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.Then, holding her breath and the toilet tank lid over her head, she listened.Thump.Thump.Thump.Was that her heart thudding in her ears or footsteps?The door squeaked open.The tip of a gun appeared.Then, moving an inch through the door came a hand attached to it, a hairy hand with a finger on the trigger, which meant he planned on firing.Firing at her.Attached to that hand was a hairy arm.The kind of hair that needed a good waxing.Not Stan.Not that it mattered.Fantasy man or not, if Stan came at her with his gun drawn, she’d use the toilet lid on him, too.She knew what guns did to people.A bloody image from the past flashed in her head and she immediately chased it away.What the hell had Stan Bradley gotten her into!She waited until the man moved in just enough for her to see his head of thick dark hair, and then she let him have it.Crunch! The sound of thick ceramic hitting his skull wasn’t pretty, and the man—definitely not Stan—fell face-first to the bathroom floor.His gun dropped and skated across the linoleum, bounced off the base of the toilet and spun around and around and around.A loud crash echoed in the other room.Footsteps thundered down the hall.Panic made everything feel surreal, and the next few seconds passed as if the sand had gotten caught in the hourglass.Time flowed in slow motion; even the clanks and clatters in the next room sounded drawn out.A man’s tennis shoe appeared at the threshold of the bathroom.Still on the counter, Kathy held the heavy toilet tank lid ready.Breath caught, she waited.Finally, the tip of a gun appeared at the edge of the door molding.Then a hand.A not-so-hairy hand this time.She swung the toilet tank lid.She swung too soon and missed the man’s head.Her grip on her weapon loosened.The tank lid went flying across the bathroom, dented the door to the closet, then shattered on the floor beside the big hairy man, who hadn’t moved since his nose met the floor.Not moving? That wasn’t good.And then she saw the red pooling around the man’s head.Red.Bright red blood.Lots of bright red blood against the aged yellow linoleum.Which was definitely not good.The nasty sound of the tank lid hitting his head replayed in her ears.Bam.Crunch.A crunch like bone.Her stomach turned.She couldn’t look away from the blood.Had she killed him? With a toilet tank lid? Black spots started popping in her vision like fireworks.Memories started spinning through her befuddled brain.The next thing she knew, someone—the second someone with a gun, the one she’d missed with the toilet lid, the one she’d completely forgotten about—was yanking her off the counter.She kicked.She screamed.Then she recognized Stan.Didn’t matter.He had a gun.Fight, her panicked instincts shrieked.He tossed her over his back, caveman style, and shot off down the hall in a dead run.She bounced on his shoulder, each jolt making her stomach slap against her lungs and sending her bladder dancing around her pelvis.Her purse, still hung over her shoulder, slipped down her arm.Bending her elbow, she caught it before it dropped.Stan took a sharp turn into another room.“Put me down!” she shrieked.Her heart raced.She started squirming, but his arm tightened around the back of her thighs.Feeling trapped, she sank her teeth into his back and bit.“Stop!” He slapped her butt so hard it stung.He turned the locks in the back door, then twisted the top one again and swung it open.Bolting outside, he dropped her on her feet.Her knees folded, presently having the consistency of toothpaste, and she fell to the porch.“We’ve got to get out of here,” he grunted.He cut his eyes to the back door as if he’d heard something, grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up on her feet.“Now!”The moment he released her, her gaze shot to his gun.She took a swing at him, which he ducked.“Kathy, stop it! I’m trying to help.”She couldn’t stop.Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding, and her instincts still screamed fight.His words replayed in her head: I’m trying to help.But she didn’t believe him, did she? No.She took another swing.He ducked again.And then he leaned down, grabbed her around her legs and threw her over his back again.Before she could catch her breath, he had taken off in another dead run.Back to having her stomach bouncing on his shoulder, she pounded her fist on his butt.“Put me down!” And the next thing she knew, he did what she said.But he could have done it nicer.She was unceremoniously tossed to the ground.The hard thud bruised her backside, and she fought to catch her breath.He tore her purse off her arm, and the lima beans flew out and hit the ground.Stan Bradley was a cheater, he hung out with murdering thugs, and he was a purse thief? Could she pick ’em or what?He yanked her keys out of her purse and pulled her to her feet.“Get in,” he told her, and motioned toward her van.“No!”He forced her into the passenger side [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]