“You make it sound like a bad thing.”
“It is. And it isn’t. But I know I don’t want to spend any more time without you.” She smoothed her hands on her jeans, her bravado waning. “That’s if you still want me.”
Finally, a slow smile curled the edges of his lips and he took a step toward her and pulled her into his embrace. For a long moment, they just stood there holding each other. “What the hell took you so long?” he breathed into her hair.
“I’m slow. But I do figure things out eventually.”
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Mary Burton’s next romantic-suspense thriller,
I’LL NEVER LET YOU GO,
coming in November 2015!
January 25, Midnight
Four Years Ago
Nashville, Tennessee
Leah never slept deeply. Her brain, always on alert, skimmed just below consciousness, waiting for him to return. Not a matter of if he’d strike. A matter of when.
When floorboards creaked and a cold wind whispered in the shifting shadows of her first-floor apartment, Leah bolted up in bed. Gripping the sheets, heart slamming, she reached for her phone on the nightstand and waited, her thumb poised over the emergency 9-1-1 speed dial. Seconds passed. Was this another false alarm? Another nightmare? Or had her estranged husband finally come to kill her as he’d promised?
Adrenaline surged and rushed through sinew and bone, pricking the underside of her skin as she listened and waited.
The temptation to call the cops pulled, beckoned, screamed. But she’d cried wolf too often. Too many false alarms had been sounded. The last annoyed officer, his voice rough with frustration, had told her to count to ten before she dialed again.
“One. Two. Three.” Her breathing quick and shallow, she listened, expecting footsteps, but hearing only silence and the thud, thud, thud of her heart.
God, she was so tired. She needed sleep. Freedom. Peace. She needed her life back.
During the day, Philip was always there, standing and watching. He sent her flowers. Called her cell at all hours. Left scrawled messages under her windshield wipers. You can’t escape. I own you. Months of his relentless pursuit had stretched frayed nerves to breaking. During the day she jumped at every creak, bump, and footfall and at night, terrors jerked her from sleep, leaving her fully awake, tension fisting in her chest and shallow breathing chasing a racing heart.
Holding her breath, she listened as she stared at her locked bedroom door. Again, she heard nothing save for the hum of the heater.
“Four. Five. Six.”
She scrambled for a logical reason to explain this latest scare. It was Tuesday. That meant her roommate, Greta, was working the late shift at the bar. Greta closed on Tuesdays. How many times had Leah awoken, screaming on a Tuesday night when Greta had returned home late? Poor normal Greta, grad student and bartender, now moved slowly and quietly on Tuesday nights, fearful that innocent moves would send her roommate into hysterics.
Leah glanced at the clock. Midnight. Too early for Greta. She listened, heartbeat still racing. No more sounds. Had this been another dream? Another false alarm? Yes. Maybe. “Seven. Eight. Nine.”
Slowly, she lowered back down to her pillow, clutching the phone to her chest, eyes wide open, staring at the swath of shadows slicing across the ceiling. Breathe in. Breathe out.
The day she’d finally fled her marriage had begun as it always did. Fights, a barrage of questions, her promising to come home as soon as she got off work. But that morning, she’d been at her desk when a coworker had asked her about the bruise on her arm. She’d lied, of course, but this time, the words hadn’t tumbled freely, but had soured on her tongue. Sickened, she’d asked for the afternoon off. No matter how much she’d hoped, his contrition always faded and his temper flared, quick and hot, scorching I’m sorry to ash.
She had no plan when she’d returned to their apartment and begun cramming clothes into three green trash bags. Take what you need. The basics. The words had hummed in her head as her hands trembled.
When she’d twisted off her wedding band and laid it on the kitchen counter, it was exactly three o’clock in the afternoon, just thirty minutes before his shift ended. She’d dragged the bags into the hallway and when the apartment door slammed behind her, she’d actually felt free. It’s over. It’s over.
But it wasn’t over.
Philip had called her cell seconds after five that same day. Guilt had prompted her to take that first call as she’d sat in the shabby motel room, surrounded by her life in trash bags. He’d begged her to return. I love you. I love you. It will never happen again.
Of course, he was sorry. He was always sorry.
He’d sent flowers. Called. Waited outside her office. No matter where she looked, he was there. Come back to me. God, I love you so much.
Floorboards creaked in her closet, and she bolted back up, clutching her hand to her throat, the pulse drumming under her fingertips. This time, logic couldn’t silence the alarm bells, which clanged louder and louder until reason scurried away like a frightened mouse. The last time she’d seen Philip, he’d been clutching the restraining order, furious. No piece of paper will separate us!
Her fingers poised over the 9-1-1 direct-dial button, her gaze scanned the darkness. At first glance, nothing was out of place. Her door was closed. Locked.
And then, the faint flutter of movement in the shadows inside her closet. Another cold breeze from a half-open window brushed her skin like a wraith.
“Hello, Leah.” Philip’s deep voice sounded amused as he stepped out of her closet.