Nausea swirled in her gut. She spun around, fear blurring her vision as she struggled to focus on Zach’s face. “Brian. Brian Fox was here.”
“I’ve already searched the house. He’s not inside. Not anymore.” Zach touched Heather’s arm in what she assumed was intended as a comforting gesture, but how could she possibly be comforted?
Her ex-husband had been in her house. He’s here in Quail Hollow.
Stars danced in her line of vision. Less than twelve hours ago this room had held so much promise for the future. For all the potential customers to her quaint bed-and-breakfast. Now its walls and the graffiti pulsed. A hot flush of dread crashed over her. She was suffocating. Trapped. She tugged on her collar and focused on her breathing.
“Are you sure he isn’t still in here?” Her lower lip quivered. “Hiding.” She found herself whispering to protect Ruthie from her past. Her chest grew tight at a memory of a confrontation with Brian. She had been out with friends. Having fun. Something she hadn’t done much since they got married. Brian hadn’t let her. But she had been uncharacteristically defiant. Determined to reclaim some of her life.
A mistake.
Brian had been waiting. In the dark. Insanely jealous that she had been out with her friends. He had accused her of picking up guys. Something she would never do. She had grown to fear Brian, but she had never been unfaithful in her marriage.
That was the first time he had hit her. His fist had struck her, hard and fast, a shocking surprise in the darkness. She had been an easy target backlit by the hall light.
“Yes. I checked the house thoroughly.” Zach interrupted her racing thoughts. “But we can’t stay here. He’s close.”
“Who’s close?” Ruthie asked, concern etched onto her pretty features, free of makeup, as she returned from the pantry on the other side of the kitchen. “Did someone break in?” She tugged nervously on the loose strings of her white bonnet.
Heather smiled tightly. “I’ll explain in a minute.”
Zach pulled back a corner of the vinyl sheeting covering the window. “What’s in the building in back?”
“You saw the shed. It just has supplies for the remodel.” She pointed to the stapler and vinyl. “The barn’s empty. Needs some repairs.” A thumping started in her head. “He’s hiding in there, isn’t he? He’s in there.” The hysteria welled in her chest, squeezing her lungs, making it difficult to breathe.
“Look at me,” Zach said, a determined forcefulness in his tone. “Look at me.”
She met his eyes and saw warmth, compassion and something she always saw in her own eyes when she looked in the mirror—anger. Anger aimed at a man who had ruined so many lives.
“I am not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”
Something about the sincerity in his voice, in his eyes, made her believe him. But hadn’t she also believed her husband when he told her he’d never hit her again? That he was sorry.
She had been fooled by a charming liar.
But Zach wasn’t Brian. Zach had come here to protect her. She had to trust him.
But trust didn’t come easily.
He pulled back his jacket and she noticed his gun, immediately relieved that they weren’t sitting ducks. He plucked his cell phone from his belt. “I’m going to call the local sheriff. Let them know Brian Fox may be close.”
At the mention of his name a shudder raced through her. Apparently sensing her renewed dread, he reassured her that she’d be safe. “I need you and Ruthie to go to a room that locks. Your bedroom? A bathroom? And stay away from the windows.”
Instinctively Heather reached out and grabbed his wrist. “No, wait for the sheriff before you go into the barn looking for him. Brian’s evil.”
Zach shook his head. “I need to go out there and check the buildings. I can’t risk him getting away.” He leveled his gaze at her. “You have a cell phone?”
She nodded, her palms growing slick as she grabbed her cell phone out of the rolltop desk in the sitting room. “The service is terrible out here.”
His brows furrowed. “I haven’t had trouble. Different carriers, I suppose.” He ran a hand across his stubbled jaw. He flicked his gaze toward the back door. “Listen, time isn’t on our side. Can you go upstairs and lock yourself in a room? I’ll call the sheriff.”
Heather swallowed hard and grabbed Ruthie’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs. I have a dead bolt on my bedroom door.” She had installed one there for security for when she opened her house to strangers. She had never dreamed she’d have to use it to keep her ex-husband out.
“What’s going on?” Ruthie asked as she begrudgingly followed her up the stairs, her boots pounding up each step.
When they reached her bedroom, Heather ushered Ruthie inside and spun around, slammed the door and turned the bolt. Why did she think a flimsy lock on a hollow wood door would keep out Brian when a maximum-security prison had failed?
* * *
Zach waited at the bottom of the stairs until he heard the bedroom door close and the bolt slide into place. He made a quick call to the sheriff’s department. Pulling his gun out of its holster, he moved toward the back door and muttered, “I’m coming to get you, Fox. You’re not going to get away from me now.”
He exited through the kitchen door, where he had first run into Heather last night. He prayed the sheriff and his deputies didn’t take their time in getting here. Zach feared if he picked the wrong outbuilding, Fox might be able to make his escape while he was otherwise occupied. Or worse—make his way into the house through the construction zone. To Heather.
After Zach cleared the shed, he heard sirens growing closer. One patrol car pulled up the driveway. Two others sped past before coming to a stop somewhere out of view on the other side of the house. A call like his had probably gotten the attention of the entire Quail Hollow Sheriff’s Department.
A tall man unfolded from his patrol car, his hand hovering over the grip of his gun. Zach waved to him silently and pointed to the barn. The man in turn gestured to his officers. The four men surrounded the barn under Zach’s silent directions. Two stayed outside watching for any sign of the fugitive while the tall officer and Zach checked the interior. Thanks to several missing planks and a large hole in the roof, most of the interior was well illuminated except for a few dark corners.
Zach cautiously checked the shadows behind a tractor with no rubber on its wheels, an old shell of an Amish buggy and a few hay bales that smelled ripe from dampness and age.
“Clear,” he hollered after checking the last stall, where horses must have been kept at some point in the past.
The two law enforcement officers exited the barn together.
“You really think the fugitive made it all the
