I stiffen, attempt to calm my breathing while my heart gallops within my chest, inherently sensing danger. Something about the way the footsteps land sends an eerie chill skittering down my spine.
I wish I hadn’t succumbed to the urge to take that damn medication the doctor had prescribed me, then I’d be more alert and less sluggish. Worse, I hadn’t left a light on. There’s only a faint shaft of moonlight illuminated on the hardwood floor near my feet, peeking past one slat of the Venetian blinds Willow had bent when she was a young toddler.
A man whispers, “Why the fuck do I have to—”
It gets cut off by a grunt before another man answers with an angry hiss. “’Cause you know what’s on the line. Boss said so.”
Even though I will my senses to awaken so I can decipher the men’s proximity, they remain lethargic and dulled.
Something prods me to make a move to get off the couch. I manage to rise, but I only take two steps when my hair is grabbed viciously from behind, jerking my head back. Something sharp presses against my throat, and my gasp only makes the man at my back chuckle softly.
“Oh, yeah. Reckon we got your attention now.” His low mumble sends uneasiness and debilitating fear coursing through me. I get the sense he’s trying to disguise his voice by keeping it low. The jagged edge of the knife digs into my skin, and I whimper at the sensation of wetness trickling down my neck.
“I don’t have much cash,” I manage a whispered plea. “Just take my purse. Whatever’s in it, take it.”
His response is a sinister chuckle.
The second man draws closer, his boots clicking softly before he stops near my side. Inadvertently, I start to turn my head in his direction but stop short when the blade digs into my flesh.
The man holding the knife at my throat whispers menacingly, “You ain’t gonna meet with the po-po tomorrow.”
My skin grows damp from the spray of spittle falling with each of his words, and I instinctively drop my shoulder, trying to move away from him. It’s a move I regret an instant later when the knife digs farther into my skin, and I wince at the lance of pain.
“You’re gonna forget all about what you think you saw that night. You better be smarter than your kin, or you won’t get another chance. You hear me?”
I whimper, and he evidently takes this as my acquiescence.
“Just to make sure you know we mean business…” Something hard slams against my head with such force that dizziness assails me, and I slump to the floor.
The last thing I remember seeing through my hazy vision before I fade into oblivion is fancy-looking boots in the small shaft of moonlight.
5
Caitlin
Footsteps. The sound greets my ears, causing a cacophony of reverberations through my brain, and I moan in response. At the onslaught of pain, I grit my teeth so hard my jaw begins to protest.
A male voice calls out, “Caitlin?” and for a split second, my mind plays tricks on me.
“Deacon?” I manage to say in a loud whisper. Please let this all be a terrible nightmare. Please. Then, even louder, I repeat, “Deacon?”
As heavy footsteps draw near, I pry my heavy eyelids open only to wince in pain at the brightness from the sunlight shining directly through that godforsaken bent slat in the blinds. I whimper and move a hand to the back of my head, encountering a large lump that’s formed.
“What in God’s name happened to you?”
Recognition barrels through me. It’s not Deacon. My heart wrenches at the reminder that he’s gone. That they’re all gone.
Doc Hogue lowers himself, his clothing rustling with the movement. “Caitlin, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I say on a moan. “Please don’t talk so loud. It hurts.”
He smooths back my hair from my face, and I wince at the slightest touch against my skin. “Where are you hurt?” He inspects my pupils before his fingers efficiently feel their way over my head and discover the large, painful lump. His assessing gaze narrows on my neck before skimming my body for other injuries.
“I’m okay. Just a killer headache.”
Doc’s voice is hushed, but colored with anger. “Who the hell did this to you?” He mutters an expletive beneath his breath. “Knew I shouldn’t have left you alone.” Another expletive spills out, then he asks, “If I help you sit up, do you think you could do that?”
“Mm-hmm.” I’m already bracing myself for the pain I know I’ll face with even the slightest of movements.
Doc slowly eases me into a seated position on the floor. I blink a few times, attempting to acclimate my eyes to the light. His face comes into view, and it takes a moment before I can focus on him.
Concern etches his features, dark gray brows drawn together fiercely as his eyes peer at each of mine, likely assessing my pupils.
“Think you can stand?”
I exhale slowly. “I think so.”
He helps me up and supports me in shuffling over to the couch, where I carefully lower myself and sink back against the cushions.
Doc studies me, that cavernous crease between his brows glaring at me with worry. “We need to call the police.” He reaches for his cell phone, but I hold up a hand to stop him.
“Wait. I can’t—” I break off, torn between fear and the ever-present drive to do what I know is right.
Dammit. What the hell is going on?
“They told me not to.”
His frown turns more severe. “They who?”
“I don’t know.” I suck in an unsteady breath. “It was dark, and they were behind me.” A sob bubbles up, and I attempt to stifle it but fail. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
Doc takes my hand in his. “Caitlin, we need to contact the police. Those detectives told you to call them.”
“I know.” My voice sounds so weak and ripe with misery. “I know,” I repeat on an exhale.
“Do you have the card handy?”
I close my eyes, knowing that this decision will either haunt me or help me. And the lingering dread makes me think it’s the former.
I can practically hear my father’s voice in my head. Do the right thing, baby girl. Which is why I murmur, “It’s on the kitchen counter.”
Within minutes, a quick and hushed conversation takes place before Doc returns to my side. “They said they were close by, so they’ll be here shortly.”
He hands me an ice pack covered in a small dish towel, which I gratefully accept and press gently to my head. “Want to talk about what happened before they get here?”
“I heard something. Footsteps, but that prescription the doctor gave me for anxiety made me a little…loopy.”
I draw in a deep breath before exhaling slowly and forge on. “I stood from the couch, but they got me before I could grab my phone.” I gesture to the kitchen counter, where I’d left it sitting there, forgotten in my haze of numbness.
“There were two men. One grabbed me by my hair and put the knife to my neck, and the other came up beside me. They told me I should forget about everything from that night and not talk to the police.”
His jaw tightens, lips flattening into a thin line, nostrils flaring slightly. “They threatened you?” He barely grits out the words.