She closed her eyes in the dark, breathing in the sharp scent. She’d made the sachet herself from lavender gathered in her parents’ retirement home in Baja. It smelled of summer gardens and sun and earth. Her hand touched a cashmere shawl she’d worn to a production of The Mikado with Todd. She fingered it, taking comfort from the softness and warmth.
She didn’t want to die.
She wanted more summers with her parents, more theater evenings with Todd. More summer picnics, more skiing vacations. More evenings out, more evenings in.
More.
Life was so sweet, so rich, the highs and lows of it. She loved her parents, she loved her home, and she loved her friends. Her career was just taking off. She was going to live a hallway away from the sexiest man she’d ever seen. She’d been shocked at the sex they’d had, but it had made her feel alive in every cell of her body. She wanted more.
She didn’t want to die. Oh, God, she didn’t want to die.
How far away had John been? Three blocks? Even driving fast, how quickly could he get here? Was he parking now? Running toward the house?
With a sudden disconcerting sense of certainty, Suzanne knew that as fast as a human being could make it—that’s how quickly John would come for her. Whatever could be done to protect her against an armed intruder—that’s what John would do.
There was no one else in the world right now she’d rather have coming to her rescue than John Huntington.
Where was the intruder now? Her living room was very decorated, too, with two sofas, armchairs, occasional tables, footrests, floor vases scattered all over. If the intruder wanted to proceed stealthily, all the objects in the room would slow him down considerably.
If he didn’t care about making noise anymore though, then he was moving fast. Had he simply turned on the lights, tired of bumbling around in the dark? If he knew she was home, then he also knew there was only one other place she could be. If he wanted to, he could break down her bedroom door, wrench open the closet and shoot her in the space of a minute.
What was that noise? Every muscle tensed and her breath left her body in a rush. Her mouth was bone dry.
It was so horrible huddling here in the dark like a fox hounded to earth. Her heart was pounding so hard it seemed impossible that it wasn’t making a noise. It sounded loud to her. Surely it could be heard in the next room?
She wiped her face on her sleeve. Whatever happened, she needed to be able to see. Even if it was only the gun that would end her life. She swiped at her eyes as she bit down on her lips and ordered herself to stop crying. To stop trembling. She pressed her hands between her knees so she could tell herself her hands weren’t shaking.
She never knew she was such a coward. How could she have known? She’d never faced danger—real danger, as opposed to the danger any woman living alone is subject to every day—in her life.
I don’t want to die, she thought again as she rested her forehead on her knees. A tear dropped on her knee and ran down her calf.
She waited in the dark, endlessly.
Her watch was on the bedside table. She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d spotted the intruder. Since she’d called John. Ten minutes? Two minutes? Half an hour? There were no bearings here, in the muffled scented darkness of the closet, no way of telling time except by her thudding heart.
Had she sent John to his death? He hadn’t even hesitated, had simply said he was on his way, but should she have called the police instead of him? She might well die, but she might go down having brought another man to his death. A good man. A man who willingly stepped into danger for her.
Right now, he might be out there, bleeding, dying…
Somehow, that was the worst thing of all.
Suzanne straightened abruptly. That had definitely been a sound. Like something heavy
She didn’t want to die.
She wanted more summers with her parents, more theater evenings with Todd. More summer picnics, more skiing vacations. More evenings out, more evenings in.
More.
Life was so sweet, so rich, the highs and lows of it. She loved her parents, she loved her home, and she loved her friends. Her career was just taking off. She was going to live a hallway away from the sexiest man she’d ever seen. She’d been shocked at the sex they’d had, but it had made her feel alive in every cell of her body. She wanted more.
She didn’t want to die. Oh, God, she didn’t want to die.
How far away had John been? Three blocks? Even driving fast, how quickly could he get here? Was he parking now? Running toward the house?
With a sudden disconcerting sense of certainty, Suzanne knew that as fast as a human being could make it—that’s how quickly John would come for her. Whatever could be done to protect her against an armed intruder—that’s what John would do.
There was no one else in the world right now she’d rather have coming to her rescue than John Huntington.
Where was the intruder now? Her living room was very decorated, too, with two sofas, armchairs, occasional tables, footrests, floor vases scattered all over. If the intruder wanted to proceed stealthily, all the objects in the room would slow him down considerably.
If he didn’t care about making noise anymore though, then he was moving fast. Had he simply turned on the lights, tired of bumbling around in the dark? If he knew she was home, then he also knew there was only one other place she could be. If he wanted to, he could break down her bedroom door, wrench open the closet and shoot her in the space of a minute.
What was that noise? Every muscle tensed and her breath left her body in a rush. Her mouth was bone dry.
It was so horrible huddling here in the dark like a fox hounded to earth. Her heart was pounding so hard it seemed impossible that it wasn’t making a noise. It sounded loud to her. Surely it could be heard in the next room?
She wiped her face on her sleeve. Whatever happened, she needed to be able to see. Even if it was only the gun that would end her life. She swiped at her eyes as she bit down on her lips and ordered herself to stop crying. To stop trembling. She pressed her hands between her knees so she could tell herself her hands weren’t shaking.
She never knew she was such a coward. How could she have known? She’d never faced danger—real danger, as opposed to the danger any woman living alone is subject to every day—in her life.
I don’t want to die, she thought again as she rested her forehead on her knees. A tear dropped on her knee and ran down her calf.
She waited in the dark, endlessly.
Her watch was on the bedside table. She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d spotted the intruder. Since she’d called John. Ten minutes? Two minutes? Half an hour? There were no bearings here, in the muffled scented darkness of the closet, no way of telling time except by her thudding heart.
Had she sent John to his death? He hadn’t even hesitated, had simply said he was on his way, but should she have called the police instead of him? She might well die, but she might go down having brought another man to his death. A good man. A man who willingly stepped into danger for her.
Right now, he might be out there, bleeding, dying…
Somehow, that was the worst thing of all.
Suzanne straightened abruptly. That had definitely been a sound. Like something heavy
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