Framed: A Psychological Thriller (Boston's Crimes of Passion Book 2) by Colleen Connally Page B
Authors: Colleen Connally
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house alarm beeped. Bailey jumped off the bed and barked madly. Her heart hammered. She reached over and grabbed the gun.
Easing out of bed, she whirled around to the door. Nervously, she glanced around for any sign of an intruder. The shadows of the night had dissipated with the early morning sun, but she saw nothing.
She couldn’t take a chance and dialed 911 with her cell phone. Almost immediately, a blood-curdling cry emerged from the kitchen.
A voice called out from her phone, asking what type of emergency there was, but there wasn’t time to wait for help. She dropped the phone.
She’d be damned if she let someone waltz in and kill her without a fight. With Bailey cowering behind her, Riley held her gun outright and crept from her bedroom, down the stairs, through the foyer to the kitchen. She halted in the doorway.
Surveying the room, she saw the scope of damage: the door broken; the floor littered in broken glass and blood. Fresh red blood.
Her eyes fixed upon the intruder. He stood by the sink, running water over his cut hand. Red liquid poured out of his wound.
Freddy!
“Oh, my God! Freddy, what have you done?”
Straightaway, she lowered her gun and placed it on the counter. Reaching for a dishcloth, she moved to Freddy’s side. Shutting the water off, she wrapped his hand, but the blood seeped through even before she finished.
Taking another cloth, she pushed it over his hand. “Press against it, for heaven’s sake!” She looked into his whitened face and commanded, “Sit down. I will be right back. Don’t move. Do you hear me?”
“Sweet Riley. I came back. I had to see you.”
“Yes…okay, but I have to get you help. You’re hurt.”
He gripped her hand, sliding down to the floor. His eyes glassed over, his lips drawn.
“Don’t go…I have to talk to you…tell you…”
His words slurred together. He fell back against the cabinets. Riley gently withdrew her hand.
“You can. Just let me run upstairs.”
She hesitated; his eyes closed and his head tilted to the side. Her blood turned cold. He was high as a kite.
What the hell was he doing here? How did he get out of the lockdown unit?
Grabbing her gun, she spun and ran back up the stairs. Instinctively, she hid her weapon—the one she didn’t have a permit for—by sliding it under her mattress, and picked up her cell.
A faraway voice called out. “Hello…hello….”
Putting it to her ears, Riley said quickly, “Yes, I’m here. Please send an ambulance. My cousin has been injured.”
“Ma’am, are you okay? Don’t hang up.”
Riley didn’t answer and clicked off, realizing help should already be on its way. She had to get to her cousin.
She paused in the doorway. Her heartbeat pounded so rapidly it felt as though would it burst through her chest. Freddy looked dead.
She took a deep breath and swept down to his side. He had a pulse…he was alive.
Wiping back his sweaty hair, Riley wrapped her arms around him. “Hang on, Freddy. Help is coming.”
“Riley, I didn’t do it…I didn’t go get a fix…they shot me up.” Freddy grasped hold of her arm tightly; his wild eyes opened. “I begged them not to…”
“It’s okay, Freddy. You’re going to be fine.”
“No!” he cried in terror. His fingernails clawed into her skin. “They will find me. I barely escaped this time, Riley. Don’t send me back…” he uttered in a ragged voice. His chest labored with each breath. With effort, he spoke. “I came to tell you…you have to know…run, Riley…run.”
His eyes closed and he groaned under his breath. He was making no sense, but what sense could you make out of a drug-induced paranoia? But something in his voice sent a chill through her.
“Riley…” he whispered.
She couldn’t make out what he said. She leaned closer. “Tell me again, Freddy.”
He opened his eyes wide and met her gaze with obvious panic and fear. “They are coming…Riley…they are coming to kill you.”
No sooner than
Easing out of bed, she whirled around to the door. Nervously, she glanced around for any sign of an intruder. The shadows of the night had dissipated with the early morning sun, but she saw nothing.
She couldn’t take a chance and dialed 911 with her cell phone. Almost immediately, a blood-curdling cry emerged from the kitchen.
A voice called out from her phone, asking what type of emergency there was, but there wasn’t time to wait for help. She dropped the phone.
She’d be damned if she let someone waltz in and kill her without a fight. With Bailey cowering behind her, Riley held her gun outright and crept from her bedroom, down the stairs, through the foyer to the kitchen. She halted in the doorway.
Surveying the room, she saw the scope of damage: the door broken; the floor littered in broken glass and blood. Fresh red blood.
Her eyes fixed upon the intruder. He stood by the sink, running water over his cut hand. Red liquid poured out of his wound.
Freddy!
“Oh, my God! Freddy, what have you done?”
Straightaway, she lowered her gun and placed it on the counter. Reaching for a dishcloth, she moved to Freddy’s side. Shutting the water off, she wrapped his hand, but the blood seeped through even before she finished.
Taking another cloth, she pushed it over his hand. “Press against it, for heaven’s sake!” She looked into his whitened face and commanded, “Sit down. I will be right back. Don’t move. Do you hear me?”
“Sweet Riley. I came back. I had to see you.”
“Yes…okay, but I have to get you help. You’re hurt.”
He gripped her hand, sliding down to the floor. His eyes glassed over, his lips drawn.
“Don’t go…I have to talk to you…tell you…”
His words slurred together. He fell back against the cabinets. Riley gently withdrew her hand.
“You can. Just let me run upstairs.”
She hesitated; his eyes closed and his head tilted to the side. Her blood turned cold. He was high as a kite.
What the hell was he doing here? How did he get out of the lockdown unit?
Grabbing her gun, she spun and ran back up the stairs. Instinctively, she hid her weapon—the one she didn’t have a permit for—by sliding it under her mattress, and picked up her cell.
A faraway voice called out. “Hello…hello….”
Putting it to her ears, Riley said quickly, “Yes, I’m here. Please send an ambulance. My cousin has been injured.”
“Ma’am, are you okay? Don’t hang up.”
Riley didn’t answer and clicked off, realizing help should already be on its way. She had to get to her cousin.
She paused in the doorway. Her heartbeat pounded so rapidly it felt as though would it burst through her chest. Freddy looked dead.
She took a deep breath and swept down to his side. He had a pulse…he was alive.
Wiping back his sweaty hair, Riley wrapped her arms around him. “Hang on, Freddy. Help is coming.”
“Riley, I didn’t do it…I didn’t go get a fix…they shot me up.” Freddy grasped hold of her arm tightly; his wild eyes opened. “I begged them not to…”
“It’s okay, Freddy. You’re going to be fine.”
“No!” he cried in terror. His fingernails clawed into her skin. “They will find me. I barely escaped this time, Riley. Don’t send me back…” he uttered in a ragged voice. His chest labored with each breath. With effort, he spoke. “I came to tell you…you have to know…run, Riley…run.”
His eyes closed and he groaned under his breath. He was making no sense, but what sense could you make out of a drug-induced paranoia? But something in his voice sent a chill through her.
“Riley…” he whispered.
She couldn’t make out what he said. She leaned closer. “Tell me again, Freddy.”
He opened his eyes wide and met her gaze with obvious panic and fear. “They are coming…Riley…they are coming to kill you.”
No sooner than
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