The Black Sheep's Redemption. Lynette Eason
Читать онлайн книгу.
skin, raising goose bumps and her blood pressure.
She walked to the front door and checked the lock.
Secured.
Pulling the curtain covering the small window to the left, she parted the blinds and peered out into the dark night. The motion-activated floodlights weren’t on which meant no one had moved in front of them.
She breathed a little easier, her heart rate slowed and she could almost laugh at her jumpiness.
It was only eight-thirty. Her new employer should be home any minute. She’d agreed to stay late while he made a house call, but she wasn’t sure she liked it.
Ever since waking up in the hospital three weeks ago with no real memory of who she was, or where she belonged, Demi quickly found out she didn’t like the dark.
The fact that no one had come forward to identify her even after her face had been all over the news and in the paper was a bitter pill to swallow. Starting over in Fitzgerald Bay, Massachusetts, had seemed like a good idea last week and getting a job almost immediately had seemed like a dream come true.
Now, doubt assailed her.
She peered out again. The inky blackness made her shiver. Charles and his family lived in the Fitzgerald Bay lighthouse keeper’s residence, but even the lighthouse beam didn’t reach far enough to cut through the dark.
All Demi knew was that darkness brought flashes of pain, screams, angry words and what she thought was a memory of heavy fists. But that was all she could pull from her shuttered mind before the pounding headache drilled into her, forcing her to abandon her efforts to remember.
No, she didn’t like the dark. Add in the weird noises and her adrenaline had stayed spiked since Charles had left three hours ago. A fine tremble set in and she clenched her fingers into fists.
She stood still, eyes closed.
And listened.
Maybe it was just her imagination.
At night, in her small apartment above The Reading Nook bookstore in town, she often thought she heard footsteps outside her door. Lurking, hiding.
But every time she checked, no one was ever there.
Maybe—
Another scrape against the house made her jerk. Then a muffled pop caused her to gasp. What was going on?
This was not her imagination.
She made her way into the kitchen and closed the blinds. Standing next to the window with the blinds now shut, she thought she heard a footfall, a rattle.
And another pop.
A muffled curse.
Her breathing quickened once again and her heart picked up speed.
Someone was definitely near the garage.
What should she do? Get the kids? Hide?
The phone.
She needed to call the police.
And Charles.
Trembling, knees almost knocking, she slapped the light switch on the wall and threw the room into total darkness.
A shudder ripped through her as she thought about the children sleeping down the hall. What if the person was trying to get into the house?
She had to protect the children.
Fighting the fear threatening to cripple her, she groped for the handset of the cordless phone on the counter beside the refrigerator.
The cool plastic slid into her palm and she felt for the digits. 9-1-1.
Lifting it to her ear, she waited, heart thudding so hard she wondered if she’d be able to hear the dispatcher.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“Someone’s outside the house,” she whispered. “Charles Fitzgerald’s home. I think he’s trying to get in.”
“Ma’am, stay on the line. Can you get somewhere to hide?”
“No. I’m responsible for two children sleeping in two different rooms. If I wake them to hide… The noise they would make… No.”
“Someone is on the way, ma’am, just stay on the line.”
Demi did as the woman said, while the garage door drew her attention. It was closed, yet she peered out anyway to find the space empty. But the door…
It moved. Rattled.
Sucking in a deep breath, she said, “He’s by the garage.”
“Help is coming.” A pause. “Is Dr. Fitzgerald there?”
“No, I’m his nanny. I’m staying here with the children while he made a house call.”
Another pause that seemed like a lifetime. Then, “I’ve alerted Detective Owen Fitzgerald, Charles’s brother, that there’s trouble at your location. He’s on his way.”
“Thank you.” Still the fear churned inside her.
More rattling made her spin. Gasp.
Then silence.
Demi stilled.
Was he gone?
She pulled away the phone from her ear and listened. Nothing.
She crossed the kitchen, the moonlight streaming through the blinds lighting her way.
A sound from the direction of the foyer diverted her attention in that direction, and she padded silently toward it. Was he now trying to get in the front door?
Quivering from head to toe, she gulped. Forced herself to keep it together. She had children to protect. She just prayed she’d made the right decision to let them sleep instead of grabbing them and hiding.
Please don’t let them wake up, she breathed silently.
Where were the police?
“Please God,” she whispered. Then wondered why she found herself praying. She didn’t know if she even believed in God. But she wanted to. Wanted to believe He would help her, keep her and the children safe.
Another few seconds passed as she stared at the front door.
Think, Demi, think!
A weapon. She definitely needed a weapon. All she had to do was keep him away from the children long enough for the police to arrive.
But what could she use?
She looked at the block of knives on the kitchen counter and shuddered. The heavy crystal vase would have to do. She grabbed it, ready to hurl it at the head of whoever dared come through the front door.
Then she heard the faint sound of retreating footsteps, moving as though they were in a hurry. She rushed on silent feet to the door and pressed her ear against it.
The distant sound of sirens reached her ears.
Help was on the way.
They must have scared him off.
Relief flowed through her and she nearly dropped the vase from suddenly weak fingers.
Then realized she still held the phone in the other hand.
Demi set the vase on the table, lifted the phone to her ear and said to the 9-1-1 operator still on the line, “The police are close. I can hear their sirens.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I think he left. I heard him run away.” Her sentences felt choppy, short. Like she was having trouble stringing coherent thoughts together.
“Don’t check, just stay where you are until the police get there.”