Page 67 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

Jules had pushed her luck too far. As she had sat on the floor, waiting for…

whatever her captor had planned for her, her gaze returned over and over to the closet.

Had she checked the ceiling? Sometimes closets had an opening into the attic, didn’t they?

There was no second floor on the house, so it wasn’t impossible.

If she could climb up there, maybe those windows wouldn’t have bars and she could find a trellis or some other way to lower herself to the ground. She’d jump if she had to.

Still clutching the broken bulb, she clambered to her feet and stumbled to the opening in the wall. It was starting to get dark in the room, but when she leaned inside and looked up, she was elated to make out a square shape in the ceiling.

Jules retrieved the bucket from the far corner and carried it to the closet.

After setting the lightbulb on the floor just outside the opening, she overturned the bucket, placed it directly beneath the hole, and climbed onto it again.

Even on tiptoes, her fingers barely grazed the square piece of wood covering the opening.

Could she haul herself up using the thin shelf?

She had to try. Jules planted an elbow on the shelf and shifted her weight to that side, preparing to lever her body up far enough to knock the cover away from the hole.

If she could get a grip on the edges on both sides, she might be able to pull herself up.

It was the kind of thing she did all the time at the gym and at work.

Before she could dwell too long on all the possible things that could go wrong, Jules pressed her arm to the shelf and pushed up as hard as she could.

The shelf broke loose from the wall and crashed to the ground.

Jules dropped onto the bucket, which tipped over with another loud crash.

She managed to plant a palm against the wall to keep herself from going down after it, but the damage was done.

There was no way the killer hadn’t heard that.

Which gave her a few seconds at most before he stormed into the room.

In desperation, Jules kicked the bucket aside and grabbed for the shelf.

She managed to wrangle it out of the closet and into the room just as the door flew open.

Backlit by the light in the hall, the man loomed in the opening, as massive and intimidating as his shadow in the alley.

As soon as he stepped into the room, Jules swung the wooden shelf toward his head as hard as she could.

Her captor dropped to the ground. Scooping up the lightbulb, she leapt over him and into the hallway.

She had to get to the door. Footsteps thudded behind her.

Halfway across the kitchen, he caught up. Grabbing her arm, he spun her around.

Jules lashed out with the broken bulb. She missed his eye but managed to drag the jagged edges down his left cheek to his chin.

Cursing loudly, he let go of her and pressed his fingers to the gash. A thin trickle of blood dripped down his face and onto the arm of his long-sleeved black T-shirt.

With his attention briefly diverted, Jules snatched a kitchen knife, covered in tomato juice, from a cutting board on the counter.

Before she could turn it on him, the kitchen door crashed against the wall.

Dante stood in the opening, the weapon he clutched in both hands pointed directly at her captor.

In one quick motion, the man came up behind Jules, wrapped an arm across her throat, and pressed the barrel of his pistol to her temple.

A strange coldness swirled around them. The air in the room thickened and grew oppressive, and she had to work to draw in a breath.

Could Dante feel it? Other than blinking two or three times in rapid succession, he showed no signs that the pervasive evil affected him.

“Let her go, Morin, and no one gets hurt.” Dante’s voice had gone hard and authoritative. Cop mode. If her life wasn’t on the line, she would have been intrigued at the transformation.

Instead of complying, the man—Morin, apparently—tightened his hold on Jules. “I don’t think so, Officer de Marco. If you don’t want her to die, you’ll drop your weapon and tell your cohorts behind you to stand down.”

When Dante didn’t move, Morin cocked his pistol.

“Okay, okay. Don’t hurt her.” Dante held up his gun before slowly bending down to place it on the ground. When he straightened, his dark eyes found Jules’. The pressure in the air eased and the cold subsided. Was he praying?

As subtly as possible, she edged the knife up and over in front of herself, where he could see it. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

Morin dragged Jules back a step. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I am taking her out the back door. I hear anyone move or see a single person outside, I put a bullet in her head. If anyone tries?—”

Gripping the handle of the knife, Jules raised her fist before driving down and back, burying the blade in the killer’s abdomen.

He yelped and released his hold on her neck. As soon as she broke free, Jules leapt to the far side of the refrigerator and dropped to a crouch to get out of the line of fire.

As he crumpled to his knees, Morin got off a shot that went wild, embedding itself in the wall two feet beyond Dante. Bits of drywall scattered across the floor inches from Jules.

Dante scooped up his gun and leveled it at the perpetrator. “Drop it.”

One hand clutching the handle of the knife, Morin tossed his pistol onto the floor. Another officer skirted around Dante to pick it up and suddenly the room was swarming with men and women in uniform.

Dante kept his weapon trained on the killer until one of his colleagues cuffed the man’s hands in front of him and then she and another officer helped him stretch out on his back as two medics entered the room, carrying a stretcher.

With Morin subdued, Jules straightened, steadying herself by propping a hip against the kitchen counter. Dante holstered his weapon as he strode toward her. “Jules.” He grasped her upper arms. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I’m fine.” Or she would be, after a few sessions with a member of the fire department’s Resilient Responder Support team. Maybe quite a few.

Dante rubbed his hands lightly up and down her arms before lowering them to his sides.

Jules nodded at Morin, whose wound was being attended to by the medics as he moaned and uttered a string of swear words. “See? A kitchen knife. I told you it could do some damage.”

“Looks like a pretty good goose egg on his forehead too. You didn’t really need us at all, did you?”

Jules lifted her shoulders. “I mean, you were a good distraction. For him. But no, I had everything under control. I might have even carried him out to the ambulance if he didn’t weigh more than a hundred and sixty pounds.”

Although he offered her a wry grin, his eyes continued to search hers as though he didn’t quite buy her assertion that she was fine. Neither did she. Still, everyone she cared about was safe, including her and Dante. The man who had terrorized her for days would soon be behind bars.

It was over.