The poker! I eased out of my bedroom and glided toward the front parlor, where a set of sturdy andirons stood near the fireplace I hadn’t used since moving in. My peach silk nightgown-I’m a sucker for slinky lingerie-rippled soundlessly around my thighs. Even though I couldn’t see much, I avoided the squeaky plank near the stairs, crossed through the foyer-the front door was still locked-and reached the parlor without encountering the intruder. I paused, listening. Nothing. Was I mistaken? I fingered the phone, reluctant to summon the police for what might be no more than a curious night critter or cat prowling around outside. I was spending too much time thinking about murder, and it was making me jumpier than usual.
Figuring better safe than sorry, I crept toward the fireplace. Halfway there, my foot slipped on something that slid out from under it and I almost went down. I couldn’t see what it was, so when I recovered my balance, I kept moving forward. Finally, I wrapped my fingers around the poker’s iron shaft, prying it free from the stand with a slight clank. I froze. Nothing. Feeling a bit like I’d let my imagination get the better of me, I started down the hall toward the kitchen, walking more easily, the poker clutched in my right hand and the phone in my left. Two steps from the kitchen, I registered that the air was cooler just as a draft plastered my nightie against me. The back door was open!
Gooseflesh sprang up on my arms and I caught my breath, feeling a lot less brave all of a sudden. It was definitely 911 time. I brought the phone closer to my face, trying to read the numbers. A scrambling sound behind me made me whirl. I had an impression of solid blackness rushing toward me and I raised the poker like a lance, not having time to slash downward with it. Something slammed into me and the poker flew out of my hand, landing with a clatter. My fingers clutched reflexively at the phone, but my hand banged open as I struck the ground and slid. I heard heavy breathing, maybe a curse, and then my head cracked against the wall and whorls of color exploded behind my eyes.
I regained consciousness what felt like moments later, but which could have been half an hour for all I knew. My head ached. Pain in my tailbone told me I’d landed on it-hard. Not the first time. The memory of a fall from a lift-at a competition, no less-came to me, and I remembered lying on my back as people jived around me, trying to catch my breath and wincing from the pains shooting from my tailbone. There’d been an especially pretty, sparkly chandelier over the dance floor. The music had been “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.” There was no light or music now. I blinked several times, trying to blink away the pain. Panic flashed through me suddenly as I remembered the intruder crashing into me. Was he still here? I scrambled to my feet, trying to ignore the bolts of pain zinging through my head and tailbone. One hand clutched at the wall for balance. Where was my phone? I didn’t see it. I tried to still my breathing. I didn’t hear anything. As the thudding of my heart slowed, I realized the house felt empty. He’d gone.
I drew a deep breath and then forced myself to walk toward the kitchen. With a trembling hand, I patted the wall for the switch and found it. Yellow light drenched the room. No one leaped at me. I was alone. Exhaling loudly, I felt tears burning my eyes, but blinked them away. Drawers and cabinets hung open. My purse was on the table where I’d left it, albeit tipped on its side. Hurrying to it, I groped for my wallet, not expecting to find it. My fingers closed over it and I drew it out. Untouched. Weird. I surveyed the chaos. Clearly, the burglar had searched the place. For what? Silver? I didn’t know what other valuables he could expect to find in a kitchen.
The manuscript.
The thought thudded into me with all the force of the intruder and I gasped. My nightgown fluttered, reminding me that the back door was still open, and I crossed to it. Reaching toward the knob, I jumped back as the door opened wider, pulled by an unseen hand. I screamed.
Chapter 22
Backpedaling, I kept screaming. I bumped into the counter and scrabbled for a weapon. The first thing my fingers contacted was the ceramic rooster. I hefted it and raised it over my head, ready to hurl it at the intruder.
Tav stepped into the kitchen. “Stacy. I came as fast as I could. What is wrong?”
I cut myself off in midscream.
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Were you saving that from an intruder or using it as a weapon?” He gestured to the rooster.
Sobs of relief ripped through me, and my arms went numb. The rooster crashed to the floor, shattering into a couple hundred garish pieces. Oops.
Sensing that I was incapable of making sense, Tav crossed the room in two strides and pulled me into a hug. “It is okay. You are okay, Stacy. Do not cry.”
His arms were hard and comforting, his chest where my face pressed against it warm and reassuringly solid. His hand stroked my hair. “When I got your call and you did not say anything, I knew something was wrong. I heard you cry out and ran for my car.”
I must have hit redial just before the intruder attacked me. I pulled back slightly so I could see Tav’s face. His brown eyes, clouded with concern, searched my face. Using one finger, he lifted my chin. “You are all right?”
“Except for a headache.” I fingered the spot on my head where it had cracked into the wall. I wasn’t going to mention the pain in my derriere to Tav. “A couple aspirin will fix me right up.” I smiled wanly.
“I think I should take you to the hospital to get you checked out.”
“No.” I didn’t want to spend several hours sitting in an ER crowded with real sick people who might give me something a whole lot worse than a headache. I explained that to Tav and he half smiled.
“Okay. Well, at least sit down.”
I became aware of the fact that he still held me in a loose embrace, that I was pressed against him from thigh to chest, and that his hands through the thin silk of my nightie felt way too good as they absently stroked my back. I saw awareness hit him, too. His eyes darkened and his gaze dropped to my lips. “Stacy…”
He pulled me closer, and the cedary scent of him made my head swim. When I didn’t break away, he bent his head. His lips had barely grazed mine when a harsh voice called, “Police! Put your hands where I can see them.”
Releasing me instantly and holding his hands out to his sides, Tav smile ruefully. “I called the police on my way over here. I hoped they might get here before I did.” He turned to face the cop as I raised my hands to shoulder height, embarrassed at being caught in such an awkward position and almost overcome by an insane desire to giggle. My emotions had been on a roller coaster tonight.
The officer motioned Tav to one side with his gun and addressed me. “Ma’am, we got a nine-one-one call that there was an intruder at this address. Are you all right?” A sturdy-looking black man in his mid-thirties, he was all business. His gaze swept me from the top of my tousled blond head, down the length of my body in the peach nightgown, to my gold-painted toenails. His wary expression never changed. He spoke quietly into the radio hooked near his shoulder, and I glimpsed his partner as he or she checked the house’s exterior.