Read Online Whispers at Midnight by Karen Robards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Robards
Ads: Link
Another step forward, then one more, a left turn—the china cabinet should be straight ahead. The drawer she sought was on the right front side beneath the glassed-in display shelves. In just another minute or so, she’d have her hands on a candle and matches, and then there would be light.
Blessed light.
The better to see you by, my dear, she mentally cackled at Hugo in her best Big-Bad-Wolf-does-Grandma imitation, and then smiled at her own idiocy.
Still smiling, taking one more baby step forward, she stretched out a hand to make certain she didn’t bump nose-first into the china cabinet, but instead of touching the smooth wood she was expecting, she felt something soft. Cloth, covering something warm and resilient. Something warm and resilient that rose slightly as she touched it.
A human chest. A living, breathing human chest.
Time seemed to stand still.
Even as it dawned on her what it was that she was touching, a hand, meaty and warm and strong, clamped around her wrist.
Carly screamed.
6
T HE SCREAM OF THE CENTURY was still ripping its way out of her throat as Carly yanked her hand free and spun, ready to run like a rabbit with the dogs after it. A violent shove between her shoulder blades sent her careening into the table instead. Its sharp corner caught her hip painfully. Even as she gasped and bent double and clutched at her hip the intruder took flight. The sound of a body exploding into motion behind her was unmistakable. Something solid brushed past her protruding backside and then he—she was sure it was a he because of the size of the hand that had grabbed her wrist—was gone, feet pounding as he rushed toward the kitchen.
Another scream followed the first. Barely aware that she was the one responsible for the shattering sounds, Carly pushed away from the table and hurled herself in the opposite direction. Heart racing, cold streams of terror snaking up and down her spine, she made it into the hall in one piece, screaming all the way. Sandra, still in the bathroom, was yelling her name. Without answering, Carly torpedoed toward the open front door—and smacked into yet another warm, resilient object that grabbed her upper arms hard as she recoiled.
The scream that resulted could have deafened someone clear on the other side of town. Galvanized by fear, she fought desperately to be free.
“Carly! Jesus, Carly, it’s me!”
Matt’s voice. Matt’s hands. Carly quit struggling with a gasp. Her knees went weak, and she shuddered as she drew in great gulps of air. He hung on to her, his fingers digging into her soft arms. It was so dark she couldn’t see him, so dark she couldn’t see anything except the gray triangle that led to the open door, which beckoned like the gateway to the promised land some twenty feet away, but she would have known his voice anywhere. It was, she realized with a vague sense of chagrin, still hard-wired into the circuitry of her brain. Could it, by some miracle, have been Matt in the dining room? No. As certain as she was that it was Matt who held her now, she was equally certain that he was not the man who had grabbed her before.
“Are you all right? What the hell happened?”
“Matt. Oh, God, Matt.”
She was shaking, and it was hard to get the words out. Making an indecipherable sound under his breath, he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. Carly sagged against him, grateful for his solid strength. Matt. Thank God for Matt. He might be a no good dirty rotten son of a bitch in just about every way that counted, but he wouldn’t do her any physical harm. In fact, she knew as well as she knew that cinnamon rolls had calories that he would do his best to keep her safe.
“What?” he demanded.
Carly took a deep breath. “It must have been the prowler. He was here—in the house—in the dining room. He grabbed me.” She shuddered anew at the memory. “He ran toward the kitchen.”
“Stay here.” Matt’s voice was
Blessed light.
The better to see you by, my dear, she mentally cackled at Hugo in her best Big-Bad-Wolf-does-Grandma imitation, and then smiled at her own idiocy.
Still smiling, taking one more baby step forward, she stretched out a hand to make certain she didn’t bump nose-first into the china cabinet, but instead of touching the smooth wood she was expecting, she felt something soft. Cloth, covering something warm and resilient. Something warm and resilient that rose slightly as she touched it.
A human chest. A living, breathing human chest.
Time seemed to stand still.
Even as it dawned on her what it was that she was touching, a hand, meaty and warm and strong, clamped around her wrist.
Carly screamed.
6
T HE SCREAM OF THE CENTURY was still ripping its way out of her throat as Carly yanked her hand free and spun, ready to run like a rabbit with the dogs after it. A violent shove between her shoulder blades sent her careening into the table instead. Its sharp corner caught her hip painfully. Even as she gasped and bent double and clutched at her hip the intruder took flight. The sound of a body exploding into motion behind her was unmistakable. Something solid brushed past her protruding backside and then he—she was sure it was a he because of the size of the hand that had grabbed her wrist—was gone, feet pounding as he rushed toward the kitchen.
Another scream followed the first. Barely aware that she was the one responsible for the shattering sounds, Carly pushed away from the table and hurled herself in the opposite direction. Heart racing, cold streams of terror snaking up and down her spine, she made it into the hall in one piece, screaming all the way. Sandra, still in the bathroom, was yelling her name. Without answering, Carly torpedoed toward the open front door—and smacked into yet another warm, resilient object that grabbed her upper arms hard as she recoiled.
The scream that resulted could have deafened someone clear on the other side of town. Galvanized by fear, she fought desperately to be free.
“Carly! Jesus, Carly, it’s me!”
Matt’s voice. Matt’s hands. Carly quit struggling with a gasp. Her knees went weak, and she shuddered as she drew in great gulps of air. He hung on to her, his fingers digging into her soft arms. It was so dark she couldn’t see him, so dark she couldn’t see anything except the gray triangle that led to the open door, which beckoned like the gateway to the promised land some twenty feet away, but she would have known his voice anywhere. It was, she realized with a vague sense of chagrin, still hard-wired into the circuitry of her brain. Could it, by some miracle, have been Matt in the dining room? No. As certain as she was that it was Matt who held her now, she was equally certain that he was not the man who had grabbed her before.
“Are you all right? What the hell happened?”
“Matt. Oh, God, Matt.”
She was shaking, and it was hard to get the words out. Making an indecipherable sound under his breath, he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. Carly sagged against him, grateful for his solid strength. Matt. Thank God for Matt. He might be a no good dirty rotten son of a bitch in just about every way that counted, but he wouldn’t do her any physical harm. In fact, she knew as well as she knew that cinnamon rolls had calories that he would do his best to keep her safe.
“What?” he demanded.
Carly took a deep breath. “It must have been the prowler. He was here—in the house—in the dining room. He grabbed me.” She shuddered anew at the memory. “He ran toward the kitchen.”
“Stay here.” Matt’s voice was
Similar Books
