and the clatter of metal on wood rang out.
When an elbow smashed into Gabe’s nose, he swore fiercely, then wrestled his attacker’s arms behind his back and pinned them there. There was plenty of fight, but no bulk to the guy, no muscle, and he was considerably shorter than Gabe’s own six-four frame. A teenager? he wondered and shifted his weight so he wouldn’t hurt the kid.
“Let go of me!”
Gabe went still at the sound of the furious, but distinctly feminine voice.
A woman?
She squirmed underneath him, and with him lying on top of her, her rounded bottom wiggled against his lower regions.
Oh, yes, definitely a woman.
Her legs were long, he realized, her body and arms slender, but firm. And though it was subtle, she smelled like a spring bouquet. The same scent he’d caught a whiff of upstairs.
“I said, let go of me.” She spit each word out with such venom, Gabe was surprised he didn’t see sparks fly with every syllable.
She started to struggle again, but he held her arms tightly, as much to protect himself against another elbow in his face as to give them both a moment to calm down.
“As soon as you relax,” he said, and she countered with a quick thrust of her body that almost knocked him sideways. When he tightened the pressure on her wrists—small, delicate wrists, he noted—she sucked in a sharp, deep breath, then went still, her breathing heavy and strained.
“That’s a good girl,” he said, easing his hold on her. “Okay, I’m going to let you up now, slowly. I don’t want to hurt you, but—”
“Please don’t hurt my mommy.”
Gabe froze at the sound of the tiny, frightened voice that came from a dark corner of the dining room. He felt the breath shudder out from the woman underneath him, heard her small choked-back sob.
A woman and a child? Hiding in the darkness in an empty house? What the hell was going on?
“I’m not going to hurt your mommy,” Gabe said softly to the child as he released the woman. “She just surprised me, that’s all.”
He stood, then reached down and took hold of her arm to help her up, but she shook off his touch and moved quickly into the shadowed corner of the room to join the small figure huddled there.
“It’s all right, baby,” Gabe heard her say. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
They stood there, all three of them, without speaking, letting the darkness smooth a quiet hand over the tension. Gabe drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “I’m going to turn on a light now. Are you going to run again?”
A long pause. “No.”
He didn’t believe her for an instant. He kept his gaze on the shadows as he ran his hand along the wall by the doorway, found the switch and flipped it on.
Light from a crystal chandelier poured into the room, but it still seemed dark. Dark wood paneling, dark green drapes, cherry wood dining-room table and buffet. The room had all the cheerfulness of a cave.
Wearing a long-sleeved, black turtleneck sweater and black jeans, and with hair the deep brown color of sable, the woman would have completely blended into the shadows of the room if not for her pale face and wide, thickly lashed eyes. For one brief moment, his gaze rested on her lips: wide, curved, slightly parted.
Damn, he thought, then quickly shook off the twist in his gut.
She stood in the corner, her shoulders stiff and straight, with her child behind her. He guessed her age to be somewhere in her mid-to-late-twenties. Her wary gaze lifted to his and held, and he could see that she indeed wanted to run, was merely waiting for the opportunity.
He moved between the two doorways in the room, effectively blocking her, but carefully keeping his distance.
“Who are you?” she demanded suddenly, catching him off guard. “What are you doing here?”
Gabe lifted one dark brow. “Funny, that’s what I was just going to ask you.”
“I’m a friend of Miss Witherspoon’s.” Her chin went up. “She was expecting my son and me.”
Gabe glanced down and watched a sandy-blond head peek out from behind the woman’s legs. Short, stubby fingers clutched tightly onto her slender thighs. Four or five, Gabe guessed the kid’s age.
Gabe looked back at the woman. “I didn’t see a car out front.”
“I parked it in the garage out back,” she said, placing a hand on the side of her son’s head. “I needed the overhead light to unload.”
Maybe, Gabe thought. Maybe not. He looked back up at the woman. “When?”
Her brow furrowed. “When what?”
“When was Miss Witherspoon expecting you?”
“Oh.” She blinked quickly. “Well, actually, we weren’t due to arrive until Friday, but I didn’t think she’d mind if we were a couple of days early. It seems, however, that she’s away at the moment.”
That was an understatement, Gabe thought.
“I didn’t think she’d mind if we waited for her,” she added. “The last time we spoke, she was looking forward to our arrival.”
The woman’s voice was smooth, Gabe noted, with rich, deep tones, still a little breathless from their scuffling. “When did you speak with Miss Witherspoon last?” he asked.
“When did I speak with her?” she repeated hesitantly. “I’m not sure. Several days ago. Maybe last Tuesday or Wednesday. But I really don’t see what business that is of yours.”
“And that was last week, you say?”
“Give or take a day or two.” Her eyes flashed as she shook her thick, dark hair away from her face. “Look, I don’t appreciate your attitude. My son and I are invited guests here, and you’re the one who broke in and frightened us half to death.”
There was some truth in the woman’s words, Gabe believed. But there were lies, as well. Especially the part about speaking with Miss Witherspoon the previous week. That would have been quite a conversation, considering she’d died two weeks ago.
But anyone who knew Mildred Witherspoon, also knew that the woman had never, in the ninety-two years she’d lived in the town, ever, invited anyone into her home. Other than the monthly meetings and Sunday services she attended, Mildred had tucked herself away as tightly as the bun on top of her head.
Which most certainly meant that the woman standing ten feet away from him was lying through her pretty white teeth.
“Look, mister, it’s been a long day.” The strain was apparent in the woman’s thin voice and the tight press of her lips. “My son and I are tired. If Miss Witherspoon is out of town, then I’ll just leave her a note and we’ll be on our way in the morning.”
He
