He had no answer for her. Or for himself.
Emma had never been fond of the night, but darkness had seldom frightened her as much as it now did.
She had let Cleo escort her upstairs and loan her a flannel nightgown while Travis stayed behind to double-check the locks on the doors and windows.
His footfalls on the stairs were a welcome sound, particularly after she opened her door a crack and peeked out to watch him pass before shutting it tightly. There was no lock on her door; nor would she have used it if there had been. It was enough to know she wasn’t alone in the house.
What was almost as frightening as reality was the notion of the nightmares that sleep might bring. Emma knew she couldn’t lie awake all night, yet the moment she closed her eyes she feared the glimpses of evil would return.
Finally, unable to stay alert any longer, she pulled the covers up under her chin, sighed and closed her eyes.
Soon, it began.
The room of her dreams was dark and dank. The cot on which she lay was lumpy, her lone blanket scratchy and frayed. She tried to move her left arm and found it bound by something cold and metallic that was cutting into her wrist.
Her eyes popped open. Someone was coming! A key clicked in the lock and the metal door swung open with a squeal of its rusty hinges.
A huge shape loomed. Approached.
Emma cringed, fisting the blanket and peering into the darkness to try to see details of the man’s shadowed face. The brightness behind him prevented it. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want. The sooner you tell me where my useless wife stashed the goods, the sooner you’ll be free to go.”
Emma’s mouth was so dry she could barely speak. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ha!” His laugh was cruel and cynical. “She only had one close friend and you were it. You must know.”
“I don’t. Please, let me go. I won’t tell anybody what you’ve done. I promise I won’t.”
“Like you promised my wife you’d keep her secret?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I don’t have any secrets to keep.”
Hovering over the cot, he leaned closer. Emma could smell alcohol on his breath, sense an anger so great it was smothering.
He drew back his arm.
She cringed, knowing what was coming.
The shadowy figure swung his open hand and Emma heard it connect with her cheek, felt the sting of the blow.
She managed to inhale past the lump in her throat and screamed.
* * *
Travis lay atop the comforter, still dressed except for his boots, in case he needed to take quick action again. Harlan might have been right about the shots that had disabled the ATV, but it was just as easy to imagine that Emma’s foes had found her, particularly since she’d returned to her roots. Anybody who knew where she’d come from would be able to track her.
The only sounds were familiar: the house settling, an occasional call of a whip-poor-will outside and the yips from a restless pack of coyotes somewhere in the woods. If Travis’s mind had not been so busy trying to figure out what was going on regarding his houseguest, he would already have drifted off to sleep.
His eyelids were getting heavy when the silence was suddenly broken by a high-pitched screech.
He was on his feet before he even realized he was moving. Emma!
Just as he reached for the doorknob of her room it was jerked away.
Wild-eyed, hands pressed over her mouth, she barreled headlong into his chest.
Travis barely managed to keep his balance. “Easy, Emma, I’ve got you,” he said, holding her gently in spite of her pummeling fists.
Thankfully, the strength of her attack was waning.
“Breathe, honey, breathe,” he urged. “Come on, Emma, take a deep breath. You’re safe.”
To his relief, the panic-filled haze seemed to clear. She blinked. Focused. Drew in air with a shudder.
“Travis.”
His name was hardly more than a whisper, but it was enough to prove to him that she was fully awake and aware.
“That’s right, it’s Travis. You’re in my house and you’re safe. I promise.”
“I thought...”
“What, Emma? What did you think? Tell me. It might help us find out what happened to you.”
She was still gulping air. “I—I was dreaming. It was awful.”
“What can you remember?”
“A man. Big. He—he was asking me something. I couldn’t remember then, either, so he hit me.”
“What else? Did the dream tell you where you were?”
She shook her head. “No. Only in a room somewhere. And a cot. I was lying on a cot.” Easing away from Travis, she held out one arm and stared at her reddened wrist. “It wasn’t a rope that made this mark, it was handcuffs. I was fastened to the bedpost with a chain.”
Although her look of terror was gone it had been replaced with a sense of absolute truth that cut Travis to the quick. Someone had kept Emma prisoner all right. But who? Why? And how in the world had she managed to escape?
“How did you get away?”
Slowly, pensively, she shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Did you have help? Was there someone else there with you? Maybe that child you thought you recalled?”
He could see her struggling to remember. It was in her eyes, in her expression, in the way she leaned a little away from him so she could meet his somber gaze.
“I don’t know,” Emma finally said. “In this nightmare I was all alone—except for the man who hit me.” Her hand raised to cup her cheek. “Right there, just the way it looks.”
They were joined by Cleo, belting a robe and padding barefoot down the hallway. “Land sakes. What’s going on?”
“Emma had a nightmare,” Travis explained. “I heard her screaming and thought she was being attacked again.”
The older woman put her arms around both Emma and Travis. “Praise the Lord it wasn’t for real.”
“She remembered a few things because of it,” Travis added. “It wasn’t a pleasant experience
