Chapter 12

“There’s nothing,” Hank said angrily, “quite like outsmarting yourself.”

They were gathered in his living room—Kelly, Gage, Jared Locke and the two deputies who had failed to find the intruder. “Dammit, it never occurred to me that he’d take those wind chimes as anything except an addition to the house.”

“He’s smart,” Gage said. “Smarter than I hoped. He must have realized the sound could have warned Kelly, that maybe she’d put the chimes there to do just that.”

“So what now?” Kelly asked.

Hank looked at her and ached. Her eyes were smudged, dark circles of fear and stress, making her look hollow.

“What now?” she asked again.

None of them answered, and Hank hated it. They’d used her as bait. It wasn’t going to work a second time. Now she’d be at risk anywhere, anytime and they couldn’t shadow her every second. None of them except him, that was.

“You’re moving in here,” he said. “You’re not going to be alone again.”

“I can’t ask that.”

“You’re not asking anything,” he said forcefully. “I’m offering. In fact, I’m demanding. He’s going to try again and he’s going to have to deal with both of us. And after tonight he probably figures I’m no problem at all.”

The bitterness with which he spoke the words shocked him. He closed his eyes, reaching for some self-control, some clear thinking beside the horrible helplessness he felt, the failure he felt because his hip had given out.

“Oh, hell,” he said finally. “Who am I kidding? I couldn’t even get across the yard without collapsing. Maybe we need to get you a permanent private security escort.”

“I can’t afford that and I don’t want it,” Kelly said. Her voice grew stronger. “Don’t beat yourself up, Hank.”

“Why not? The wind chimes were my brilliant idea. Then I almost had the guy and my leg gave out. Some protector I am.”

“Stop it,” Kelly said angrily. “Please stop it. Nobody thought the guy was going to run like that. Even the deputies couldn’t catch him.”

“Yeah, but he had a head start on them.”

Silence filled the room. Gage rubbed his chin finally and sighed. “Okay, what do we know? We know the guy is for real, he broke in twice, he was smart enough to get scared off by wind chimes. That means he’s going to look for another time and place. That means Kelly can’t be alone. I can arrange a loose watch, but there’s no way I can staple a deputy to her side. That leaves you, Hank.”

“Yeah, no reason he should fear me,” Hank said harshly.

“And that’s where he’s wrong,” Gage said firmly. “He’s absolutely wrong. And that’s going to be his mistake.”

Hank stared at him from burning eyes. “He’s not wrong, Gage.”

“Yes, he is. First off, what happened tonight could have happened to anyone and he was already running. What if he hadn’t been running? What if you’d cornered him in the house? I think you’d have given him a whole lot more trouble.”

“Maybe.” He’d allow that much, not much more.

“My feeling is that if Kelly stays with you, he’ll try again. He’ll come prepared to deal with a woman and a cripple.”

“Don’t say that,” Kelly snapped. “Hank’s not a cripple.”

“No, he’s not. But that’s something the perp isn’t going to know. Hell, anyone who sees Hank limping around and doesn’t know him is bound to underestimate him.”

“Especially after I wound up on my face making a simple tackle.”

“That’ll work for us,” Gage said firmly. He looked at Kelly. “What do you think?”

“About what? Whether I’ll feel safe with Hank? Of course I will. Safer than I will anywhere else, that’s for sure.”

That was almost an indictment, Hank thought miserably. Safer than anywhere else. He counted more than no one. That thought pierced him to the core.

Kelly rose from the rocker where she had been sitting, and crossed the room to his side. “That came out wrong,” she said.

“It’s okay. It’s true.”

“It’s not true.” She laid her hand on his arm and he forced himself to look at her. What he saw in her blue eyes was concern and warmth.

“It is true. You’re a born protector, Hank. It shows in everything you do. I trust you with my life.”

That could be a mistake, he thought with uncharacteristic bitterness. He’d failed again tonight, the same way he’d failed his friends in a burning building.

But he couldn’t argue. He knew Gage was right about not being able to staple a deputy to her side. He simply didn’t have the manpower, and even if he did, they’d never catch the guy. And Kelly wanted him caught. She wanted him to pay for trying to kill her, and if Dean was behind it, she wanted Dean to pay, too.

He could understand that need, and while turning the other cheek was his usual rule of life, that didn’t feel quite right when it came to murder or attempted murder.

There were times when you failed society by not pursuing justice.

“Okay,” he said after a moment. “I’ll do my damnedest.”

“Keep the beeper,” Gage said, standing. “But I’m going to have to loosen the cordon more now that he’s probably had a chance to see how fast we responded. I’ll make it look like we think the threat is over.”

“Maybe it is,” Kelly said. But she didn’t look or sound as if she believed it.

“I doubt it,” Gage said frankly. “But I want him to think what happened tonight was our usual response to an emergency call, and that we think it was a random break-in and we’re not convinced anything more will happen. That perception will be enhanced by your moving over here. You can appear frightened, but we need to look as if we think nothing’s going to happen. Make him feel secure enough to try again.”

He paused. “It probably won’t happen tonight, although I suppose it could. It depends on whether he thinks you won’t be expecting another break-in so soon. He must figure you know someone’s after you, because you ran, and you accused your husband of trying to have you killed. But whether he suspects you know he’s here will have a huge impact on his decision making, and I have no idea whether he does or not. Just stay on your toes.”

At last everyone left, just as the advent of dawn was lightening the night a bit.

“I think we could both use some sleep,” Hank suggested.

Kelly nodded, still looking hollow. “Where do you want me to sleep?”

“With me, of course. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Nor did he want to. If there was one thing he had learned in the past few hours, it was that having her out of sight right now created a deep anxiety in him. He wasn’t volunteering for any more of that.

Later while Kelly slept deeply, he lay awake staring at a ceiling that brightened steadily, even though the curtains were drawn. He’d come up hard tonight against limitations he’d been refusing to accept for some time. Yeah, he could ignore the pain and do almost everything he needed to, and a lot of what he wanted to, but he couldn’t do anything at all when his hip just quit like that.

What if he failed her the way he’d failed Fran and Allan?

If he couldn’t protect her, what earthly use was he? Just another person taking up space and using up air, that’s all.

But even as he had that self-pitying thought, he kicked himself mentally. Disabled did not mean unable. There might be things he could no longer do, but choosing a metric like this would doom him to be one of those people he’d always loathed—the kind of people who sat around complaining about relatively little because they had a problem of some kind.

The odd thing was, the truly disabled people he’d met over the years had been the ones who usually complained least about everything. He’d decided after his accident to use them as an example and not let himself sink into the pits.

Okay, he’d launched himself and discovered that his hip was no longer able to do that. So he’d have to come up with other ways of achieving the same end…if he ever needed to do it again. God willing he wouldn’t.

As for the rest, he had to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t doing that badly. He could still be a cowboy when he felt like taking the work, he could still remodel houses, still indulge his passion for carpentry when he chose. He was far from crippled.

That word had stung, though he knew why Gage had used it. And Gage, who wasn’t a whole lot better off than he was, certainly hadn’t meant it the way it had struck him. He’d only meant that whoever was after Kelly would see it that way.

And that was a good thing, right?

He dozed finally, the way he had often dozed at the firehouse, filling in quiet moments with needed sleep, but a sleep light enough to wake at a single unfamiliar sound.

Kelly woke in the late morning tangled all around Hank. His presence had made it possible for her to sink deeper into sleep than she had in a while, and she felt refreshed.

When she opened her eyes, she saw his face inches away. He was sleeping, his breathing deep and steady. She didn’t want to disturb him, so she indulged herself in the opportunity to drink in every detail of his features. When it came to a man, that was something she hadn’t wanted to do in a very long time, and she felt a little silly for doing it. That was the kind of thing she’d done in high school. And briefly with Dean, but not since.

Hank was relaxed now, more relaxed than she’d seen him before, and she admired the strong lines of his face, the mouth that had given her so much pleasure. She longed to reach out and touch him. Right now he probably didn’t hurt, and that alone would have made her let him sleep forever.

Remembering how down he had been on himself earlier when he had failed to capture the man who was running from her house, she ached. She wished she could find a way to reassure him that it didn’t matter, not in any real sense. What mattered far more was the kind of man he was, all the countless things he did to make her feel better and safer. A lot of people could probably make a flying tackle, and a lot more probably couldn’t. But the world wasn’t exactly overflowing with people who would upend their lives for a stranger.

And even fewer, she was sure, who were such considerate lovers. Such incredible lovers. She realized that she didn’t have a huge sample set, but Dean had been a selfish lover. Maybe not as bad as some—how would she know?—but she knew enough to realize that Hank was pretty special.

Now, even after his self-disappointment last night he was prepared to put it all on the line again to keep her safe.

She had done nothing at all to deserve that from him. To earn it. It spoke eloquently to his character.

And she was going to miss him like hell. It was almost worth waiting here for a murderer to strike again just so she could spend these moments lying beside him.

Or maybe it was worth it. All of it. Everything that had brought her to this moment and this place.

Because her life would have been a whole lot poorer if she had never met Hank Jackson, and it would be immeasurably poorer when she left.

If only he had evinced a desire, a mere wish, for her to stay when this was over. But he hadn’t, not once. Nor could she imagine why he would even suggest it. He hadn’t exactly overwhelmed her with his description of this town, and she often got the feeling that he viewed her as a city girl and himself as a mere cowboy. As if they had nothing in common and never would.

She sighed, quietly she thought, but it was enough to make Hank’s eyes snap open.

“You okay?” he asked. He didn’t sound at all sleepy or groggy. Amazing.

“Sorry, I’m fine. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been sleeping with my ears open.”

She wanted to sink into his embrace, to make love, to pretend that everything was fine, the day glorious, and maybe even imagine the man beside her cared about her in ways beyond keeping her alive.

But that didn’t happen. He lifted his free arm, glanced at his watch.

“Time,” he said.

“Time for what?”

“Time to shower, to eat, to get ready.” He gave her a quick squeeze with one arm, then disentangled himself from her, leaving her feeling bereft.

“What’s the rush?” she asked almost irritably.

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not going to fall on my face this time.”

She snapped up into a sitting position. “Stop it, Hank. Just stop it.”

“Why? It’s true. I have to compensate. I’m not the guy I used to be.”

“Has it occurred to you that maybe you’re a better guy now?” She jumped out of bed, grabbing for her duffel, planning to shower and change.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he demanded. “I’m all busted up. I couldn’t make a single freaking tackle last night, something I used to be able to do without even thinking about it.”

“So?”

“So?”

“Yeah, so?” She faced him, angry and not even sure why, except that reality was screwing up things again, and she couldn’t stand to hear him put himself down. Angry because they should be making love like ordinary people instead of leaping out of bed because some killer wanted another swipe at her.

Hell, she was just angry.

“What did I miss?” he asked, apparently getting a little angry, too. “Some part of your personal mental conversation I’m not privy to? I screwed up last night. I’d be an idiot to ignore my limitations again. What’s your problem with that?”

“I hate to hear you put yourself down. You fell. Anyone could fall.”

“Not because their hip gave out.”

“Big deal. A million people could have had a knee give out. Or could have tripped on something. When did perfection become your personal standard for worth?”

He opened his mouth, but then snapped it closed. “Watch it,” he said quietly.

“Why? I’m beginning to wonder if the only thing you care about is making up for what happened to your friends. Well, if that’s what you need, Hank Jackson, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. I can take care of myself!”

She was almost out the door when the cruelty of what she had just said hit her. Instantly, she felt the blood drain from her head, and she swayed, grabbing the door frame. “Hank, I’m sorry.”

“Too late,” he said harshly. “You can take your pop psychology and shove it. If I made any mistake, it was thinking that I could actually help you out.”

Then he shoved through the door beside her and disappeared into the kitchen. He didn’t leave the house, but considering how he’d left her feeling, he might as well have.

She had thought she knew loneliness. But nothing in her life had prepared her for the loneliness Hank left in his wake.

He slammed pans around in the kitchen, only because he wasn’t the type to punch a hole in the wall, much as he felt like it.

Yeah, he felt like a failure after that missed tackle last night. Yeah, it had reminded him of Fran and Allan, although he knew perfectly well that the circumstances had been different. Hell, he’d been through enough therapy after that to have a thoroughly shrunken head. His hang-ups had all been hung out to dry, and, in the process, most had disappeared. He still grieved, he still felt bad, and survivor guilt might dog him forever, but he wasn’t walking around looking for a bandage to put on the wound anymore.

And for her to accuse him of that made him madder than a hornet. All he was doing was recognizing his physical limitations. That was realistic, not neurotic.

When he had banged the pots enough to realize that it wasn’t giving him any more satisfaction, he set about making a hearty meal. If there was one thing he knew from his years as a firefighter, it was that you couldn’t afford to let your energy level ebb. Not ever. And if that meant eating when you were angry, or upset, or just not hungry, sometimes you had to do it, because that call would come and running out without sufficient fuel in your system made you a whole lot less effective.

He made home fries from scratch. He made a mound of scrambled eggs seasoned with green pepper and onions, he pulled a gallon of orange juice from the refrigerator. It cast him back to his days at the firehouse, and gradually his mood improved. He knew he’d made more food than the two of them could possibly eat, but he didn’t care. Cooking for a horde, even one that wasn’t there, had always put him in a better frame of mind.

“That’s a lot of food,” Kelly said quietly.

He turned from the table to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, her hair still damp, her duffel over her shoulder.

“You’re not leaving,” he said.

“I should. I said something unforgivable.”

“We’re on edge. We may say other things before this is over.”

“I’m still sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

He regarded her, at once sad and weary. “The only question I have is this: Did you believe it? Do you believe it?”

“No.” She shook her head, and a tear rolled down her cheek, making him feel like an ogre. “I was angry. I’m just so angry about this mess. My whole life is crumbling because my ex wants me dead, and I missed the chance to end it last night because the guy he sent after me evidently has a brain. So now I don’t know how long it will be, or how much more of this…” Her voice broke. “And I hate to hear you put yourself down. When I said that…I was just trying to say you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, and that was the most extreme thing that popped into my head so you’d stop.”

He could see that, he supposed. She probably read his honest assessment of his limitations as self-pity, and she’d chose something cutting to say to shake him out of it. And being angry…well, he knew all about that, he supposed. He could still wince when he remembered some of the things he’d said in anger after the building collapse. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s forget it. And you have to eat. Want to or not, it’s important. This wouldn’t be a good time to run out of energy.”

“No.” But she still didn’t move.

“Dammit, Kelly, you’re not leaving. If you do, I’m going to be right on your heels. So just drop that dang bag and get in here and eat before it all turns cold.”

The duffel slid slowly to the floor, and looking almost like a chastised kid, she came to sit at the table. He started heaping food on her plate. “Eat as much as you can. I won’t make you clean your plate.”

Then he filled his own and sat facing her. He waited until she picked up her fork and speared a potato.

“I’ll tell you something,” he said after a moment. “I had a good year of therapy after the accident. I don’t have a whole lot of hang-ups left. I sure as hell have nothing to prove. I just want to keep you safe. And to do that, I have to recognize my limitations.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize again. You don’t need to do it, and I don’t need to hear it. We all say things we regret later, and half the time we don’t even know why we said them. You didn’t commit a mortal sin, and I’m over it, okay?”

“Okay.” She ate another potato.

“In fact,” he said a little while later, “I’m actually glad you got mad at me.”

Her head jerked up and she stared at him from wide blue eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. Because if there’s one thing that’s clear to me now, it’s that Dean didn’t cow you. Not one little bit.”

At that, a tiny smile crept into the corners of her mouth, lifting them.

He felt his own heart lift at the sight. More than it should have. Warning bells tried to sound in his head, telling him he was getting too deeply involved, but he ignored them.

Life would deal the deck as life chose. If there was one thing he’d finally learned, it was that very little was controllable. The good and the bad just happened. And when it came to people, there was no hedge against the pain. It either happened or it didn’t.

“I need to go back to my place,” Kelly said that evening. They’d spent what was left of the afternoon playing cards, holding hands and gazing into one another’s eyes a little more than they probably should have. The smoke of desire had been wafting around them the whole time, but evidently neither of them wanted to give in to it just then. Maybe because they were both too tense, and neither of them could fully relax.

Hank looked at her. “Why?”

“Because he won’t come after me when he thinks someone else is around.”

“Gage thinks he’ll count me out.”

“I don’t count you out. Why should he?”

He could think of plenty of reasons, including his falling flat on his face last night. But he decided not to argue, even though his stomach had just done a flip, and her decision was about to give him an acute anxiety attack.

“I need this to be over,” she said again. “I need it to be done. I can’t keep this up. So I’m going back. I’m giving him his chance. And this time I won’t be waiting in the bedroom.”

“Look,” he said, “he already suspects something because of the wind chimes and the quick police response. There’s no reason to think he’ll go back there now. He’s more likely to come here.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because if I were him I’d assume you heard him break in, that you called 9-1-1, and there was a fast response because this is a small town. And if you stay here tonight, he’s likely to think your guard is completely down because you’re not alone.”

He watched her think about that, glad that she was thinking it through, not arguing from impulse.

“This is getting beyond enough,” she said finally. “I’ll never be rid of him unless we catch him. But you can’t follow me everywhere any more than a cop can. We’ve got to give him an opening and hope he takes it.”

This whole situation began to strike him as impossible, but he didn’t say that out loud. It would serve no purpose.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll walk you home later. Much later. I’ll leave you on the front porch. And then I’ll head out like I’m going to take a walk. I’ll look as lame as I can manage.”

She surprised him with a little laugh. “Like a bird pretending to have a broken wing to protect her nest.”

“It works for birds.” He responded with a smile of his own, even though he was feeling sicker by the minute at the risk she was proposing. But she was right. They had to give the guy his opportunity, or live like this indefinitely.

“Just don’t lock your doors,” he said. “If I have to fumble with a key, last night is going to look like a ballet.”

She laughed genuinely then, and the sound lifted his heart. “I guess you’d better let Gage know or he’ll come to the wrong house when I hit the beeper.”

“And just so you know, I’m not going to be that far away. It’s going to look like I’m out for a long walk—maybe to Mahoney’s bar—but I’ll be skulking in backyards as long as I don’t get arrested.” His tone brooked no argument.

Once again he had to hand it to her for guts. He just didn’t know if his own gut could stand it.

It was past eleven when they stood on her porch. The night had quieted down—few folks were stirring. They had planned this conversation, and he hoped it sounded natural.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to Mahoney’s with me?” he asked, just loudly enough to ensure that his voice carried.

“Sorry, Hank, I’m exhausted from last night. I just need to sleep. But thanks anyway.”

“Sure.”

He bent to kiss her lightly, murmuring for her to be careful, then hobbled down the steps, trying to make it look as if he’d hurt himself more last night.

“Take your truck,” she called after him.

“Nah. I need to work out the kinks. The walk will do me good.” He gave a little wave and headed down the street.

It all looked perfectly natural, including his exaggerated limp. Difficult though it was not to look back, he kept walking, but his neck prickled with the certainty that someone was watching.

He rounded the corner at last, walked halfway down the block, then started his cut back through neighbors’ yards, taking care not to pass anywhere near the Calvins’ yard where their dog would start barking.

But the guy had to have figured out about the dog, too, in his recon. So he’d be coming from the other direction, right?

So Hank hoped. As soon as he hit the shadows, he slowed down and moved with every bit of stealth he could muster. It wouldn’t do to scare the guy off again.

Kelly stood on the porch for a while, watching Hank walk away, then pretending to take in the night’s quiet. Inside, she was a taut bundle of nerves, but she wanted to do everything possible to make it look as if she believed last night had just been a random break-in. There was no reason on earth for the guy to think she knew he had followed her. Not with the Miami PD claiming his first attack had been a mugging. Not when she’d been on the run for weeks.

She was betting her life tonight that he believed she felt reasonably safe.

The thought caused a chill to run through her, but she suppressed the shiver. It was getting cold out here, though. In Miami, the water kept the difference between day and night temperatures minimal. Here, when the sun went down, there was little to hang onto the day’s heat.

Finally, deciding she had looked relaxed enough, or at least she had done so as long as she possibly could, she went inside.

She flipped on a few lights, trying to act as she would any evening. A stop in the kitchen for water, a quick trip to the bathroom. Then, switching off lights behind her, she went to the bedroom, where she bunched up pillows under the covers. The hammer was still there, lying on the floor. She picked it up and put it on the bed. Watching the clock, she forced herself to wait twenty minutes before she turned off the light as if she were going to sleep.

It was the quietest night yet here. She worried that that might put him off.

But almost in answer to her thoughts, she heard a breeze kick up. The house creaked a little, the leaves outside rustled. Good.

And once again she took up her station in the corner near the door. He would expect her to be in bed. The element of surprise would help her.

She told herself every positive thing she could think of, trying to hold off the tension and anxiety as long as possible. He’d wait a while, until he felt reasonably certain that she was asleep. But this time he would know to avoid the wind chimes.

Front door, she decided. It was the only way for him to come in without walking through the kitchen.

The only way that would minimize the sounds the chimes made.

God, time crept by.

Then she heard it. The unmistakable tinkle of the wind chimes. Faint. Barely audible. She nearly held her breath, hoping that this time he wouldn’t be scared off. Man, he must be as tired of this cat-and-mouse game as she was.

Then nothing. Absolute silence except for the sighing of the breeze in the trees. He was waiting, she was sure. Waiting to see if there was any reaction to the chimes.

Maybe they hadn’t been what scared him off last night. Maybe something else had made him take flight. Maybe he’d heard her move in her bedroom. Because she had. She remembered standing up, getting ready. Or maybe he’d heard Hank come barreling out of his house.

Thinking about it now, she was sure that must have been it, and not the chimes at all. They were so quiet. But when she’d heard them last night, she’d pressed the beeper and Hank had come running out…and she suspected he hadn’t been trying to be quiet.

Tonight there would be no sound from Hank’s house. No sound of a door opening, no sound of hurried, limping footsteps on his back stoop. No other warning but the wind chimes.

The quiet minutes dragged. She fingered the beeper but refused to push it yet. She had to be sure because if he escaped again she was almost certain he wouldn’t try once more here. No, he’d wait for a moment when she was out somewhere by herself, and sooner or later she was going to have to walk to the store or something. Because she couldn’t stay locked in forever, and Hank couldn’t possibly be there every moment.

So it had to be tonight.

Twenty minutes passed. She had just about made up her mind that she’d imagined the sounds when she heard a quiet, creeping step outside. He was moving through the house cautiously, carefully, as silently as he could.

At least he probably didn’t have a gun, she told herself. A gunshot would wake the whole neighborhood. A shooting death would open inquiries that would stretch all the way back to Miami once her identity was known because they would check into her past. So what did he plan to do?

Thoughts of chloroform filled her mind. He could knock her out and then suffocate her. But no, if he wanted this to look as if it had just been a simple break-in gone awry, it would be better if he hit her with something. Beat her to death.

She gripped the hammer more tightly and felt for the beeper.

The faintest of crackles, right outside her door. Then it began to swing inward. She pressed the beeper button.

Hank felt the beeper go off in his pocket. He was three houses down now, although at that moment it looked like he was miles away. And somehow in his gut he knew Kelly had waited until the last minute.

He took off with a speed he’d almost forgotten he had, giving no thought to the uneven ground and the chance of getting hurt. He had to reach Kelly. And considering that the cops had loosened their cordon, he had to get there fast.

It was hard to wait, but Kelly didn’t want to move before the guy had come fully into the room. His gaze would be focused on the bed, where she’d stuffed pillows under the covers. He wouldn’t be expecting her to be hiding behind the door.

But he was so quiet she had to hold her breath for fear that he might hear her. Only the rustling of the trees outside, the occasional scrape of a limb across the roof, could possibly mask any sound she made, and she couldn’t count on it, not when it was intermittent.

The door opened very slowly. More caution. It seemed to inch its way, as if he were prepared to stop moving if it made the least creak.

Holding the hammer high, she waited, schooling herself to a patience she had never thought she had, even as the rack of tension wound her nerves tighter and tighter until action seemed the only escape available.

As soon as he was inside. Wait. Just as soon as he was fully inside the room.

One step and she’d be able to swing. Just one step would bring her to him. The room was so dark she couldn’t tell if he held any kind of a weapon. She squinted, trying to see his hands, unable to make out anything.

He finally crept past the partly open door. One more step, she told herself. Just one. The smell of his cologne reached her and she nearly gagged.

He hesitated and she held her breath, willing even her racing heart to settle down. It seemed so loud in her own ears now, she was sure he would hear it.

But he didn’t turn her way. He just waited. Seconds stretched to a minute. Then, finally, another step into the room.

She took her step, hammer high.

Then, to her shock, she swung quickly and he spun, grabbing her arm in a viselike grip.

Hank was sure he could have made better time in a three-legged race. The sensation did not amuse him, even though he knew it was born of his desperation to get to Kelly.

Her plan had worked. By returning to her home, she had convinced the guy that everyone thought it was just a break-in, so he was willing to try again tonight. And Hank wasn’t the least bit happy about it.

Every damaged muscle, bone and tendon in his body shrieked with agony, but he ignored the pain, focused on one goal only. He had to get to Kelly before that guy hurt her.

He’d have walked naked into the middle of a raging forest fire at that moment, just to get to Kelly. The protests of his body were paltry by comparison.

One house. Two houses. One more to go. God, he hoped she hadn’t locked the doors.

His hip tried to collapse. Somehow, through sheer force of will, he overrode the weakness. Where the hell were the cops? They’d arrived faster last night.

Just a few more steps to her porch. Just a few more…

With her arm caught, the hammer was useless. Almost before she could try to fight loose, a fist punched her in the stomach. She lost her breath as pain blossomed, and she felt her knees giving way.

No! No! Fighting back pain, trying desperately to catch her breath, the world spinning, she felt another blow, a chop to the shoulder of the arm that held the hammer.

Her nerves went instantly numb. With something close to desperation and despair, she heard the hammer fall to the floor with a thud.

A moment later, he had spun her around, locking his arm around her neck, tightening it until it hurt.

At last she sucked in a breath of air, a painful breath. Adrenaline kicked even higher, forcing the cobwebs of shock and despair from her brain.

A cold thought snaked into her head. No matter what the outcome, she wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

Some remembered words from her self-defense class surfaced. She staggered a little, as if she were completely unsteady, trying to find out where his feet were.

Much to her relief, even though he tightened his arm around her throat, she felt one of his feet.

Then he punched her in the side of the head. For an instant the world flashed bright, and her ears started ringing. Everything seemed to go off-kilter.

Foot. Remember the foot.

Gathering everything she had left, she picked up her leg and brought her heel down on the top of his foot. Then, just a moment later, she collapsed, hanging her whole weight from his arm.

The combination was too much for him. He released her with a sharp groan, and she tumbled to the floor.

Dizzy, with an unending bell seeming to clang in her head, she rolled and felt for the damn hammer. She had to find it. Had to.

Except her fingers found nothing except a wooden floor.

And now her attacker was angry. Without warning, he kicked her. Maybe he missed his mark because a little higher and he would have done a lot of damage. Instead, he caught her right in the hip.

Pain shot through her like a fountain of fire, but she ignored it other than crying out. If he kicked her head next…

The thought added to her desperation. She crab-crawled away from his feet, arms out, seeking that hammer.

A foot landed on one of her hands, and she couldn’t smother a scream as bones ground together.

Anger rose to join the fury of fear and she managed to roll, just a bit, just enough. She could see his shadow, and the instant she could, she pinwheeled her hips, took aim and kicked with all her remaining might at his knee.

He staggered, a shocked cry of pain escaping him. The pressure on her hand vanished.

She didn’t even try to figure out if she could still move her fingers. She still had another hand, and dammit there was a hammer nearby. And while he tried to steady himself, she crawled as best she could, feeling for it.

For the first time in her life, she was absolutely certain that she was about to commit murder.

Hank heard the thuds, heard the cries as he barreled through the back door. Where the hell were the cops? Not caring if he was seen, considering what it sounded like was happening, he flicked on lights as he went, grabbed a two-by-four about two feet long from the living room floor as he passed through, and headed to Kelly’s bedroom.

The door was open and he could see Kelly on the floor, her assailant towering over her. Running as fast as he could with that damn limp, he picked up speed somehow when he saw the guy was about to kick her.

He burst into the room, causing a moment of distraction. The assailant looked at him, an expression of shock on his face.

And Kelly, far from being down and out, took that moment to swing the hammer at the guy’s leg.

And then, reprising the night before, but in much better form, Hank tackled him.

They hit the floor together, Hank’s arms around his knees. He hung on tight, not wanting to give the guy a chance to get up.

“Run, Kelly. Get out of here.”

But she apparently had other ideas.

Hank watched with horror the way she staggered as she reached her feet, the way she shook her head as if confused while he hung on to the wildly struggling assailant. But there was one thing she wasn’t at all confused about.

She took a couple of unsteady steps, then seemed to gather strength. And the next thing Hank knew, she was sitting on the guy’s back and pummeling him with all her strength, as if she wouldn’t be happy until he looked like pudding.

And finally, finally, a familiar voice called, “Sheriff! Drop your weapons!”

Thank God, Hank thought. Thank God.