Despite her turbulent thoughts, her lids grew heavy.
Outside, she heard the distant rattle of wheels on a garbage can as it rolled toward the curb, and it jarred her from her state of semiconsciousness. Damn.
Tomorrow was garbage day. They wouldn’t pick up again for another two days. Unless she wanted her trash overflowing onto her kitchen floor by tomorrow evening, she needed to take it outside now. She doubted she would be awake at five in the morning for pickup. Definitely not. Tomorrow she was sleeping late.
Flinging back the covers, she hurried downstairs and pulled the garbage bag out of the can.
Opening her front door, she was careful not to drag the bag over the concrete. The last thing she wanted to be doing at midnight was picking up smelly garbage.
The rest of her neighbors had remembered to set out their trash, including North. Garbage lined the curb up and down the length of her street. The night was quiet. Various porch lights glowed in the darkness. Two houses down, the little boy had forgotten to bring in his bike. It lay on its side in the driveway. Hopefully it would still be there in the morning. Or maybe his mother would remember to bring it in.
She deposited her trash at the curb and then turned to go back inside. Yawning, she scratched her elbow as she shuffled back to her house. A car door slammed shut. She glanced over her shoulder, noticing a man getting out of a truck parked across the street from her house. There wasn’t usually a truck parked there. The house had a garage and the lady who lived there always parked inside it.
The driver of the truck started walking toward her house. It almost looked like he was walking toward her. She hesitated, her feet dragging to a halt. He was walking toward her.
She squinted, trying to get a better look at him. His face was in shadow, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen him before. His lanky form ate up the distance between them with purposeful strides.
She backed up several steps, unease filling her. “Hello?” Sweet Hill wasn’t exactly a mecca of crime, but it was late and a man she didn’t know was coming at her in the middle of the night.
“Hello, bitch,” he greeted in turn.
The profanity, the slur, wasn’t actually the thing that panicked her. It was the way he said it. The way he spoke . . . the absolute rage shaking his voice that clued her in to his identity. She knew his voice. This was the same guy that called her on the phone at work the other day.
Whirling around, she sprinted for her door.
She wasn’t quick enough. She had her hand on the doorknob and was pulling it open when he came behind her. He grabbed her shoulder, forcing her around.
In the glow of her porch light, his features were no longer hidden. His narrow face was in perfect view. She didn’t only know his voice. She knew him. She’d seen this man before. He was Noah Grimes’s father. This was the man that went crazy in the courthouse the other week.
She opened her mouth to speak, but his hand shot out to wrap around her throat and she gasped. It was the last bit of air she was able to draw through her lips as hard fingers dug like knives into her.
“You’re up late. Having trouble sleeping, you child-stealing bitch?” His eyes were like ice. Cold and furious.
Her lips worked, trying to form words. Speech was impossible. Choked, gurgling sounds spilled from her lips. She brought her hands up to claw at his hand around her throat. It did no good. She used her nails, scratching and digging at his flesh.
Oh my God. This wasn’t happening. She was becoming a Dateline episode. She could imagine it now. The headline flashed through her mind.
Woman Strangled to Death on Her Front Porch.
No. It would not happen. Her life would not end like that.
She let go of his hands on her throat. Giving up that battle, she attacked his face, sinking her nails deep into his gaunt cheeks.
Grimes released her throat with a curse. She fell back, colliding with her door and sliding down. She struggled to rise to her feet, but he was back on her, his hands grabbing, bruising.
“Mr. Grimes! Stop! Please!”
“You didn’t think I would forget you, did you? You stole my boy!”
“I understand your distress, but the court—”
“Distress? You understand my distress?” Spit flew from his lips. He hauled her closer, his hard hands digging into her arms, crushing and painful. “You can’t talk your way out of this. I see what you really are. A cold vicious bitch who likes to destroy happy families.”
All attempts at diplomacy flew out the window. He was delusional. “Happy families? Your family was not happy or even a family.”
His eyes flared. He slapped her and gave her a shake.