Page 4 of Night Watch
She couldn’t possibly get the dresser over there before he broke down the door. The only way out was the small patio. She bolted for the sliding door and flung it open. On the patio, she looked around for something to grab. Anything. To lower herself to the river-level deck and escape the gunman.
Nothing.Nothing at all. She searched her neighbors’ properties, looking for lights. For help. Darkness greeted her. Why was no one home?
No. No. Not tonight.
She had no hope other than to leap into the water. Then she could hide near the small ski boat moored at the deck. Hopefully, the intruder wouldn’t see her and think she’d succumbed to the current and cold water.
She climbed onto the rail. Issued a silent prayer. And leapt.
The water enveloped her body. Cold and breath stealing, She clamped her lips closed to resist gasping.
She got her bearings and swam toward the boat. She slid between the slippery fiberglass and the deck, the water roiling under her.
The intruder raced out the bedroom onto the upper deck, his solid footsteps sounding in the night. He remained in the shadows, but she knew he was looking for her. She wished she could see his face. How she wished that.
She tried not to move—not a fraction of an inch—but her body shivered.
Please go away. Please.
His feet pounded over the deck, heading back to the house.
Now!She had to move now before he got down the stairs and out to her location.
She tried to scoot free but couldn’t move. The boat had shifted in the current and wind, pinning her against the dock.
She shoved against it, the fiberglass cold under her already chilly hands. The boat bounced up and down, splashing water, but didn’t move away from the dock.
No. No.This couldn’t be happening.
Footsteps sounded nearby. Feet came into view. Big feet wearing military style boots. She caught a glimpse of a crooked nose through the mask and a narrow face.
He gripped his gun with confidence as if trained to use it. No. Not just trained. Experienced.
His boots came closer, looking elephant-sized in her eyes.
She slid further under the boat.
Water lapped at her mouth. Her nose.
Please, don’t let him find me. Please. Please. Please.
2
Erik was a glutton for punishment. Otherwise why would he be in his truck headed to Kennedy’s floating home? So she could rip his heart out again? Probably, and unless he liked pain, which he didn’t think he did, this was a stupid move.
And yet…
He lifted his foot from the gas pedal and whipped into the marina parking lot, holding tight to the wheel in the strong wind. Maybe he should turn around. Ignore Finley’s phone call. Sure, Kennedy was struggling—burning out as she tried to prove her mother’s death was foul play, but that wasn’t life threatening. It wasn’t as if Kennedy had any proof that her mother had been murdered and the killer had Kennedy in his sights. She didn’t need his protection.
He let out a long breath and took another as he ignored his good sense and pulled into a parking spot near a footbridge leading down to a long line of floating homes. He got out and clasped the steel railings on the bridge that were warm in the night, and the moon above had broken through heavy clouds. Stars sparkled in another nearby clearing. A magnificent August night.
The vibrant blue, white, and orange homes shone brightly, the river below angry from the approaching storm. Floating homes. He’d always called them houseboats, but he’d since learned that these homes didn’t fit the term. A houseboat was a live-aboard boat with a motor and could navigate bodies of water. Floating homes were homes built on floats, moored to a semi-permanent location, and had to be moved with another vessel.
A man dressed in an army green T-shirt, camouflage pants, and boots darted onto the walking bridge. Head down, he slammed into Erik, glanced up, and kept going.
“Watch it!” Erik snapped and turned to follow the guy’s progress as he raced across the parking lot and disappeared in the line of trees abutting the highway.
People jogged at all times of the day, but this guy wasn’t dressed for jogging, and with a storm approaching, running was foolishness. If he were a resident of the community, he would get into a car and drive off, not bolt into the scrub.
