Wait Until Dark (31 page)

He slapped her so hard he busted her lip, and blood sprayed like a fountain and ran down her chin and onto her sweater. She grabbed his hand with her teeth and bit down until she hit bone.

Buck yelled, jerked his hand away and socked her with his fist. The pain was excruciating as her teeth cracked together, and bits of enamel spewed onto her tongue. She barreled through the pain, and shoved and kicked at him, pummeling him with jabs to his stomach, and she never stopped screaming.

Oh, God, please, someone hear me!

Her throat ached with the screaming.

Buck worked to catch hold of her whirling hands and jabbing feet, and finally caught one arm in a fast grip. He punched her in the stomach. The screaming stopped, and the cellar seemed eerily still as the wind whooshed out of her, and she collapsed like a rag doll over his arm. Never letting up on his death grip, Buck yanked a handkerchief from his pocket, stuffed it into her gasping mouth, and lowered her to the floor next to Janelle.

A fold of cotton skirt fluttered onto her thigh as she was settled close beside the corpse - Janelle's skirt, probably the full red circle that she loved to wear in the summertime. Addie gagged, and fought to draw air back into her lungs, and energy back into her legs. The cloth filling her mouth made it almost impossible to breathe.
Oh, God, why doesn't he just kill me? Why doesn't he get it over with? Is he going to rape me first?

Don't give up. Fight him until the last.

He grunted as he sat astride her hips, and leaned forward to place kisses around her face, and whisper softly in her ear.

"You'll like this, Addie." His hands fastened around her throat, as he kept kissing her. "There's nothing as exquisite as a climax at the moment of death. Trust me, I know."

A grim voice cut through the darkness, "Let her go, Buck. I've got a twelve gauge aimed straight at you, and Lee Bert is right behind me."

Addie's heart flew with excitement. Will. It was Will. Buck's hands tightened on her throat, and he moaned.

"Hit the lights, Jingles," yelled Lee Bert.

Light flooded the cellar. Dim light, but to Addie it was light from heaven.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, Buck's beastly face hovered over her, his mouth twisted with hatred, his eyes mad with jealousy. He seemed to be in a world not of theirs, and ignorant of the presence of Will and Lee Bert. Limp now, and passing out, she felt his weight yanked off her.

Will gently pulled the handkerchief from her mouth and lifted her in his arms. She had only enough strength left to place her hand on his chest near his throat. His muscles worked as he swallowed, as if he were struggling not to cry, and she felt her own tears roll helplessly down her cheeks.

Lee Bert seemed to be tussling with Buck, and as she closed her eyes with relief she heard Jingles arriving.

"You forgot, Buck, my boy, this wee town is mighty quiet after ten o'clock, and I'm baking bread at the diner," crowed Jingles. "At first, I thought it was a cat wailing, but soon changed my mind."

"I don't want to look at Janelle," whispered Addie, her eyes still dosed. "I don't want to see any of this. I don't want to see Buck."

"You don't have to, sweetheart. I'm taking you out of here right now." Will held her close to his chest and walked away from the little chamber of horrors.

As they gingerly skirted Donny Jim's lifeless body on the stairs, she squeezed her eyes so tight they hurt.

"How did you know? What made you come?" she managed to get out as they entered the fresh air and bright lights of the library.

Holding her tight and secure, he carried her through the library and outside to sit on the bench by the square. Her nose tucked into the curve of his neck and shoulder, her breath warming her face, his mouth on her hair. Murmuring sweet nothings, Addie's world began to right itself. When she finally felt safe enough to open her eyes, she saw the big cardboard Thanksgiving turkey Mertie always put in the flower store window, and she saw the blue and yellow neon lights flicking over the diner. DIXIE'S DINER, THE BEST FOOD IN TOWN
.

Will kept smoothing her hair, and kissing her forehead as he talked.

"Lee Bert told me once that he was stubborn, and he sore proved it tonight. After Buck told him to go on home because he would take you to the farm, Lee Bert did a dutiful drive around the county to check out the rest of his domain, as he always does, he told me. As he passed the farm, he decided to visit and say goodnight, make sure everything was okay with us." He laughed. "The FBI guy had laid an extra load of responsibility on him, and he was taking it super seriously.

"Anyway, Lee Bert told me his story, and we figured you and Buck should have been home by then. About that time, Jingles called and said he thought he heard screaming coming from the library and he was going to go check it out. Lee Bert and I jumped into the car and made it here in five minutes. Jingles was waiting for us at the top of the cellar steps. It was dark, and he had no weapon. Lee Bert was familiar with the layout because he used to read meters down there. So we felt our way down, passing poor Donny Jim on the way. We tried to come quietly, but it didn't seem to matter because you were fighting Buck so hard he wasn't listening for anything."

"I don't think he was expecting interference. He was awfully sure of himself." She snuggled closer. He tucked her inside of his big jacket, and she breathed in the warm, sweet maleness of Will. "Oh, Will, poor Buck. He's insane, isn't he?"

"Yes, darling."

"We'll talk about it later." She was tired. So tired.

He kissed her ear. "Addie, I love you."

"Will, are the winters really cold in New Haven?"

"Pretty cold." She heard his amusement. "But we'll have glorious summers in Blue Springs, won't we?"

"Yes, yes, yes."

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LINDA ANDERSON
is the author of
Over the Moon, The Secrets of Sadie Maynard,
and
When Night Falls.
A mother of five grown children, she lives in South Florida with her husband. "Writing is a gift that brings me great joy
,
for which I'm very grateful. I hope my stories bring the same joy to my readers."

You may write to Linda Anderson:

c/o Pocket Books Publicity Department

1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020-1586

T
IL
D
EATH
D
O
U
S
P
ART

M
ARIAH
S
TEWART

to

Kate Collins, with love

1

HE SLID THE DELICATE TOOL - made for such purposes
and readily available if one knew where to look - between the doorjamb and the frame, listening carefully for the sound of the lock slipping aside. Pushing open the door only far enough to allow him entrance into the town house, he stepped into the dark silence, trying to figure out just how much time he would have to first locate, then disengage, the security system. The small metal marker on the front lawn had told him whose system protected the premises and being well familiar with that company's product, he knew he could disable the mechanism in the blink of an eye. Once, of course, he located it.

He dropped his shoes, which he'd
removed outside
before he'd picked the lock, then walked straight through the kitchen, down a short hall, and directly into the foyer, taking no pains now to keep quiet. She wasn't at home, and wouldn't be for at least another two hours. This was Wednesday. One of her gym and dinner-out-with-her-friends nights. She never arrived home much before eleven. That gave him more than enough time to complete his task.

It took only seconds to turn off the alarm, which was, as he'd have bet his last nickel it would be, right there inside the front door. And then he was free to take his time.

He stood in his stocking feet on the plush carpet in the cool of the darkened living room, taking care not to stand too near the large window, where plants of every height and variety crowded the sill. He smiled, having suspected that a country girl like her would surround herself with as much greenery as possible.

Shining his flashlight around the room, he set out to acquaint himself with his surroundings. The sofa was a pretty floral, the pair of wing back chairs covered in a coordinating plaid. A handsome armoire covered part of one wall. With one finger, he slid the door over, then peered inside to find a large-screened TV - not so large as to be excessive, he noted - a VCR and a stereo. Shelves of videos - some of which were classic black-and-white films - and stacks of CDs, classical composers and classic rock. Nothing more contemporary than Santana's latest.

That was his Valerie.

Nothing too far out for
his
girl.

The coffee table held a number of small items, and he leaned closer to take a look. Small porcelain shapes, so many that she must have been collecting for a long time. He scanned the array quickly with the flashlight. One shape in particular caught his eye. Smiling - surely it was a sign - he slipped it into his pocket.

The old rolltop desk stood open, a pile of mail to one side. He paused to thumb through it, noting where she shopped and what she bought. A card handmade with childish fingers and signed in childish scrawl -
we miss you from Eric and Evan
- sat next to an antique inkwell.

Photographs poked out of an envelope, and he looked through those as well. In one, she stood on the front steps of an old cabin, a little boy on either side of her like matching bookends. In others, she wore a dark blue bridesmaid's dress and posed with others similarly clad. He studied these closely, taking note of the veil worn by the bride and the cascading bouquet of white roses and some other white things, he couldn't tell exactly what but they looked elegant. Then there she was in a group shot in front of a Christmas tree. He wondered who the man was who stood so close to her right side, one arm casually draped over her shoulder. Frowning, he replaced the pictures, closed over the envelope, and tucked it into his back pocket.

He padded up the steps to her bedroom, which, he knew from watching her these past few months, would be at back of the house. Once he'd closed the door and drawn the drapes tightly, he felt free to turn on the lights.

Again, he smiled. All was so very tasteful. He nodded his approval of the queen-size sleigh bed with its matching dressers of dark wood. The small oriental accent rug with its deep crimson flowers on a background of taupe. The quilt folded neatly to stretch across the end of the bed. The small chair that stood in one corner of the room. The dense sage green carpet under foot. All totally classy, like the lady herself. All neat as a pin, not a thing out of place anywhere.

Well, of course there wouldn't be. He'd suspected that she would take great care with her things, and she obviously did.

He poked his head inside the green and white bathroom and took a quick look around. Fluffy, pure white towels hung from shiny chrome rods, and an oversized brandy snifter filled with colorful soaps stood atop a small wicker table. He studied them for a long moment, then dipped his hand into the glass and took one - a pale pink rose - and added it to the porcelain trinket in his jacket pocket, for no particular reason except that he wanted it.

Opening the walk-in closet, he searched for an interior light, then reached in to touch the dresses that hung on the bar to the right of the door. He stepped inside and trailed his finger along the hangers. She obviously favored silk, as so many of the garments were of that fabric. Several things he'd seen her wear, and those he gathered in his hands, pressed his face into their coolness, seeking her scent. Then, reminding himself of his purpose, he stood back as if taking inventory. There was not nearly the quantity one might have expected, considering who she was. Once again, he nodded his approval. Success had not made her careless with her money nor had it made her overly materialistic. What she had was certainly of good quality - some designer pieces, he noted - but for the most part, her wardrobe was quite modest.

He pulled one dress after another from the rack, holding them up as if studying their style, then checking the size on the label of each. After taking care to return each to its place, he turned his attention to the boxes that were stacked on the floor and lined one entire wall.

Shaking his head slowly, he smiled somewhat indulgently.

She sure did love her shoes.

He opened the box nearest him and parted the tissue to reveal a tall leather heel of dark brown which he caressed briefly before returning it to its box. Leaning closer to read the notations written on the ends of the boxes with black marker, her grinned broadly. Leave it to her to mark every one of them clearly with their contents.

He scanned the boxes until he spied one that held promise, the third one down in the second stack. A white high-heeled sandal.

He pulled the box out and opened it, lifted a shoe and held it up for inspection. It was, in fact, a white, high-heeled, strappy, dressy sandal of some fabric that felt like silk. Judging from the soles, the shoes had barely been worn.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

He paused, considering this unexpected bounty.

His original quest had been merely to determine size, but here was something even better. He tucked the shoe box under one arm.

He tidied up the stack, then turned off the light, but not before he'd run his hands over several more of the dresses nearest the door, stroking their length as if they graced her body.

With one backward glance from the doorway, he glanced around the room to make sure that nothing was amiss. Then, convinced that all was as he found it, he bounded down the steps two at a time, pausing at the bottom to look back up and imagine her standing there. He reached into a pocket for the small plastic bag and opened it, tossing a handful of the contents toward the vision at the top of the steps. At the back door, he put his shoes back on, then, his mission accomplished, left as quietly as he'd arrived.