“All right then, we’ll get your statements first thing in the morning. Just take care of that injury.”
Reluctantly, I let go of his strong arm and climbed back in the car. As we drove away, I watched the policemen gathering at the entrance to Justyn’s building. I hoped this would truly mark the end of the nightmare he’d created.
HAVING HAD ALL the splinters picked from my leg and my lacerations cleansed and bandaged, I was finally alone in my house, overcome with exhaustion and relief. I made myself a cup of chamomile tea and took it with me into the bath, which I had filled with honeysuckle-scented bubbles. Having wrapped my knee in waterproof bandages, I soaked in the aromatic froth, musing over the day’s events. Issues had been resolved. Trey had decided to go to college. And Justyn’s violence had been stopped once and for all. He was off the streets and in custody.
I hoped for Makayla’s sake that she’d merely knocked him unconscious. Makayla didn’t have a mean bone in her body and would feel terrible if he died, despite the fact that he was a murderer. I wished we had stayed to see Sean and his men carting Justyn off, so that I’d know for certain that she hadn’t killed him.
An unwelcome thought penetrated my relief. What if he’d regained consciousness while Makayla and I were waiting in the car? What if he’d come to and run away through a rear exit? What if…?
I dunked my head underwater to drown out those thoughts. Justyn was apprehended. It was over.
A few minutes later, I was wearing my soft flannel Hello Kitty pajamas that Trey had given me last Christmas. Feeling cozy and warm and ready to tuck into bed with a book, I walked around the house to make sure I’d locked the doors and windows.
After inspecting the window above the kitchen sink, I poured myself a glass of water and drank thirstily, draining the glass. As I brought it down, my breath caught in my throat. Staring at me through the glass was a face; a dark, shadowy face with angry eyes.
Justyn had come for me!
Chapter 16
BUT IT WASN’T JUSTYN.
He’d been haunting my dreams since Melissa’s murder, so naturally I assumed that the twisted, hateful face on the other side of the glass belonged to him, but it didn’t.
It was hardly any comfort that I wasn’t staring at a killer, because the intruder looked furious and desperate enough to commit his own act of unspeakable violence.
“Jasper!” I shouted, refusing to let the co-op leader see how much he’d scared me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I have no idea whether he heard me or not, but his eyes flashed with a cold light and then he disappeared from view. My courage wavered and I limped into the living room and grabbed the fireplace poker. With my free hand, I dialed 911 and reported my emergency as quickly as possible.
The operator asked me to stay on the line, so I dropped the phone into the pocket of my robe and turned off the lamp. The darkness instantly became heavy, weighed down by my fear. Every noise seemed amplified. My shallow exhalations, the whisper of my slippers on the floorboards, and the rustle of the hem of my pajama bottoms as I moved were far too loud.
I nearly screamed when I saw a long shadow fall across my front porch. And when I heard the rattle of the doorknob, I had to bite down on my fist to keep the terror in check. My door was locked, but if Jasper was determined to get into the house, he only had to smash the pane, reach in through the hole in the glass, and unlock the dead bolt.
Dozens of scenarios crowded my head. I could stand here, the iron poker raised over my shoulder, and wait for Jasper to walk into the room. Swinging with all my might, it was possible that I’d knock him out. Then again, I might not. If I injured Jasper without rendering him unconscious, the pain could serve as a catalyst, fueling his rage to the point where he would lash out, attacking me until his fury was spent.
Hide! a part of me silently shrieked, but I instantly rebelled against that notion. I wasn’t about to crawl under the bed and cower. This was my house.
There was a scratching noise against the wood of my front door, and I pictured Jasper picking the lock. The image made me livid. How dare this drug-dealing pseudo-hippie try to break in? I refused to become another crime statistic. In fact, I planned to turn the tables on this creep.
As quietly as possible, I hurried through the living room and into the kitchen. After grabbing a coat from the hook on the back of the door, I pulled out the Eat, Sleep, Read key chain from a drawer and headed outside.