Second Chances (12 page)

She looked down at the can, her eyes nervously scanning her surroundings. When he noticed her shoulders drop and her eyes closed on a sigh, he knew his efforts had been a success. She reached out
, her hand trembling so slightly he wouldn’t have noticed if he was anyone else but who he was. She took the green beans from his hand and politely thanked him for his help.

After she gingerly placed the can in her cart he calmly reached out and offered his hand. “
Grant Kendal,” he smiled, making sure it reached his eyes. Everything about him had been chosen by design to make her feel comfortable with him. From his name to his conservative yet relaxed haircut, even his nondescript, brown eyes and common aftershave had been carefully researched and pieced together to give him all the trust he needed to manipulate her in a hundred different ways and keep her where he wanted her. If all went according to plan he wouldn’t need her to trust him. Wouldn’t need to get that close. But in his experience, very few things ever went exactly as planned and he had to cover all his bases on this one. When she took his offered hand in hers and gave it a firm shake, then looked him in the eyes, he’d felt only half convinced it had worked.

“Claira Robbins,” she smiled confidently.

She looked different than the photos he’d seen of her, dressed differently, too. When he’d first arrived in town and began putting his plan into action, he had to study her carefully before he was convinced he’d found his mark. By all accounts she was the mousy, conflicted creature that others believed her to be, until that handshake. In his line of work, he found that few people ever made eye contact, even when they shook hands. Now, the sudden confidence in her eyes and body language was surprising, betraying his own confidence in his preparations. The sloppy bastard that wanted her seemed completely clueless of her true nature, something that
didn’t
surprise him at all.

Claira closed her eyes and censured herself for allowing the familiar panicked-laced reaction to a common stranger rob her of her hard won peace. She was
not
that woman anymore. If she was going to live a normal life, the life she fought constantly to remind herself she deserved, then she had to start acting like a normal person; even when meeting a nice, somewhat plainly hansom stranger that had clearly just been trying to help her. Wasn’t that what normal people in small towns did? Help other normal people?

Relaxing her tensed, defensive posture, she met his warm brown eyes and
couldn’t help but smile. She could do this. They chatted amiably for a few minutes, where she learned that he, too, was fairly new in town. He’d been staying with his grandmother in Dillon, a small town about a hundred miles west of Billings, until she had passed away a month ago. The tight strain in his voice when he spoke of her had Claira relaxing her guard a little more. He was a nice guy, looking for a fresh start, something she could relate to.

Moments later they said goodbye and he waved her down the
aisle as he headed for one of the cashier lines with his can of baby peas. Claira forced herself to feel happy about the exchange. It had been a big step for her, but the new found freedom of talking freely with someone she didn’t know still felt strange to her.

Keys in hand, she paused at the trunk of her car as an even more bizarre
thought occurred to her. Spending time with Mason, Matt and even their family hadn’t seemed awkward. Not in the way talking to Grant had been. Sure, she’d been nervous, but for some reason she had never doubted their sincerity and hadn’t once considered herself in danger around them. Ok, so not the sort of danger she’d become accustom to, anyway. If you counted their ruggedly handsome faces, their gorgeous sapphire eyes, along with Grey’s mint-moss green ones, substantially immense muscles, oh, and the way they touched her…..oh, yeah. She was definitely in danger alright. Grinning at the goose bump inducing tingle that ricocheted through her, she lowered the last of the three bags into her truck and slammed the lid. This kind of danger she could handle. Well, she doubted she could handle all of it at once, but that seemed to be exactly what they were pushing for.

Sliding behind
the wheel, she closed the door and clicked her seatbelt into place. A chirping giggle escaped into the quiet that surrounded her as she pondered the ridiculousness of it all. She, Claira Robbins, a quiet, simple, teacher, homebody and disaster magnet extraordinaire, was being seduced by two beautiful men. Twins! And she was attracted to them.
Them!
Plural!
She could spend an entire month psychoanalyzing why this was happening, or shouldn’t be happening. Hell, she should drive straight to Billings and sit herself down on the first couch in the first therapist’s office she came to and stay there until these feelings had been fully explored and exercised. She knew she had lost her ever loving mind, but when she pulled up into her small driveway and clicked off the engine, she was suddenly looking forward her Sunday dinner plans.

With an excited feeling
she could barely contain, Claira pulled her purse strap over her shoulder and started up her front stairs, keys in hand. She froze in mid stride, her feet anchored to the second and third steps. Her eyes locked onto the overhead porch lamp, ominously void of light, and stared hard at the dark globe, unable to believe she hadn’t noticed it when she first pulled up. It had been on when she left. She never turned it off, ever. She couldn’t see if the string was still attached to the thumbtack. She wouldn’t know for sure if the door had been opened until she could get close enough to see if the strip of tape at the bottom edge had been broken. One more step up and she’d know, but she couldn’t make her legs take the step. Instead she leaned forward and braced her hands on the step above her. Breathless she lowered her head and squeezed her eyes closed, willing her panicked tears away.

It’s just a blown bulb.
She chanted over and over in her head. Sweat began to drip from her forehead and she realized she hadn’t taken a breath. Her lungs burned with need and she clenched her jaw, forcing the much needed oxygen through her nose. With a moan of sheer panic, she forced her head to turn, looking back over her shoulder toward the bottom step. Prying open her eyes, she searched for the last thread of hope. A helpless squeak of relief escaped her throat when she saw that the thin line of pebbles on the first step lay undisturbed.
Just a blown bulb. Just a blown bulb.

Turning her head back toward the front door, her lungs seizing with dread, she forced her left leg to push her up the last step she’d need to be able
to see if the tape had been broken.
One more step. It’s just a blown bulb. No one has been here. No one
is
here.
He
isn’t here.
She had to get control. She had to be ready.

Paralyzed with fear, visions of a madman flashed through her mind.
No!
She had to stay in control. She lifted her head, her eyes burning from tears and sweat. Her hand moved on its own, wiping the sting from her eyes, but her heart stopped when the broken piece of tape came into focus.

Black spots swam in her line of vision. The roar in her ears drowned out every other sound and the world around her turned eerily silent as it swirled around her. In her mind she was slowly creeping back down the stairs
and to her car, but she couldn’t be sure. Without feeling in her limbs she stumbled over something she couldn’t see as tunnel vision blocked her attempts to find something to hold onto. She fell hard against the ground, a sharp pain exploding in her leg and her palms. The pain seemed to snap her out of her panic, her vision clearing enough to see the tire of her car next to her head.

Swallowing
lungful’s of air, she pushed herself up, her hands grasping for the door handle. Tears blurred her vision again.
Please! Please open!
When the latch flipped up but the door didn’t budge, a desperate sob escaped her aching throat. Her hands shaking so uncontrollably she couldn’t focus on them, she turned and slid down the side of her car to the gravel, sobs racking her chest. Where were her keys?

A loud bang of a
slamming door caught her attention and her head jerked up at the sound. Instantly, her breaths silenced and her body froze. They were here. Someone was outside on the back deck. She could hear them.

Her eyes darted around the ground in front of her. She lunged for the clump of keys lying in the grass near the bottom step, skidding across the grass on her knees. She didn’t know where the sudden calm had come from
, but she was grateful none the less for the surge of adrenaline that propelled her back to her car. Opening the door, she threw herself into the front seat and locked the door behind her. Frantically she searched through her purse and grabbed her cell phone. Dialing 911, while her other trembling hand tried desperately to insert the key into the ignition, she nearly screamed when the keys fell from her hands and landed somewhere near her feet.

“911
, what is your emergency?”

“Oh, God!”
She croaked, her throat so tight she could barely speak. “Some…someone is in my house.” She kicked her legs frantically in front of her, feeling around the floor with her feet for her keys.
Where are they?

“Ma’am.
You said someone was in your house? Are you there now?”

“Yes!” She yelled, grunting as she bent nearly in half to stuff herself below the steering wheel to search the
dark floorboard with her hands.

“What is your
name and address, ma’am?” The emergency operator’s calm voice flowed over the cellular waves.

“U
h,” Claira had to stop and think. “198 Harvest,” she groaned again as she reached under her seat and felt the cold, sharp edge of one of the keys. She couldn’t reach them without getting out.

“Are you in the house, ma’am? Can you see the person?”

“Um, no.” Claira blew out a frantic breath and held in a sob. She needed those keys. She needed to focus. “I’m in the driveway, in my car. Someone is inside! Please, send someone. I can’t reach my keys!”

“Stay in your car ma’am. Do you know if it is a male or female? Can you see the person in your home?” The emergency operator prodded.

Claira sat up and glanced at the house, temporarily abandoning her search for her keys. Movement on the right side of the house caught her attention. Her focus sharpened and she recognized the figure walking toward her from the small alleyway between her house and the neighbor’s fence.

“M
att?” Or Mason? In truth, through her tears she couldn’t tell. “Oh, no!” Chills ran down her spine and her hands flew to the door handle, dropping the phone. She had to get him out of there. She pulled on the handle but the door wouldn’t budge.
The locks!
Her fingers scraped helplessly over the door panel, fruitlessly searching for the lock switch.
Come on! Come on! Open!

“
Matt! Run!” She shoved her shoulder against the door at the same time her fingers found the release and she nearly fell out of the car, catching herself on the armrest.

“Claira?”
Matt called out as he picked up his paced and jogged toward her car. “Darlin’, what’s wrong?”

Claira grabbed his hand and drug him toward th
e street, her thoughts fogged with panic. All she knew was that she had to get him as far away from there as possible.

“Claira!”
Matt said, stopping and pulling her into his arms “Shh, honey, calm down. It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

“No. You have to run. He won’t stop,” Claira pleaded, writhing in his grasp.

“Who, darlin’? Who won’t stop?”

Claira froze as sirens wailed
in the distance. Matt tightened his embrace as she slumped in his arms, heart breaking sobs wracking her body. He knelt to the ground and held her trembling body tight to his as she cried. “It’s okay, darlin’. No one is going to hurt you.”

Matt sat on the ground, almost in shock himself, and rocked a pleading, sobbing Claira in his arms as he listened to the approaching sirens.
A growl rumbled in his chest when he noticed the trickle of blood running down her calf. What the hell was going on? He didn’t have a clue but he sure as hell planned on finding out. No one hurt his woman and got away with it. “It’s okay, honey. The police are here. We’ll be fine. Just breathe for me.”

He tipped her chin and wiped away the tears with his thumb. Her breath hitched in her chest but she wouldn’t look at him.
Who did this to her?
When her eyes rolled back in her head and her short, rapid breaths stopped, Matt shook her. “Claira, breathe!” Her lips began to turn a sickening blue and her hands began to shake. “Claira!” Matt glanced up at the officer peeling out of his patrol car at the end of her driveway, gun drawn, and shouted over her limp body. “Call an ambulance, Benton! She’s stopped breathing!”

“They’
re on their way, Matt. What the hell happened?” He dropped to one knee and laid his fingers across her neck, checking for a pulse, his gun held to his side as he glanced at the house.

“
I have no idea.” Matt, now nearing a full on panic attack himself, laid Claira flat on her back and propped her head back. “I’ve gotta get her breathin’, Benton.” He held his ear to her mouth, hoping for even a small sound, but there was nothing. Officer Benton Dryson shouted something but he didn’t hear what it was. All his attention was focused on Claira. She had to breathe!