locked. No such luck. The glass inched open.
“Stay back!” She stepped forward and away from Sally’s dangling legs. Brooke swung the ax in a wide arc. “Don’t come in here!”
She heard a hissing noise. The sound of breathing? He was gasping like the flatlanders who weren’t accustomed to the altitude. He was someone who had come from far away.
Her ex-husband.
That can’t be! I’ve left that part of my life behind. Thomas wouldn’t come here. He wouldn’t dare.
“Show yourself!” she yelled at the man. There was no way she could fight a shadow or a nightmare illusion. If she saw him, she could fight back. Damn it, she had an ax. She wasn’t helpless.
Unless he has a gun.
She crept forward, holding the ax at the ready. The handle slipped in her sweaty palms. She tightened her grip.
A face pressed up against the window. The features were unclear. All she could really see were the eyes—hate-filled eyes glaring into her soul.
No time to think. No point in screaming. She dropped the ax, pivoted and ran. She’d heard his gasps. He was already out of breath. She might be able to outdistance him.
Racing through the kitchen, she glanced at her cell phone on the table. Where the hell was the ambulance? The police? She flipped the lock on the door, grabbed the butcher knife off the counter and dove into the night.
Her hiking boots slowed her down, but the heavy soles had good traction in the packed snow. She ran down the driveway, passing her Jeep. Damn it! Why didn’t I grab my car keys instead of a butcher knife? She wasn’t thinking clearly. Her perceptions were all wrong. That one mistake—knife instead of car keys—could get her killed.
She saw headlights on the road leading up the steep cliff. The car turned at her driveway. It had to be the police. But why weren’t they using the siren?
A bronze SUV pulled in and parked. A tall man in a brown leather bomber jacket and jeans stepped out of the driver’s side.
She whirled and peered back at the well-lit house. The intruder was nowhere in sight. Had she even seen him? She could have imagined him, creating a vision that matched her fears. It wouldn’t be the first time. She hated the fact that she couldn’t always trust her own eyes.
After she left Thomas, she’d had nightmares so intense that she went to a therapist and got a prescription, which seemed to make things worse. More than once, she woke in a cold sweat, screaming. Those vivid, Technicolor illusions felt more tangible than her everyday life. She’d seen danger on every street corner, heard threats in every utterance. Thinking of that terror, she could taste the familiar coppery bite of fear on her tongue. Her lungs ached with the pressure of controlling her panic.
Spinning around, she faced the tall man who stood beside his car. He appeared real. His lips moved, and he spoke.
“What’s the problem?”
If he had to ask, he hadn’t come in response to her 911 call. When he took a step toward her, she held up the knife. “Stay where you are. What’s your name?”
“Michael Shaw.” The glow from his headlights showed a calm, self-assured expression. His face was familiar. “We’ve met. I was hoping you’d remember me,” he said with a hint of a Southern drawl. “I was in your shop this afternoon. You sold me a pair of gloves.”
Indeed, she recalled. And the memory—a reality—grounded her.
Michael Shaw had been the high point of her day. He was tall and lean with eyes the color of jade and a smile that could melt a glacier. She’d been flattered when he leaned across the counter in the boutique and asked her opinion as if he really cared what she thought. They must have talked for fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, his accent reminded her of Atlanta—the one place in the world she wanted to forget.
When he’d asked her out for coffee, she’d treasured the moment but still said no. After Thomas, she’d had enough of smooth-talking Southern gentlemen to last the rest of her lifetime.
“Why are you here?” she demanded. “Did you follow me?”
“Calm down, Brooke. I’m a cop. Remember? I told you this afternoon. I’m a police detective from Birmingham, Alabama.”
She nodded, recalling their conversation. He was a cop. That didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t a threat. “What do you want from me?”
“We need to talk. I have something important to tell you, and it can’t wait any longer,” he said, his eyes falling on the knife she held.
“That’s why you asked me out.”
“And you turned me down.” He clapped one gloved hand upon his chest. “Nearly broke my heart.”
He took a step toward her, and she pointed the knife directly at his chest. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Okay, Brooke.” He stepped back and paused, studying her. “You want to tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can help.”
Suspiciously, she studied his handsome features. He seemed not to know what was going on, yet he happened to arrive at her house at this particular moment by pure chance. Could she trust him? After being stalked by her ex, she’d learned not to trust in coincidence. On the other hand, she needed help.
“It’s Sally,” she said. “My roommate.”
“Tell me about Sally.” His voice was steady and reassuring, just the right tone for a cop. Not that she was entirely sure she trusted cops, either. “You don’t have to be afraid. Whatever it is, I’m on your side.”
She stared into the darkness at the end of the driveway. Her ears strained to hear the sound of an approaching siren. “The police are on the way. The real police.”
“Oh, I’m a real officer. If you want, I’ll show you my badge.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “Now, take a breath. A long, slow breath. You need to calm down, Brooke.”
His tone irritated her, somehow implying that her terror was silly. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just want you to tell me what’s got you so scared.”
My whole life. But she didn’t have time to explain. She had to cut Sally down, and she needed Michael to help her. “Do you have a gun?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
Aware that she might be making another mistake in judgment, she led Michael to the kitchen door of the A-frame. Was there any hope that Sally could be saved? Of course there was, she told herself.
He held his gun in both hands and pushed open the door with his foot. “Is someone in there with your roommate?”
“I thought I saw him.
