Page 129 of The Coppersmith Farmhouse (Jamison Valley 1)
I pushed her out the front door, glad she hadn’t taken off her boots when we’d gotten home.
“Run. Rowen, run.” I hoped that whoever was approaching hadn’t made it to the house quite yet.
Her eyes filled with tears but she turned on her heels and ran to the garage.
I shut the door and crept to the living room, crouching by the window as I watched her cross the front lawn.
I had just sent my baby girl outside alone and in the dark. Panic morphed to horror. Had I made the right choice? Would she be safe?
When her little bum disappeared through the cat door, I breathed a sigh of mild relief. I would never take that garage for granted again, or the fact that Jess had gotten it built so quickly.
She was safe. Until I knew what was happening, she was safe.
I slipped away from the window and curled into the living room corner. Then I waited. Waited for the something bad I knew was coming my way.
The ticking clock on the mantel was booming, much like my heart.
Why hadn’t I grabbed my phon
e? I should have grabbed my phone. Stupid!
I’d been so worried about Rowen that I’d left it on the kitchen counter.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!
Before I could make a dash to the kitchen, boots thudded as the men made their way over the porch. Every step was like a tremor, exponentially increasing my fear with each shake.
The doorbell rang.
What? I didn’t know what I had expected, maybe for them to kick in the door or break through the glass window, but a ringing doorbell wasn’t it.
Was I being paranoid? Had Scottie Pierce’s threat pushed me over the edge of sanity?
I forced myself to stand and walk to the door.
Until I knew exactly what was going on, I didn’t want these strangers poking around the house. I especially didn’t want them going anywhere near the garage. I needed them to stay focused on me and away from where my little girl was hiding.
I squinted through the marbled glass window, hoping to see who was here. One man’s back was to the door, but my panic subsided a bit at the other’s familiar face.
“Everett?” I asked, inching the door open.
“Hi, Gigi.”
“What are you doing here? And why did you come through the woods?”
But before he could answer, the man he was with turned around.
John Doe.
The man who had been beaten to a pulp my first day working at Jamison Valley Hospital. What the hell was going on here? Why was Everett with John Doe? And what was his real name?
My mind raced through its memory banks. Benson. Alex Benson. That was his name.
“We need to go, Carlson. The cop usually gets home around five-thirty or six. You want me to grab the kid?” Benson asked Everett.
“No!” I screamed. Pure terror ran through my veins.
“Leave her. She’s nothing and there isn’t time,” Everett said.
