as the voice demanded answers, Cassidy speculated about whom she was talking with and why he was acting as if she’d done something illegal. “I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number.”
Quickly she hung up the phone and then tossed the paper into her purse. She wouldn’t return to give it to Jake, but maybe she’d mail it. Then she remembered how he’d treated her. Maybe she wouldn’t bother.
Cassidy drove into Crescent Cove along sunny palm-lined streets, and slowly the tension left her shoulders. Her grip on the steering wheel eased. Her hometown usually had a relaxing effect on her. In Crescent Cove, the neighbors still knew one another and waved as Cassidy drove by. The kid next door mowed the lawn and children played in the yards and laughed on swing sets. If the state hadn’t been undergoing a drought and the county hadn’t been under water restrictions, the kids would be running under sprinklers. Instead, they made do with bikes and inline skates.
Her own lawn was turning brown, but tomorrow was her morning to water. Cassidy used the automatic opener and pulled in to her two-car garage, then closed the door behind her. Glad to be home in the house she’d inherited from her father, along with his small-town law practice, Cassidy opened the door that led into the kitchen she loved. The oak table she’d found at the flea market last month still needed another coat of varnish, but she was pleased by the effect it made under the curtains decorated with daisies.
A trash can lay on its side.
Cassidy straightened the can with a frown. Had another duck flown down the chimney? Cautiously she headed into the den and set her purse on the table. The morning sun usually shone brightly through the window, but she must have forgotten to open the curtains.
After her father died, she’d redecorated, painting the plastered walls a yellow that complemented the gleaming parquet floors. She’d bought colorful seascapes by local artists and added a homey touch to the couch with hand-embroidered pillows. Cassidy spoiled herself by buying fresh flowers every week. She’d picked sprigs of orange blossoms off her citrus tree out back, and the scents mingled in a flowery bouquet. She sniffed appreciatively and caught a whiff of smoke. With the drought conditions, everyone feared fires.
But this smelled like cigarette smoke.
The hair on the back of Cassidy’s neck stirred. Had someone been in the house? The next thought felt like a punch to her stomach. Suppose she wasn’t alone.
Cassidy didn’t hesitate. She whirled on her heel to head back toward the kitchen.
The curtain in the den moved. Was someone behind it? Or had a breeze caught it, flickering ominous shadows across the wood floor?
Cassidy changed direction. Heard a footstep that wasn’t hers. A thud.
Heart pumping, she raced down the hall toward the front door. Lost time twisting the dead bolt. Flung open the door.
A hand clamped down on her shoulder.
Chapter Two
Cassidy screamed.
Before she could turn around, she glimpsed a gloved hand as the intruder slid an arm around her neck, yanked her back to his chest, placed a knife to her throat, slammed the front door. The blade bit skin, and the sting convinced Cassidy the man meant business. She held perfectly still, so frightened she could barely make her knees stiffen enough to hold her upright.
“There’s two hundred dollars—”
“Silence.”
The intruder put a black cap on Cassidy’s head and pulled it down over her eyes, blinding her.
Oh, God. If he didn’t want her money, what did he want? Cassidy knew the statistics. One in three women would be raped during their lifetime, but she’d never expected it to happen to her. In her own house. Without a chance to fight back.
Her brain kicked into overdrive. She shouldn’t fight. The fact that he’d bothered to blindfold her was so she couldn’t identify him. He probably intended to let her go.
Eventually.
She considered screaming again. But her neighbors wouldn’t hear her through the thick plaster walls or over the lawn mower still roaring next door.
She was on her own.
Cassidy trembled, her mouth dry as sandpaper, her stomach full of bile. She told herself not to fight, but the moment the knife left her throat, her instinct for self-preservation took over. She was no martyr. She had to try to save herself.
She swung her hips and shoulder to one side. Simultaneously she stomped on his foot and got lucky, digging her heel into his toes.
The man cursed. But blocked the front door.
She had only seconds and lunged to the right as she lifted the cap from her eyes. Picking up a vase as she ran, she threw it over her shoulder and heard the pane of glass beside the front door shatter.
Sliding across the front hallway, she knocked a chair into his path, raced through the dining room and back through the kitchen. If she could just make it to the porch door.
A gun’s chamber clicked. “Take another step and I’ll shoot.”
Cassidy dived toward the doorknob. She heard the hiss of a bullet, which lodged in the door in front of her. Cassidy skidded to a halt.
“Turn around and you’re a dead woman.”
Cassidy froze. She still hadn’t seen the man’s face, just a gloved hand. She didn’t dare turn around as the footsteps approached. The cap came down over her head again, blinding her. The man gripped her arm, shoved her into a chair, tied her hands behind her back.
This couldn’t be happening. She would wake up from the nightmare at any moment. Blind, helpless, Cassidy fought back, fear howling through her. “What do you want?”
“Who do you work for?”
The question arrowed another shot of terror through her. That familiar question wasn’t what she’d expected, but she was too frightened to recall just where she’d heard it before. “I don’t work for anyone.”
The sudden slap of a palm against her face made her ears ring and her eyes tear. The man spoke as casually as if inviting her to breakfast. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It doesn’t matter much to me.”
Cassidy twisted her wrists in their bonds, but she couldn’t even hope to get free. There was no slack in the ties. Her wrists were already going numb. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Please don’t hurt me.”
“Who do you work for?” the man asked again.
The man’s tone was cold as death. She knew better than to give the same answer as she had before; that would only earn her another brutal slap.
“My father died last year. I inherited his law practice.”
Another brutal slap on the other cheek slammed her head sideways. Cassidy tasted blood in her mouth.
“I don’t care about your daddy. Who do you work for?”
“You mean my clients?”
Cassidy practiced family law. She didn’t defend murderers or drug smugglers. She couldn’t imagine which one of her clients this man was interested in. Could barely think with her head ringing, her cheeks on fire. But the sickening fear in her stomach was the worst.
Her tormentor’s voice was too cold, too professional to give her any hope of getting out of this alive. At first she’d thought the blindfold was to prevent her from identifying him but now she suspected he just wanted her terrified so she’d talk. His tactics were working. She felt icy cold and burning hot at the same time.
She had the horrible feeling that as soon as she told him what he wanted to know, he’d put a bullet in her brain.
He could spend the entire day beating her.