room. In front of an open window, their backs to Mitch, stood two dark-haired figures, shrouded in rain slickers. Neither man appeared to be more than five-eight or nine, and despite the bulkiness of their slickers, both appeared to be slender.

Could he take them both? Maybe. Possibly. But if they were armed, he was a dead man.

Glancing around the room, he couldn't find Emily. Had she slipped out the window? God, he hoped so.

A surprise attack would be his best bet. With the sleek, silent movements of a panther, Mitch crept up on the two dark figures, one bent over, his head out the window.

"We scared her good."

The guy laughed, and Mitch wanted to break him in half.

"This was easy, huh? Five hundred bucks just to scare some woman who's afraid of the dark."

"Yeah, and more money than last time," the other man said, pulling himself out of the window. He started to turn around.

Neither man knew what hit him. Mitch strategically aimed the baseball bat and knocked first one and then the other to his knees. Then Mitch kicked one man
in
the groin, and while he fell onto the floor, yelping in pain, Mitch dropped the baseball bat and landed a hard right cross to the other man's jaw. He reeled from the blow, then lunged at Mitch. Mitch rammed his fist into the guy's belly. He fell to the floor, his head thumping loudly when it made contact with the hard wood. With both men lying in crumpled heaps on the floor, their legs and arms crisscrossing, Mitch glanced down and saw that the men were actually only teenage boys.

"Dammit! What the hell!" Mitch kicked the baseball bat across the floor. The sight of the boys, one moaning loudly, the other not even moving, urged Mitch into action.

Leaning down, he felt for a pulse in the silent boy. They were both still alive, although the one Mitch had knocked out was still unconscious.

Quickly Mitch rummaged around in Emily's dresser, finding the drawer where she kept her panty hose and stockings. Using the panty hose, he hog-tied the assailants' hands and feet together and left them lying on the floor.

Rushing back outside, he turned on the flashlight and began his search for Emily. She had to be out here somewhere. Wet, cold, alone and probably scared half to death in the darkness.

He circled the house, searching the porch and the shrubbery in the yard, then he made his way toward the beach. He called her name, but it was lost on the wind. He called again and again, hoping she might hear him.

His feet caught in the wet sand, slowing his movements. "Emily. Where are you, honey?"

"Mitch!"

He scanned the area with his flashlight and saw her there in the sand, on her knees, halfway between her cottage and his.

He ran to her, dropping the flashlight as he fell to his knees and drew her into his arms. "It's all right, honey. You're safe. I'm here now."

"Two men … in my house … threatening…" She gulped the words, breathless, her body quivering.

"They're not going to hurt you. I took care of them. And the police are on their way here." Mitch held her, stroking her wet hair, kissing her forehead, the side of her face, her ear.

"I crawled out the window." She clung to him, her fingers biting into his arms. "I was so scared, but I knew I didn't have any choice. The darkness! Oh, Lord, Mitch, the blackness was like the day Stuart died, the day I—"