vague threat Sara didn’t want to acknowledge.
Setting the flashlight on the counter, she went through each drawer. Relief slid through her when she finally unearthed a half-burned candle and a box of wooden matches.
“Who says I don’t have all the luck.”
She found a saucer in the cupboard, set the candle on it and lit the wick. Yellow light cast flickering images on the walls. Picking up the flashlight, she turned toward the utility room. She was midway through the kitchen when movement in her peripheral vision stopped her dead in her tracks.
Gasping, Sara spun. Her heart slammed against her ribs when she saw a shadow pass quickly past the window. She stumbled back, adrenaline burning her gut. The flashlight slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.
Quickly, she snatched it up, but the bulb had gone out. She tapped it against the heel of her palm. When she glanced back at the window, the shadow was gone.
A terrible uneasiness stole over her. Someone was out there; she was sure of it. But why would they be at the back window of a vacant old house on a night like this? Vandals? Teenagers looking for a place to hang out? Or was something more ominous in the works?
The memory of the phone call flicked through her mind, conjuring a tinge of fear. Had she locked the front door? Was the garage locked? What about the patio doors?
Setting her hand on the cell phone clipped to her waistband, she doused the candle, knowing she would be less visible to an intruder in total darkness.
Never taking her eyes off the window, she backed from the kitchen. Her heart hammered as she moved silently through the hall toward the staircase. She could hear herself breathing hard. Blood roared like a jet engine in her ears. She passed the front door. Through the beveled glass, lightning flashed with blinding intensity, illuminating a tall figure draped in black and dripping with rain. A scream tore from her throat. She scrambled back, her hand shooting to the cell phone at her waist. The door flew open with a burst of wind and rain.
“Stop right there,” came a deep male voice.
Gripping her cell phone like a lifeline, she spun and ran for her life. Tearing through the foyer, she rounded the staircase and took the steps two at a time. All the while she tried desperately to remember if there was a lock on the bedroom door.
She heard the intruder behind her as she reached the upstairs landing. Heavy footsteps. A hint of labored breathing. The knowledge that she was alone with someone who could very well mean her harm. Her fingers trembled violently as she stabbed 911 into her cell.
“Stop! Cape Darkwood PD!”
The words barely registered over the jumble of fear. She dashed into the bedroom, spun to slam the door. But the man stuck his foot in. “Take it easy,” he said.
Facing the door, Sara stumbled back. In a small corner of her mind she heard the dispatcher’s voice coming over her cell phone. “There’s a prowler in my house!” she screamed.
The bedroom door swung open. The yellow beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness. The man stood silhouetted in the doorway. Sara looked around wildly for a weapon. Finding nothing, she glanced at the cell phone in her hand and threw it with all her might.
He ducked, but wasn’t fast enough. The phone struck the left side of his face. Grunting, he lifted his hand to his cheekbone.
“The police are on the way!” she cried.
Spotting the lamp on the night table, she snatched it up and mentally prepared herself to use it if he got any closer.
“I am the damn police,” he snapped. “Calm down.”
The words penetrated the veil of shock, slowed the hard rush of fear. He illuminated his face with the flashlight beam, and Sara lowered the lamp.
“I’m a cop,” he repeated. “Put down the lamp.”
He didn’t look like a cop. Wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt beneath a dark raincoat, he looked more like the villain in a slasher film. The thought made her shudder.
“I—I want to see your badge,” she managed.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.” He shone the light at her, sweeping it from her head to her feet. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“I own this place,” she said.
Sliding a badge from the pocket of his trench, he shoved it at her. “You’re the homeowner?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Show me some ID.” Tilting his head slightly, he spoke into a lapel mike. “This is zero-two-four. I’m ten-twenty-three. Over.”
“Whatcha got, Chief?” crackled a tinny male voice.
“Cancel that ten-fourteen, will you?”
“Roger that.”
Convinced this man was indeed a cop, Sara sidled to the bed and pulled her driver’s license from her wallet. “You scared the hell out of me,” she snapped as she crossed to him and held it out for him to read.
He shone the beam on her license. “Sara Douglas.” He said her name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Th-there was a prowler,” she said. “I saw him. At the kitchen window. A man.”
Dipping his head slightly, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “How long ago?”
“A minute. Maybe two.”
“That was probably me.”
“Oh.” Sara choked out a nervous laugh, releasing some of the tension that had built up inside her.
He frowned, apparently not seeing any humor in the situation. Maybe because he had a bump the size of a quarter on his left cheekbone from where she’d thrown the cell phone.
“I’m sorry I threw the phone at you.”
“Yeah.” He touched the bump. “I’ll let you know if I decide to arrest you for assaulting a cop.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He didn’t answer, and Sara found herself wishing she could see his face better.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“A 911 call came in about twenty minutes ago. Someone reported seeing lights up here.”
Realization dawned. “Someone thought I was a prowler?”
“This place has been vacant for quite a few years. Neighbors aren’t used to seeing any kind of activity up here. Unless, of course, it has to do with ghosts.”
The word hung in the air like a bad joke. “Ghosts?”
“Word around town is that this place is haunted.”
“That’s pretty ridiculous.”
