It wasn’t a matter of if, but when.
Ruth’s first priority had always been keeping her daughter safe. Now, with the knowledge that there was a kidnapper and a killer out there, Ruth had become hypervigilant. She would be Penny’s shadow and protector until this sociopath was found.
A breeze passed through the upstairs, stirring Ruth’s nightgown around her bare legs. The cool wind felt good after the evening thunderstorm that had broken the three-day heat wave. She blew her daughter a silent kiss and trod down the stairs barefoot to close and lock the windows for the night. As she pulled down the dining room window, something moved outside, stirring the branches of the tall yew that bordered the neighbor’s fence.
She froze, listening as she stared into the darkness. An animal? When she was a kid, her mother had nurtured a hedge of flowering arborvitae that was visited by a family of raccoons at night. Shining the beam of a flashlight on their gleaming eyes, she had felt intrigued and frightened at the same time. Nonetheless, she would check the hedge in the morning to make sure that nothing was nesting near her house.
She was closing the living room windows when she heard a buzzing sound from the kitchen. Her cell phone was ringing on the kitchen table, and it was a call from the hotline.
With a deep breath, she tried to muster a calm, professional tone as she answered. “This is the Sexual Assault Support Line,” she said. “My name is Ruth. How can I help you?”
No one answered.
She kept the phone pressed to her ear as she closed the kitchen window and walked back toward the front of the house.
“Hello?” she said, stepping out to the screened-in porch. The cool air brought goose bumps to her skin, and the cement floor felt gritty underfoot as she padded to the front door, double-checking the lock. Maybe that was silly, as a home invader could simply slice through one of the screens, but checking the locks and windows was one of her nightly rituals.
She moved quickly, frowning at the thick cedar trees across the street. Their branches seemed to be moving, too. Was it the wind?
There was still no answer on the line, but she sensed a presence.
She scurried back into the house, throwing the bolt on the main door with a sigh of relief. “I can hear that you’re there,” she said. “And I can’t help you unless you talk to me.”
Silence prevailed as she went to the front window of the house, pulled the window down and turned the lock. Staring out at the cedars, she saw the flimsy branches flicker and got the distinct impression that someone was there. When she finished with this call, she might want to call the police and report a trespasser, as the park was supposed to close at dark.
Then came a whispering whoosh—a heavy breath. Not the sound of a desperate woman, it had the heavy timbre of a male groan.
“Who is this?” she asked crisply.
Another raspy breath, more like a satisfied sigh. Some asshole enjoying her fear.
Then came a deep, low chuckle as, before her eyes, the cedars stirred and a dark figure appeared between the bushes.
Her breath caught in her throat as fear surged through her, ice water in her veins.
“I’m watching you, darlin’,” he ground out in a sickeningly smooth voice as he stepped into the street. “You’ve grown into quite a woman since I had you last. I bet you’ve learned how to satisfy a man. Why don’t you come on out and let me give you a good pounding?”
Her knees trembled as he stepped closer.
“You know I’m gonna get you.”
Chapter 18
Panic surged through her as he began to cross the street.
No, no, no! How did he find her?
Feeling naked and vulnerable in the window, Ruth wrenched off the ties of the lace curtains, fumbled to cover the glass, and then sprinted up the stairs to her daughter’s room.
Thank God, Penny was undisturbed, still asleep. She closed and locked the window, then ducked into the hall and struggled to dial 911 with shaking hands.
“Prairie Creek Dispatch,” said a female voice. “What’s the emergency?”
“Someone’s outside. Someone . . .” Ruth tried to control the shrill panic in her voice. “He was threatening me.”
“Your location?”
Ruth gave her name and address.
“Is he armed?”
“I—I don’t know. I didn’t see a gun.”
“Is he trying to break in?”
“No . . . I don’t think so, but he could.”
“Stay on the line with me, ma’am, okay? I’m sending a car over.”
“I will.”
As she waited for Naomi to dispatch a deputy, Ruth pulled on a robe and closed the rest of the upstairs windows. In less than ten minutes, a Jeep from the Sheriff’s Department pulled up quietly on the street outside. No lights or sirens, thank God. So grateful she wanted to cry, Ruth thanked the dispatcher and hung up. Then she unlocked the front door and stepped onto the screened-in porch.
The fit officer who jogged up the porch steps turned out to be the sheriff himself. With dark hair and a medium build, Sam Featherstone seemed young to be a sheriff, though his calm manner made up for lack of experience. “You called about an intruder?”
“He was in the trees over there, by the park.” Ruth pointed to the park across the street and explained that the stranger had called her and made threatening remarks as he moved toward the house.
“So it’s someone who knows you? He had your phone number?”
She explained that the man had called the hotline. “It had to be someone who knows I manage those calls.”
“Can you describe him?” Featherstone asked.
“It was too dark. I only saw a profile emerging from the cedars.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking up and down the street. “We’ll take a look around at the park and check the yard.”
She thanked the sheriff, hugging herself against the cool night. Watching from the doorway as he clicked on a high-powered flashlight and began to check the bushes and shrubs, she realized the threat was long gone. The man would have been crazy to stick around once the sheriff’s Jeep pulled up.
*
Hugging a mug of coffee, Ruth sat with her feet propped up on the sill of her bedroom window and stared at the glorious gold and orange of the sunrise. She had slid the big red chair around to face the window, not wanting to take her eyes off the tall, dark cedars.
On watch. On alert.
She had changed into terry-cloth shorts and an oversized Santa Barbara sweatshirt, just in case she saw something that sent her running out to the street. Which didn’t make sense at all, as she would not leave her daughter alone in the house to run out and make herself a target. But sleep deprivation was wearing away at her logic.
Now, looking ahead at the Fourth of July weekend, she realized she needed a plan, a way to safely get her daughter through the next few hours and days without. . .
Without Penny knowing that a predator was watching her mom.