“I told you he was out,” Amy says, her gaze wild and unfocused. “He was the one who followed me, the one who painted his symbol on the house. And now he’s here.”
“No, it’s impossible,” says Darcy, grabbing Amy by the shoulders. “The FBI visited the prison last week.”
Unless Rivers told her the truth. No, she couldn’t have caught the wrong man. Amy shrugs Darcy away and runs for Jennifer’s bedroom. The door slams and locks.
Taking a composing breath, Darcy knocks on the door.
“Amy, don’t lock me out. We’re stronger if we stick together.”
Sobs come from the bedroom as Darcy’s pulse thrums through her head. She unlocks the safe and removes the gun. Loads the weapon. The darkness at the window looks wrong. Bloody. Dripping.
She steps outside and puts her back against the cold wall. The chill of autumn radiates through her clothes and makes it difficult to stand still. One eye on the backyard of the vacant house, she creeps beside the ranch and aims the weapon at the darkness. A branch snaps. Somewhere. In her backyard, she thinks.
Darcy searches the yard and finds no sign of an intruder, but the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Someone is out there. Watching.
She starts to turn and can’t move her legs. They’re rigid. Concrete and ice on a January night. Panic flashes through Darcy. Her fear of the dark hasn’t been this debilitating since the Rivers attack. The potential that she might be trapped out here with the killer worsens the anxiety, head dizzy as her heart races out of a control.
With her free hand, she dials Eric Hensel.
“Rivers just called me,” she says as her eyes penetrate the gloom.
“Impossible. How can you be certain it was him?”
“Trust me. I would never forget that voice. It wasn’t a copycat, and it wasn’t a prank. Michael Rivers called my phone ten minutes ago.”
Hensel fumbles for a pen and a sheet of paper.
“Read me the number.” She does. “And you said he called ten minutes ago?”
“Eric, somebody’s in my yard.”
He goes quiet for a moment.
“I’m calling 9-1-1. Keep your ass inside and don’t answer the door for anyone until the police arrive.”
Another sound comes from the dark. Someone stepping on dead leaves. She swings the gun toward the noise, head dizzy, arm struggling to keep the weapon still.
“Dammit, Darcy. Do as I say. The police will be there soon. I’m coming tomorrow morning.”
“I can’t move.”
“What do you mean you can’t…” He stops, realizing she’s having an attack. “Hold on. This will pass.”
“These attacks shouldn’t be happening anymore. What if they never stop?”
“Darcy, this isn’t your fault. You went through a traumatic event, and the cove murder triggered the anxiety.”
She touches her wrist. Her pulse pounds at a dangerous speed.
“Listen to my voice, Darcy. I’m there with you. You’re not alone. All you have to do is call your kids, and they’ll help you inside.”
“I can’t let them see me like this.”
“Shh. We’ll get through this together.”
The dark thickens. It crawls down her throat and constricts her breathing. Footsteps move through the yard. Toward her.
“There’s somebody here, Eric. I hear them.”
“Are you armed?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can hold him off until the police arrive,” Hensel says.
“I can’t move my legs.”
“You’re breathing too fast. I hear you through the phone.”
As her eyes interrogate the night, Hensel continues talks in soothing tones until Darcy’s legs obey her. Her thigh cramps at the first step, but she’s moving. Thank God, she’s moving.
“You don’t need to come to Genoa Cove,” she says, shooting a glance over her shoulder.
“I have vacation time to spend. Darcy, I don’t hear you going inside.”
“Bronson is coming. I’ll call you back, Eric.”
She ends the call and limps along the house, gun trained on the dark.
Light sweeps across her face at the entryway. Shielding her face, Darcy hides the gun as Bronson kills the engine. Red imprints from the headlights blind her while they approach. Jennifer and Hunter push past her, Jennifer with a sarcastic giggle.
“What’s the deal with Mom?”
Hunter doesn’t answer Jennifer, only throws a confused glance over his shoulder at Darcy on his way to the kitchen. They didn’t see the gun.
But Bronson did. He grips her by the shoulders and closes the door.
“You want to tell me why you’re running around in the dark with a Glock-22?”
Darcy tells Bronson about the phone call and her conversation with Eric Hensel. The police siren screams from several blocks away.
“Stay inside with the kids,” he says. “I’ll check out the backyard.”
“You don’t have a weapon on you.”
“Don’t need one.”
“Yes, you do. Take mine.”
He stares at the gun. After long consideration, he opens his hand.
The leg cramp subsiding, Darcy finds Amy in the living room with Jennifer and Hunter. Tears streak Amy’s face. The kids know about the phone call, and as the sirens grow loud, Jennifer runs to the window and parts the curtains.
Bronson returns. He opens the door as two cruisers pull curbside. Meeting Darcy’s eyes, he shakes his head.
“There’s nobody out there.”
“But I heard someone.”
“Then he’s long gone. Listen, somebody at the prison dropped the ball and let that maniac near a phone.”
“How did he get my number?”
Bronson itches his head and looks down at his shoes.
“The same way that reporter tracked you down. The same way every Tom, Dick, and Harry I arrested found my home address or called me in the middle of the night to tell me what an asshole I am and how he’d destroy my life for ruining his. Everything is on the Internet. Worse comes to worst, you change your phone number. Don’t let it get to you.”
Easy for him to say. Footsteps shuffle up the walkway. Darcy opens the door. Detective Ames arrives with Julian while two uniformed officers stand watch from the road.
“Ms. Gellar,” Ames says as he peeks over her shoulder. “You received a threatening phone call and saw someone outside the house?”
Darcy gives Ames the details on the call and hands him her phone, which displays Rivers’ number and the time and length of the call.
“Someone came through the yard. I went out looking, but didn’t find anyone.”
Ames whistles to the two officers beside the cruiser and motions them around back.
“How can you be certain it was Michael Rivers? He’s in prison. Someone could have impersonated Rivers.”
“I know his voice, Detective.”
Ames rubs his chin and tilts his head toward the security camera.
“You got these all around the house?”
“I do.”
“Then we should catch the intruder on camera.” Ames lifts his radio and speaks. “Janet, I need you to run a phone number for me.”
Ames holds the phone at arm’s length and squints. He reads the number to Janet, then asks Darcy to direct them to the security camera footage.
When she turns around, Julian’s eyebrows shoot up at Darcy’s exposed gun.
“Sorry,” Darcy says, slowly removing the Glock from behind her back. “I have a permit.”
“That’s fine, Ms. Gellar,” Ames says. “Bring me the security footage, and we’ll have a look at that permit afterward.”
Ames swings his eyes toward Bronson, who sits on the couch with Jennifer. The detective walks past without greeting the ex-officer. Hunter and Amy stand in the kitchen entryway and watch Ames and Julian with caution.