Harper snatched the keys to Red’s Cadillac and headed out. She’d be happy to drive her Jetta, but Red and Derrick had both insisted that she use the Caddy as long as she was staying at the house. Which made sense—her Jetta was so old, it could die at any moment, and she needed a car she could rely on. So her old VW had been parked in the two-car garage for months.
The dark sedan that was so often parked in front of the house further down the street wasn’t there. Even though she knew it was nothing to worry about, she was glad to see the spot empty. For some reason she never understood, that car made her skin crawl. Old habits. If nothing else, at least she was safe in Maryland. Eventually, her heart would believe it.
It was dark by the time she wheeled her grocery cart out of the store. She’d grabbed six bottles of Red’s favorite flavor, lemon-lime. She checked her watch—she’d been gone twenty minutes already. She should have had the Gatorade delivered. She hadn’t considered it until she’d stepped into the grocery store and seen the sign advertising home delivery. She’d never used it, relishing her trips away from the house, enjoying the change of scenery. Today, she hurried and told herself Red was fine. Asleep. And he’d still be asleep when she returned. Alive and snoring softly in his chair.
But her stomach filled with acid anyway.
And her skin crawled.
Paranoia, nothing more.
The parking lot was about a third full of cars but empty of shoppers and store employees at the moment. She stopped the cart beside the trunk of Red’s Caddy, then walked to the door and pulled it open. She tossed her keys and purse onto the seat and popped the trunk.
“Harper?”
She whipped around, startled.
On the other side of the open door stood a man.
He wore a ski mask.
She opened her mouth to scream, but from behind her a hand clamped over her face, and an arm wrapped around her waist.
She struggled silently, uselessly.
The person holding her pulled her from behind the open door. He pressed her against his body.
The masked man slowly pushed her door closed. He wore dark jeans and a black wool jacket over a black turtleneck. It was too dark to see the color of his eyes or skin. His hair was completely covered. Only his lips showed through the hole in the mask.
He leaned in close. She thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t speak. Just nuzzled his nose against her neck. His breath sent a shudder of terror through her, and she lifted her shoulder to block him from touching her. The man behind her yanked her head to the side.
The masked man inhaled her scent, then chuckled.
A deep, rumbly sound from the pit of hell.
He shifted, but she couldn’t see what he was doing. The man behind her held her head too tightly. She heard a snap. Caught sight of a blade and squeezed her eyes closed. Oh, God, help!
The cold edge sliced across her neck. The cut burned, and a warm trickle dribbled toward her collarbone.
She was going to die. One more inch, and the blade would slice her jugular.
And then the blade was gone.
She opened her eyes, saw the man’s face just inches from hers. His hot finger slid down her neck in a perversely gentle move. Again, she struggled away from his touch, and again, the man behind her held her still.
The man lifted his finger so she could see her blood, then wiped it on his jeans. Through that small opening for his mouth, she saw him smile.
Then he punched her in the stomach.
The breath whooshed out, and her legs buckled.
The other man lost his hold over her mouth, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t get enough air to scream. He kept her upright, and the other man backhanded her in the face.
She crumpled to the ground, curled into the fetal position, and covered her head with her arms.
One of them grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Pain shot through her wrist, but still, she had no air to scream.
The other man grabbed one of her legs. They pulled until she was lying flat out and helpless on the asphalt.
They flipped her on her stomach.
She reached forward, desperate to crawl away, to slide beneath the car, to make it all stop. Her hand touched something, and she grabbed it, held on, before she realized it was one of the men’s shoes. She recoiled as if she’d touched a rattlesnake.
One of them stomped a foot between her shoulder blades, and the little air she’d been getting was forced out.
The other dragged her in front of her car so she was hidden between hers and the one parked in front. She could feel him looking down at her, watching her.
She curled up, covered her head. Tried to pray but couldn’t seem to form anything beyond, please, please.
She still couldn’t get breath to scream.
She heard movement. Heard her trunk close. Heard the shopping cart being rolled away.
The man standing over her bent down, whispered in her ear, “Tell him we stopped by.”
Then they were gone.