Natalie Frazier’s heart raced as she woke with a start and struggled to get her bearings. Blinking her way back to reality, she recognized the Joneses’ living room on post at Fort Rickman, Georgia, instead of her own apartment in nearby Freemont.
Outside, wind tangled through the giant oaks. Branches creaked in the September night and scraped against the two-story brick quarters. The sound added to her unease as lightning flashed through the windows, followed by thunder that buffeted the house.
She closed the book that lay open on her lap and hesitated, listening for the baby’s cry. Relieved that the little one hadn’t awakened, she placed the textbook on the coffee table. How to Manage the Middle School Classroom was required reading for her teaching degree and had undoubtedly lulled her to sleep.
But what had awakened her?
Natalie had accepted the two-week nanny position caring for Lieutenant Wanda Jones’s five-month-old daughter while Wanda was away for training, and she planned to use the time to catch up on her classwork.
As prior military, with six years on active duty under her belt, Natalie was usually unfazed by new circumstances. Tonight was different.
In hopes of calming her anxiety, she hurried into the foyer and insured the front door was locked before she stepped to the nearby window. Easing back the curtain, she stared for a long moment at the narrow, two-lane road that ran through the military housing area. A porch light from one of the duplexes across the street cast a yellow glow over the few cars parked at the curb.
Dropping the curtain, she flexed her shoulders to allay the tension in her neck and padded across the hardwood floor to the kitchen. The small, cozy room had seemed inviting this morning when she’d arrived. Wanda had coffee brewing and warm-from-the-oven cinnamon rolls to welcome her. The scent of the fresh brew and hot rolls had long since disappeared, leaving behind an emptiness that tugged at her heart. She and the baby were safe, yet something about the night was unsettling. Probably the darkness outside and the encroaching storm. Both caused her concern.
Opening the door to the attached one-car garage, she stared into the interior, seeing only her small sedan. Convinced her imagination was playing tricks on her, she shut the door and slipped the chain lock in place before she flipped off the kitchen light and retraced her steps into the main living-dining room combination.
She needed to check on Sofia. Natalie climbed the steep wooden stairway to the second floor and tiptoed into the nursery. The little one was asleep on her back, her cheeks plump and rosy.
Wanda had been concerned about leaving. With her husband—Sofia’s father—deployed to the Middle East, the female lieutenant had weighed accepting a two-week school assignment at Fort Hood that was good for her military career but hard on a new mom forced to leave her infant daughter.
Natalie and Wanda had been stationed together in Germany and had reconnected after Natalie had moved to nearby Freemont. Natalie was happy to help, and the arrangement would be good for both of them. Wanda needed child care, and Natalie wanted time to study away from her cramped apartment and moody roommate.
Denise Lang had become increasingly irritable over the past two months. Natalie blamed her roommate’s new boyfriend, who insisted Denise keep their relationship under wraps. The secrecy was taking a toll on her and impacted her relationship with Natalie.
Pulling the receiving blanket up around Sofia’s shoulders, Natalie smiled at the precious child and returned to the hallway on her way to the guest room. The sound of raised voices from the adjoining quarters next door stopped her at the top of the stairs.
She should have asked Wanda about the neighbors. All she’d provided had been the woman’s first name and her phone number. Natalie didn’t even know the couple’s last name. Surely the bickering wasn’t a regular occurrence.
Thunder rolled overhead, and rain drummed against the roof. The voices grew louder as the storm intensified. Although the shared wall between the two sets of quarters prevented Natalie from understanding what was said, the harsh tones signaled escalating conflict.
A woman screamed.
Something crashed against the wall.
Natalie gasped and took a step back. Her pulse raced.
Another crash and a second scream were followed by a series of thumps as if something—or someone—had fallen down the stairway.
Heart in her throat, Natalie checked again to be certain Sofia was asleep before she ran downstairs and opened the front door. The storm had unleashed its fury with strong winds and torrential rain. Her voice of reason told her to stay dry and mind her own business, but her need to help overrode the warning.
Ignoring the deluge, she raced next door and climbed the steps to the neighbor’s porch. In her haste, she slipped, then steadied herself and pounded on the door.
“Is someone hurt?”
Feeling exposed, she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see the neighbors spilling from the quarters across the street. As loud as the woman’s scream had been, they should have heard her, as well. Another clap of thunder made her realize the woman’s cries had been masked by the storm.
Again, Natalie knocked and raised her voice. “Do you need help?”
The door remained closed.
Envisioning a tragic scene inside, she hurried back to the Joneses’ quarters, wiped the rain from her face and reached for the phone. Her hands shook as she searched through the list of emergency numbers Wanda had left. Finding the military police, she tapped in the digits and waited impatiently for someone to answer, then explained the situation.
“I’ll send a squad car,” the MP said.
“Hurry.”
* * *
Everett Kohl shoved his travel toiletry kit into his duffel and zipped it shut with a smile. Tomorrow he’d be heading to North Georgia for two weeks of R&R and a chance to help Uncle Harry get his mountain cabin ready to put on the market to sell. Everett had half a notion to buy the place himself. But, first, he wanted to assess the structure and tend to the repairs that needed to be done.
Much as he loved his uncle, Harry’s age and stubbornness could be a problem, especially since he was trading the North Georgia mountains for an assisted-living complex in the metro Atlanta area. The timing was right, but his uncle saw it as losing his independence and a way of life he had enjoyed for over eighty years. Everett hoped to soothe the transition and ease his uncle’s concerns about the change.
Grateful the rain had stopped and the storm subsided, Everett whistled as he hurried to his SUV and threw his duffel in the rear. Nothing would delay him in the morning. He’d packed, filled