“Megan, for the love of God, answer me,” he whispered.
Then there was the distinct sound of her phone hanging up. It shattered the silence on that line like a gunshot, and Sam’s last ounce of composure with it. He slammed the accelerator to the floor, his heart pounding in his throat. God, he’d had no idea how much that redhead had gotten under his skin until that very moment. It made no sense for One-Night Sam to feel this way about a woman he barely knew. And yet, he did. And there wasn’t much point in fighting it.
Megan dropped the telephone when she heard rattling at her back door, then the sound of breaking glass. She was already racing for her front door when the heavy footfalls came from her kitchen toward her. Her hands shaking, she flipped locks, yanked the door open, and bolted outside into the night. She ran, damp grass and then cold pavement under her bare feet, cool air filling her lungs.
A car came speeding toward her, its lights blinding her, tires squealing as it skidded to a stop. There was one moment of sheer panic before she stepped out of the headlights’ glare, blinked, and recognized the vehicle as Sam’s Mustang. And by then he was out of it, running toward her. His arms came around her powerfully and instantly. He held her hard against him, his grip ferocious, his heart pounding wildly beneath her head, one hand in her hair. “What happened? Are you all right?”
She nodded against his chest, amazed at the power of his fear for her. Amazed at how odd it felt to have someone care this much, and at the way her own arms locked around his waist in return. As if there was something between them, as if they were important to each other. As if they had been for a very long time.
“He’s in the house, Sam.” She didn’t want to say it. She would rather have just stayed there in his arms until everything was all right again.
Gently, he pried her arms from around him, turned to face the house, and lifted the gun he had in his hand. God, she hadn’t even seen it there. “Get in my car,” he told her. “Lock the doors. Pull it off the road.”
“Sam, I–”
“Do it now, Meg.” He softened the harshness of the command with a tender look, a quick touch, his hand cupping her head briefly as his eyes compelled her to obey.
She drew a shaky breath, nodded, and got into his car, then sat there watching in panic as Sam moved toward her house, the gun leading him. This wasn’t right. She was supposed to save this man, according to her recurring dreams. Not send him walking into what might be his death.
Sam went inside, and she swore part of her went with him. Belatedly, she put his car into gear and pulled it off the road. But she had no intention of staying safe inside it while he risked his life. Swallowing her fear, she opened the car door, got out, took a few tentative steps along the sidewalk toward her home. “Sam?”
No reply. She moved closer, turning up the walk to her front door. Behind her, sirens wailed and lights flashed as police cars came screaming up her road. Doors slammed, but she kept moving forward, shaking. “Sam?”
A hand fell on her shoulder, stopping her. “Ms. Rose? You all right?”
She nodded. “Sam, Officer Sheridan, he’s in the house. There was someone in there.”
The cop turned, waving to others who were apparently awaiting his orders. He pointed to two and swung his hand in an arc, indicating the back of her house, then he pointed to another and nodded at the front door. “Sheridan’s inside. Possible intruder as well,” he said, his voice low but firm as the other officers moved past him to carry out his orders.
Before they got far, though, Sam was coming out the front door, his gun holstered once more. When she saw him, Megan’s breath rushed out of her, and her muscles went soft.
“Forget it,” he said. “Whoever he was, he’s long gone.” His eyes found Megan’s, held them as he came to her. She barely restrained herself from wrapping her arms around him, she was so relieved to see him safe. It wouldn’t look good, not in front of the other cops; she knew that. But Sam did embrace her, when he joined her there. He touched her with his eyes, with his serious but reassuring smile, with how close he stood, and his hand on her shoulder telling her it would all be okay.
“Chief,” he said, nodding to the older man.
“What’s the story, Sam?”
“Chief Skinner, this is Megan Rose. She was a witness to the assault in the park tonight. An hour later she called in to say there was a prowler outside her house. Apparently, he broke in before we got here.”
The police chief glanced at Megan, and she at him, now that she could tear her eyes from her own front door, and from Sam’s. The chief was an attractive man, perhaps fifty-something, lean, strong, with neatly cropped black hair that was graying at the temples, and friendly brown eyes. She knew that he knew who she was–the crackpot psychic he suspected of God only knew what.
“You were inside at the time?” the chief asked her. His concern seemed genuine.
She nodded.
“That must have been terrifying for you.”
“It was. I heard someone trying to get in the back door. Glass breaking. Footsteps. I ran out the front.”
He nodded, looking again at Sam.
Sam said, “Glass was busted out of the back door. Looks like he reached through and unlocked it, walked right in. We’ll want to dust it for prints.”
“Terry, get that scene secured,” the chief said, sending one of the officers scurrying to obey. “I’m sorry you’ve been through so much today, ma’am,” he went on, focusing again on Megan. “Did you get a look at the man when you saw him outside your house?”
“No. It was too dark. He was just a shape. White sneakers, jeans.” She shook her head, belatedly skimming ground level, noting all the shiny black shoes running this way and that way.
“And what about the one in the park? Could you identify him?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, I didn’t get a look at him. But apparently, he got a pretty good look at me.”
“You have reason to believe it was the same man?”
Megan lifted her head, shifting her gaze to Sam’s, then back to the chief’s. “I don’t have a reason to believe it,” she said slowly. “But I believe it anyway.”
The chief frowned. “Why? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
She tried to come up with an answer that would sound logical.
Then he nodded knowingly. “It’s that ESP thing again, huh?” His face bore that same look of blatant disbelief she’d seen so often as a child in her father’s eyes. Though his words were kind, and his expression tried to be, she knew that deep down he thought she was a fraud.
He did remember her name, though. She almost wished he didn’t. She wished she had never made that phone call the other night. “It’s nothing psychic,” she said. “It’s just a gut feeling. And the shoes were the same. That’s all.”
The chief nodded as if he understood. “Is there somewhere else you can stay tonight, Ms. Rose?”
“Sure. I can go to a hotel for the night.”
“You do that, then. You’ll be safer, more comfortable, and besides, we’ll need access to the house for the next couple of hours. Sam, why don’t you take her inside to pack up a few things?”