in Santa Fe. The other ornaments were also antiques, salvaged here and there from unlikely places. Even the metal stand, though simple in design, dated back to the nineteen-fifties.
As her cherrywood grandfather clock chimed the half hour, Holly hurried into the bedroom. She needed to shower and change before meeting Daniel.
Twenty-five minutes later, she emerged from the bedroom wearing a simple emerald-green turtleneck sweater and dark, comfortable wool pants. Grabbing her coat from the rack as she left, she set out.
It was a perfect evening, so she’d decided to walk to Simple Pleasures. The night temperature was unseasonably warm, and tonight there was going to be a meteor shower. The chance of seeing a shooting star was too good to pass up.
Though it was still early in the evening and she knew that most celestial activity would be after midnight, she kept her eyes on the heavens as she walked. The cloudless sky would make it easy to see nature’s light show. The streets here were dark enough for that, with streetlamps only at the intersections between blocks. No one minded, since the neighborhood was as safe as could be.
Although the south side of the boulevard beginning at the end of the block was zoned commercial, ordinances restricted light pollution and business signs. The coffee shop on the corner and the converted homes beyond served mostly as law and real estate professional offices and didn’t shout their presence.
There was no traffic at the moment, so Holly decided to leave the sidewalk and cross diagonally. There was a big pine tree in the median and she loved its Christmassy scent. As she stepped out into the street, Holly heard footsteps approaching from behind.
She turned, ready to greet a person she assumed would be one of her neighbors—but she was wrong. A man wearing some kind of dark bandanna over his face lunged toward her. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he grabbed her hard by the shoulders, pulling her close.
“Let go!” she yelled, pushing him in the chest as hard as she could.
Holly tried to scream, but a heavy glove quickly covered her mouth, cutting off her breath. The man spun her around, wrapped his free arm across her middle like a vise, then dragged her over the curb and onto the grass between the trees. When she kicked him in the leg, he lifted her off the ground, leaving her flailing in midair.
Grunting, he pushed her face down into the grass, his knees on her back. He smelled of sweat and strong aftershave, and his weight was crushing the air right out of her lungs. For a moment his hand slipped off her mouth and she screamed as loud as she could.
Holly felt him slip the loop of heavy cord over her head and knew he intended to strangle her. She was in a fight for her life. Terrified, she scrunched her chin against her chest and slipped her hand up under the cord, trying to keep it away from her throat. Her fingers pressed into her throat painfully, but if she wanted to live, she had to keep them in the way. It was her only hope.
Chapter Three
Daniel turned into the alley and parked his SUV in the rear lot of Simple Pleasures. The coffee shop—a former home—was off the street and had a big front porch with dining tables underneath for warmer weather and sunny days.
He pressed the key button remote to lock the car and wondered if he was early or late. When he was off the clock he preferred to go on Indian time, but he had a feeling that Holly was the kind of woman who appreciated promptness. It was certainly a plus in her type of business.
As Daniel strode down the narrow sidewalk toward the coffee shop’s rear entrance, he heard what sounded like a scream cut short. It had come from across the street, toward the front of the building. Instinctively he cut around the coffee shop and sprinted toward the sound.
Dimly illuminated by the streetlight were two people lying on the grass between the sidewalk and the street curb, fighting. Reaching into his jacket pocket as he ran, Daniel brought out a small flashlight and switched it on.
A guy wearing a blue bandanna over his face, like a cheap rustler from an old cowboy movie, had a cord wrapped around a woman’s neck. As the would-be killer turned his head to look, the glare of Daniel’s beam blinded him for a heartbeat.
The suspect instinctively threw his arm up to shield his eyes, revealing Holly’s face in the grass.
“Holly, roll!” he yelled, closing the gap between them.
Holly twisted away, breaking his grip. Her assailant immediately jumped to his feet and swung around, crouched and ready to counter Daniel’s expected tackle.
Daniel led instead with a flying kick, catching the man full force in the chest. The impact knocked his opponent off the grass and across the narrow sidewalk, slamming his back into the low stone wall that bordered the lawn of the residence behind him. Daniel glanced at Holly, who was now on her knees, coughing.
“I’m okay,” she croaked, gasping for air.
Daniel focused once again on his enemy, who’d risen to his feet and was now in a fighting stance, right leg and arm slightly forward—his strong side.
“Come on,” the man whispered harshly, motioning confidently with his gloves. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
His attacker clearly had some training, but Daniel knew the initiative belonged to him now. He assumed an attack position, hands up and open, ready to advance or kick, or block with his forearms. The guy was bigger than he was, but that had never been much of a problem.
The man advanced, throwing a left jab to set up a right. Daniel slipped to the side, countering with a left punch to the man’s ribs as the incoming jab barely brushed his cheek. The man gasped and rocked back, stunned by the blow.
Suddenly they were both illuminated by the headlights of an approaching car. The glare caught Daniel by surprise and he was forced to step back, arms up. Yet no blow came—his attacker knew it was time to run.
Holly’s assailant shot down the sidewalk, leaped the low retaining wall, then raced across a front lawn toward a side street.
“I’m going after him. Stay here,” Daniel said, leaping over the low wall.
Confident he could keep the man in sight and eventually catch up to him, Daniel raced across the grass. As he started to narrow the gap, the man faked left toward the street, then cut right, heading down the side of the house toward a three-foot-high wall that enclosed the backyard. He jumped it cleanly, never breaking his stride.
Daniel followed seconds behind, but lost a step as he hurdled the wall and nearly collided with an outdoor grill. By then, his opponent was already nearing the opposite wall. Again, the man, wearing some kind of jogging sweats, hurdled the wall like a track star and actually gained ground.
Daniel reached the wall four seconds later and leaped over, only vaguely aware of the sound of a television program somewhere to his right.
As soon as he cleared the wall, he saw the back of the running man dodging some barren rosebushes as he sprinted toward another low wall on the far side of the next property.
Daniel knew he was gaining ground, but, focusing on his target, he nearly crashed into a rose trellis. He swerved at the last second, barely missing the plant. When he looked up, all he could see was the upper half of his target, fading away in the dark. The guy was a natural hurdler and soon went over the cinder block wall like an equestrian—minus the horse.
