himself to get with the program.
Nevertheless, before focusing his full attention on his work, Royce made an anxiety-easing promise to himself.
He shot another glance at the wall clock and stifled a curse of impatience.
Now the hands stood at 8:57. He had two and a half hours to get through before he could leave, but then he'd be out of there, intent on carrying out his promise.
When his shift was over, and before going home, Royce had decided, he'd make a swing by Megan's place...just to check out the situation for his own satisfaction.
Five
M egan started awake at the jarring sound of the doorbell. Disoriented, she glanced around, heart pounding, nerves jangling, adrenaline surging through her bloodstream. The bell sounded again, and she jolted upright, out of the chair.
Who—? Megan shuddered as an image of a large, hulking, rough-voiced man filled her mind.
She was alone in the house, and it was late. How late? Megan shot a look at the gleaming sunburst clock on the wall above the fireplace mantel.
The clock read 12:05.
The bell pealed once more, followed by the unmistakable sound of the doorknob being turned.
Megan froze. Dear heaven! Was it him? she thought frantically. Was it that awful man, trying to get at her to finish what he had started Friday night?
Panic crawled into her stomach, making her feel physically sick, weak-kneed, terrified.
But wait! Think.
The attacker didn't know her name...did he? Megan frowned in concentration. Into her mind stole the faint echo of his voice, nasty-sounding, at first calling a generic “lady,” then, as she struggled, fought him, snarling a guttural command: “Be still, you crazy bitch.”
No, Megan reasoned, he probably didn't know her name. Therefore, he couldn't very likely know where she lived, she thought, exhaling a whooshing sigh of relief that caught in her throat when another summons trilled from the doorbell.
Panic flared anew, causing a flutter inside her chest, but a faint voice inside her mind called for deeper thought.
Obeying the order from her subconscious, Megan drew in deep, calming breaths, and applied her mind to more reasoned, rational contemplation, backtracking, then following the trail of her earlier actions.
Losing track of the passage of time, Megan had labored over her worktable until after nine, and wouldn't have quit then if not for a nagging and painful cramping in her lower back. Weariness had slammed into her when she slid from the stool and stepped away from the table.
Rubbing the base of her spine, Megan had stood still for a moment, gathering the dregs of her strength. A rumble of hunger from her empty stomach had finally propelled her from her bedroom on rubbery legs.
Leaving the lights burning in her bedroom, Megan had turned on the lights in each successive room she entered. In the kitchen, she'd fixed a quick meal consisting of a sandwich and a glass of skim milk.
It was while she methodically chewed the tasteless sandwich that Megan had been swamped by an overwhelming need to talk to her mother. She'd rushed to the wall phone, and been reaching for the receiver before she remembered that her mother, her parents, were halfway around the world, on a ship on the high seas, midway between ports of call.
The realization that she could not bolster her flagging spirits with the comforting sound of her mother's voice had drained the last of Megan's meager supply of energy.
Forgetting the remains of her slapped-together supper, and again leaving the bright overhead kitchen light on, she'd wandered into the living room, flicking on the swag light above the dining room table, the wall sconces, and then every table and floor lamp in the living room.
After securely closing the drapes over the wide living room windows, Megan had sunk into her father's favorite, deeply cushioned recliner and shut her eyes...just to rest for a few minutes.
She had been lost to the world within seconds.
That had been over two hours ago. Now, the
Nevertheless, before focusing his full attention on his work, Royce made an anxiety-easing promise to himself.
He shot another glance at the wall clock and stifled a curse of impatience.
Now the hands stood at 8:57. He had two and a half hours to get through before he could leave, but then he'd be out of there, intent on carrying out his promise.
When his shift was over, and before going home, Royce had decided, he'd make a swing by Megan's place...just to check out the situation for his own satisfaction.
Five
M egan started awake at the jarring sound of the doorbell. Disoriented, she glanced around, heart pounding, nerves jangling, adrenaline surging through her bloodstream. The bell sounded again, and she jolted upright, out of the chair.
Who—? Megan shuddered as an image of a large, hulking, rough-voiced man filled her mind.
She was alone in the house, and it was late. How late? Megan shot a look at the gleaming sunburst clock on the wall above the fireplace mantel.
The clock read 12:05.
The bell pealed once more, followed by the unmistakable sound of the doorknob being turned.
Megan froze. Dear heaven! Was it him? she thought frantically. Was it that awful man, trying to get at her to finish what he had started Friday night?
Panic crawled into her stomach, making her feel physically sick, weak-kneed, terrified.
But wait! Think.
The attacker didn't know her name...did he? Megan frowned in concentration. Into her mind stole the faint echo of his voice, nasty-sounding, at first calling a generic “lady,” then, as she struggled, fought him, snarling a guttural command: “Be still, you crazy bitch.”
No, Megan reasoned, he probably didn't know her name. Therefore, he couldn't very likely know where she lived, she thought, exhaling a whooshing sigh of relief that caught in her throat when another summons trilled from the doorbell.
Panic flared anew, causing a flutter inside her chest, but a faint voice inside her mind called for deeper thought.
Obeying the order from her subconscious, Megan drew in deep, calming breaths, and applied her mind to more reasoned, rational contemplation, backtracking, then following the trail of her earlier actions.
Losing track of the passage of time, Megan had labored over her worktable until after nine, and wouldn't have quit then if not for a nagging and painful cramping in her lower back. Weariness had slammed into her when she slid from the stool and stepped away from the table.
Rubbing the base of her spine, Megan had stood still for a moment, gathering the dregs of her strength. A rumble of hunger from her empty stomach had finally propelled her from her bedroom on rubbery legs.
Leaving the lights burning in her bedroom, Megan had turned on the lights in each successive room she entered. In the kitchen, she'd fixed a quick meal consisting of a sandwich and a glass of skim milk.
It was while she methodically chewed the tasteless sandwich that Megan had been swamped by an overwhelming need to talk to her mother. She'd rushed to the wall phone, and been reaching for the receiver before she remembered that her mother, her parents, were halfway around the world, on a ship on the high seas, midway between ports of call.
The realization that she could not bolster her flagging spirits with the comforting sound of her mother's voice had drained the last of Megan's meager supply of energy.
Forgetting the remains of her slapped-together supper, and again leaving the bright overhead kitchen light on, she'd wandered into the living room, flicking on the swag light above the dining room table, the wall sconces, and then every table and floor lamp in the living room.
After securely closing the drapes over the wide living room windows, Megan had sunk into her father's favorite, deeply cushioned recliner and shut her eyes...just to rest for a few minutes.
She had been lost to the world within seconds.
That had been over two hours ago. Now, the
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