Page 38

CHAPTER 38

T he figure threw Olive against the wall.

Pain reverberated through her shoulder. But she didn’t have time to think about it. She only had time to act.

She gripped her gun, starting to turn it.

Before she could take aim, the man—she was certain the figure attacking her was male—slammed her hand into the wall.

The gun slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor.

No!

But it was too late.

Now her only choice was hand-to-hand combat.

Before the man could slam her into the wall again, she twisted. Tried to get a good look at him. But the man wore a ski mask that obstructed his features.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He only grunted and lunged at her again.

This time, she moved out of the way, and he smashed into the wall.

A picture crashed to the floor, the glass shattering into large shards.

He screamed a name at her before grabbing a fake potted plant from a small table and pelting it on the floor.

He quickly righted himself, his anger unchecked. Then he came at her again.

She ducked low, caught him on her shoulder, and flipped him over her.

He landed on the nightstand. As the furniture collapsed, the glass lamp on top of it hit the floor and shattered.

Like a cat, her attacker sprang up.

Based on the low growl coming from deep inside his chest cavity, Olive had made the man even more angry.

She quickly glanced at the floor. If she could only reach her gun.

But the man seemed to spot the weapon at the same time as she did.

They both lunged for it.

She wrapped her fingers around the barrel. As she did, the man drew his fist back and rammed it into her cheek.

Her head snapped back, and the room began to spin.

Whoever this guy was, he was strong and a skilled fighter.

Olive shouldn’t have come inside alone. She needed backup.

Because one wrong move, and this guy would kill her on the spot.

Her strength alone wasn’t going to get her out of this situation. This man was clearly stronger than she was.

She needed to use her brain.

The guy started to raise the gun toward her.

Her breath caught, and time seemed to turn to gelatin.

She had to act. Now.

Olive swung her leg. Her foot hit his arm, and the gun flew from his hand.

She watched as it skidded across the floor and disappeared under the bed.

She bit back a grumble.

That wasn’t going to be much help.

Every action Olive took against this man only seemed to make him more determined.

She stood, crouched and ready to defend herself.

He rose to his feet also.

Then he charged at her like a linebacker.

They both flew through the doorway and into the hallway.

Olive hit the wall again, and pain pulsed through her. The breath left her lungs.

This was really going to hurt in the morning.

The man loomed over her, leering at her.

“Mind your own business.” His gravelly voice stretched through the silence.

“What are you talking about?” Was this related to Rebecca’s case? Or did this tie into her dad somehow?

She honestly wasn’t sure.

The man held something to her throat, and Olive felt the prick of a blade.

She tensed, knowing that one wrong move could mean the difference between life and death.

He must have grabbed a shard of glass from that broken lamp.

Now he used it like a knife.

“I should kill you right now,” the man growled.

Olive had to think of a way out of this situation before he did that. But the sharp glass at her throat made it impossible to move. Even talking could be risky.

Suddenly, her life flashed before her eyes.

She’d made the best of things since her family had been killed. But she’d become a virtual island, keeping everyone at arm’s length.

If she died today, what would she have to show for her life?

Who would even miss her? Only her colleagues, and maybe Tom and Jill would mourn.

The thought left her feeling hollow inside. For years she’d told herself it was best to remain distant. But at the moment, it all seemed so meaningless.

Then another sound came from downstairs.

A door closing. Footsteps.

Someone else was here?

Her mind raced. It wasn’t Nova. Nova wouldn’t have come here after Olive.

There was no one else Olive could imagine it would be. No one knew where she was.

Her heart throbbed in her ears.

Had this guy brought backup? Or were two of her cases colliding and would she be faced with double trouble right now?

She had no idea what to expect.

The man continued to glare at her. Then he pulled the glass away from her neck and let out another guttural growl.

He grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the wall.

Pain flashed through her head, and the house began to spin around her.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he growled. “I’ll be back to finish this.”

Footsteps faded toward the stairs.

Olive slid to the floor. Her head spun, and nothing made sense.

The man . . . he had to be downstairs by now, right?

She had to get a grip before this became her final day.

She needed to get up. Needed to move. To escape.

Instead, nausea swirled inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut, the spinning messing with her equilibrium.

Maybe she couldn’t move yet, but she could listen.

That was when she heard a shout. More yells sounded, though she couldn’t understand any words.

What was happening?

More sounds—stomping, cracking, grunting.

Suddenly, it grew silent.

Moments passed.

Then footsteps pounded up the stairs.

The man . . . was he coming back to finish what he’d started?

A tremble raked through her.

She had to move!

Olive tried to sit up but moaned instead. Her whole body hurt.

She touched her throat and felt something wet.

She was bleeding, she realized.

The man had cut her more deeply than she’d thought.

How much blood had she lost?

She didn’t know, but the footsteps drew closer.

She opened her eyes. Tried to sit up again, determined to defend herself.

But as the room continued to spin, she squeezed her eyes shut again and sank back to the floor.

God, if You’re out there and if You’re listening, please help.

Olive didn’t usually call out for help.

But she was now.

Especially as the footsteps approached.

“Ollie?” a deep voice asked.

She froze.

That voice . . . it was familiar.

Was she hallucinating? That had to be it.

Because it almost sounded like . . . Jason.