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Thunder rumbled, rolling in and disturbing the absolute silence present in the darkest hours of the night. Black clouds obscured the moon from view, cloaking the region below in shadows, the air heavy with the promise of a pending storm.
Angela’s eyes popped open. She sat up abruptly in bed, glancing around as beads of sweat formed on her forehead and she took a ragged gulp of air.
It must have been a dream that woke her so suddenly, but she was darned if she could remember it. Angela frowned and rubbed her eyes, looking at the clock. It was almost three in the morning. She groaned and fell back against the pillows. Thunder rumbled again, low and deep, and she yawned widely, snuggling down under her covers. If it wasn’t a dream, it must have been Annabelle that disturbed her sleep. Her eyes drifted closed.
Then promptly popped open again.
Annabelle!
Angela sat up again, looking around the dark bedroom. Where was her cat?
“Bella-Boo? Psss-psss-psss. Come on, girl.”
Angela waited for a moment, listening. Silence. Her brows drew together in a frown and she tossed the covers off, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Where was she? The orange tabby always slept with her mistress. If she did wander off in the night, a single call was usually enough to elicit the welcome sound of a bell jingling down the hallway.
“Bella!” Angie called louder.
A loud thump and crash downstairs broke the silence, followed by a shrill yeeeoowwww. The cats’ cry ended abruptly and a deafeningly unnatural silence resumed. Angela’s feet hit the carpet as her heart thumped out of her chest.
She looked around frantically, the blood pounding in her ears, trying to think clearly. Someone was in the house! She was trapped upstairs with nothing but her phone and...what? There had to be something she could use to defend herself.
Angela’s breath came fast as she stood in the middle of her bedroom in the darkness, desperately trying not to panic. She listened to the overwhelming silence, almost paralyzed. Why, oh why, hadn’t she paid more attention when Stephanie tried to talk her into keeping a firearm in the house for protection? Her excuse was she didn’t know anything about guns. Now she wished to God she’d learned.
Thunder rumbled again outside and a white flash of lightning lit up the room. In the split second of illumination, Angela caught sight of her new pair of Jimmy Choo heels on the floor inside her open closet door. In an instant, the lightning was gone and the room plunged into darkness again.
Running to the closet, she reached down to grab one of the pastel pink shoes before spinning around and going to the bedroom door. Her heart was pounding and her throat was tight with fear as she stood inside the door, listening. Over the sound of her own terror in her ears, she heard the unmistakable creak of the middle step.
Someone was coming upstairs.
Angela clapped one hand over her mouth to prevent a cry from escaping as she looked around her room frantically. Terror gripped her, making her feel nauseous, but she forced herself to think. Her phone was on the other side of the room, charging next to the bed. She would never get to it and make the call in time. Her grip tightened on the stiletto heel in her hand and she moved behind the bedroom door. Her panic-stricken gaze fell on her vanity table a few feet away, zeroing in on the can of aerosol hairspray sitting next to her makeup case. She moved forward swiftly and grabbed it. Returning to her spot behind the open door, Angela gripped the high-heel in one hand and the hairspray in the other.
The floor creaked at the top of the stairs and she listened, holding her breath as blood pounded in her ears. There was a moment of deadly silence. Then, even though there was no sound to prove it, Angela knew the intruder had turned toward the master bedroom. She stared through the narrow crack between the door and the frame, her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip to keep herself from screaming as a tall, dark shadow fell across the floor outside the room.
Angela wasn’t a stupid woman. She knew she had no hope of winning a fight against an intruder. She wasn’t skilled in self-defense, or in fighting of any kind. Nor was she athletic enough to outrun them. Even if she had been, there was nowhere to run. The bedroom was one story up, and the only exit was the very door she cowered behind. Her only hope was to take him by surprise and hope for some luck.
Angela inhaled silently, moved her forefinger over the nozzle of the hairspray and tightened her other hand on the Jimmy Choo. The shadow moved into the doorway. It was now or never.
Bracing herself against the wall, Angela lifted her bare foot and kicked the door with all the strength her shaking leg could muster. The door flew closed with considerable force, slamming into a solid body. There was a low grunt and a loud, satisfying thud as the intruder was thrown sideways and his head cracked against the door jam.
Angela rounded the door to confront a tall man dressed in a black jacket. She only had time to note his height before she aimed at his face and pressed the nozzle on the can, holding it down.
The man threw his hands up instinctively to protect his face, but his pained exclamation told her she’d hit him right in the eyes with the aerosol spray. Dropping the can, she swung her other arm with all her might, aiming for his head. The stiletto caught his forehead and he stumbled backwards. Angela followed him, swinging again. Fear and panic gave her strength she didn’t know she possessed and the stiletto found its mark again, catching the soft area where his shoulder met his neck.
This time, the heel stuck, impaled in the intruders’ neck.
Angela let go with a gasp of horror as the pastel pink Jimmy Choo struck a bright contrast against the black jacket. With about half of the stiletto embedded in the man’s neck, the shoe perched firmly on his collarbone, the peep-toe winking at Angela.
The man let out a strangled gasp and turned, stumbling down the hallway toward the stairs. Angela watched him go, holding her breath as he stopped at the top of the stairs. When he paused and half-turned toward her again, she panicked.
Without thinking, she ran forward and shoved. He went down the stairs head-first, but managed to grab the railing on his way, breaking his fall halfway down. He slid the rest of the way on his side, hitting the first floor with a crash a moment later. Angela backed up until she felt the wall pressing against her and covered her mouth with shaking hands, watching as the intruder laid still for a second. Then, slowly, he struggled to his feet and stumbled out of sight. A moment later, the back door slammed shut.
Angela lowered her hands and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath before turning to stumble back down the hallway to her bedroom. She went straight to her bedside table and grabbed her cell phone. Her hands were shaking and tears blurred her vision as it took three tries before she managed to successfully dial 911.
Stephanie jumped out of the car as soon as Blake came to a stop, slamming the door closed behind her. She ran across the road, ignoring the rain pelting down as the storm erupted. Flashing police lights lit up the street and the front door to Angela’s townhouse was guarded by a uniformed sentry. She pulled out her badge as she ran, holding it up as she ran up the few steps to the door.
“Special Agent Walker!” she barked at the police officer.
He glanced at her badge and nodded.
“Ok,” he said quickly, opening the door for her. “She’s inside.”
Stephanie nodded and went into the house. Angela was sitting on the couch with a fleece blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a ball of orange fur clutched on her lap.
“Angie!” Stephanie crossed the living room, ignoring the police officer standing near her friend for the moment. “Are you ok?”
Angela raised a tear-stained face.
“I don’t know,” she confessed, her bottom lips trembling.
Stephanie looked at the policewoman questioningly. The woman nodded to her.
“She’s fine,” she said reassuringly. “She’s had a fright, but she’s physically fine.”
“Thank you.”
Stephanie turned her attention back to her friend and sank down next to her on the sofa. She put an arm around Angela’s shoulders and Angela leaned against her. The orange ball of fur stirred and two wide green eyes peeked up at Stephanie.
“What happened?” Stephanie demanded gently. “Where were you?”
“In bed,” Angela said, taking a deep shuddering breath. She paused as the front door opened again and Blake stepped into the house, looking around. “Who’s that?”
“Blake. He drove over with me.”
“He’s good-looking!” Angela whispered loudly. “Is he single?”
“Oh my God, Angie!” Stephanie hissed, wishing the couch could just swallow her up. “Shush!”
“What? He didn’t hear me.”
“Yes, he did.” Blake’s deep voice was filled with amusement and Stephanie didn’t need to look to know he had crossed the room to the sofa. “I am.”
“You are what? Good-looking or single?” Angela demanded, looking up at him.
Blake grinned.
“Both,” he answered promptly, eliciting a chuckle from the policewoman. “I’m Blake Hanover. You must be Angela.”
He held out his hand and Angela shook it.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I wish it was under better circumstances,” he said, releasing her hand. “How are you?”
“I’ve seen better days,” Angela replied. She looked at Stephanie. “He hurt Anabelle. Knocked her right out.”
“What?!” Stephanie dropped her gaze to the cat curled up in Angela’s lap. “How?”
“I don’t know. When I came downstairs she was just lying there.” Angela’s lips trembled again. “I thought...I thought...”
“Ok, it’s alright,” Stephanie said soothingly, glancing at Blake. His eyes were dark and somber, his lips pressed together in a grim line. “I think you need some caffeine. Do you have any coffee or tea?”
“There’s coffee in the cabinet in the kitchen,” Angela said tiredly.
Blake met Stephanie's look and nodded.
“I’ll make it,” he offered.
“Thank you.” Angela watched him turn and go toward the kitchen. “The cabinet above the sink,” she called after him.
Blake nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Mallory!” a voice called from the back of the house. “Can you give me a hand?”
The policewoman glanced at Stephanie.
“You’ll be here for a few minutes?” she asked her.
Stephanie nodded.
“Yes, go. It’s fine,” she said. “He came in through the back?”
“Yes. The lock was forced,” the policewoman answered, turning to walk down the short hallway to the back of the house.
“You were asleep?” Stephanie asked, turning her attention back to Angela.
“Yes.” Angela sighed and leaned back against the cushions tiredly. “Something woke me up. I thought it was a dream at first, but then I realized Anabelle wasn’t in the room. I called her, but she didn’t come. I heard a crash and I heard her cry...” Angela’s voice cracked and Stephanie waited while her friend composed herself. “Steph, I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“I can believe it,” Stephanie murmured, shaking her head. “Did you see him?”
“See him?” Angela looked at her. “I fought him off!”
Stephanie stared at her, speechless.
“You...what?”
Angela nodded.
“He came upstairs. I had no choice. I was trapped in the bedroom.”
“He made it all the way upstairs?!” Stephanie heard her voice rising but couldn’t seem to help herself. “He was in your bedroom?!”
“When you say it like that, it sounds a hundred times worse,” Angela decided, visibly shuddering. “Oh my God, what if I hadn’t woken up?”
Her eyes widened at the thought and Stephanie reached out to rub her shoulder comfortingly as what color was left in her friend’s face drained away.
“You did, so don’t think about what-ifs,” she said hastily. “Tell me what happened. You said you fought him off. How?”
Angela rubbed her hand over her eyes.
“I...sorry. I told the police officer everything, and now I can’t seem to think straight,” she murmured. “Just give me a minute to get my thoughts together. I’m still thinking about what could have happened if I didn’t wake up.”
Stephanie looked up as Blake came back into the living room. He met her glance and smiled faintly.
“Coffee’s brewing,” he said, coming over and perching on the edge of the coffee table. “What did I miss? I heard someone raise their voice.”
“That was me,” Stephanie said ruefully. “Apparently, the guy made it all the way to the bedroom.”
Blake’s eyebrows snapped together in a scowl and he looked at Angela.
“Are you alright?” he demanded.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, flushing faintly. “I did more damage to him.”
Blake crooked an eyebrow and looked at Stephanie in question.
“I don’t know any more than you do,” she answered dryly. “She was just about to tell me.”
“Something woke me up,” Angela began hesitantly. “I called Anabelle and heard the crash downstairs. When I heard the crash, I knew someone was in the house. It wasn’t the kind of sound Bella makes when she knocks something over. It was bigger. Turns out it was the hall stand near the back door where I keep umbrellas and snow brooms. He must have knocked it over when he came in...or when Bella showed up.”
“You said you heard her cry?” Stephanie asked suddenly. “Was it before or after the crash?”
Angela thought for a moment.
“After?” she said doubtfully. “I think? Yes, it was after the crash because it suddenly stopped mid-cry, like she’d been...silenced. Then everything was dead silent. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t have anything to use as a weapon. Steph, I kept thinking about how you’ve always said I should get a gun and learn how to shoot. I wish I’d listened now.”
Stephanie’s lips twisted into a humorless smile.
“I’ll teach you,” she promised. “I told you I would.”
“You don’t have anything?” Blake asked. “Baseball bat? Hockey stick? Nothing?”
Angela looked at him.
“No. I don’t play sports,” she told him. “Although, I like the idea of a baseball bat. Maybe I’ll buy one until I learn how to shoot,” she added thoughtfully.
“Then...what did you do?” Blake demanded.
“I used a shoe.”
Stephanie and Blake both stared at her.
“A...a shoe?” Stephanie repeated dumbly.
Angela nodded.
“And hairspray,” she added.
Blake’s eyebrows soared into his forehead.
“Hairspray?”
Stephanie felt a grin pulling at her lips.
“Please don’t tell me...Aquanet?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
Angela looked at her as if she had grown a second head.
“Sebastian,” she said, affronted. “Do they even still make Aquanet? Please.”
“Sorry.”
“Can we get back to the hairspray and the shoe?” Blake asked. “What did you do?”
Angela took a deep breath and began petting Anabelle.
“I hid behind the door. When he was in the doorway, I kicked the door closed so it would hit him. While he was still seeing stars, I sprayed him in the face with the hairspray. It’s an aerosol can, so I just pointed and held the nozzle down.”
Blake blinked.
“That would do it.”
“What about the shoe?” Stephanie demanded.
“I hit him with it.”
“You hit him? You mean, you threw it?”
“Not exactly.” Angela looked up to find both Stephanie and Blake staring at her expectantly. She shrugged. “I...you know...hit him with it.”
“You mean...” Stephanie wondered if she looked as stunned as she felt. “You mean, you used a shoe like a...a...”
“Hammer?” Blake offered helpfully.
“Yes.”
Stephanie looked at her, shocked.
“You used it like a hammer?!?!” she shrieked.
“What else was I supposed to do?” Angela demanded. “A man was in my bedroom! Uninvited! Was I supposed to just let him in?!”
“No, of course not!” Stephanie exclaimed. “But...what kind of shoe was it?”
Angela’s face suddenly darkened and storm clouds gathered on her brow.
“A new one,” she muttered. “I only wore them once. Now it’s ruined and I’m down a pair of Jimmy Choo’s.”
Stephanie's mouth dropped open.
“You used one of your Jimmy Choo’s?”
Blake looked from one woman to the other.
“Care to loop in the schmuck who has no idea what a Jimmy Choo is?” he asked.
“They’re heels,” Stephanie explained. “Very expensive, designer heels.”
“You clocked the dude with a high heel?” Blake demanded, impressed. “Good for you!”
“Good for me maybe, but not for the shoe,” Angela retorted. “It got stuck in his neck and now it’s gone.”
Stephanie sputtered and Blake opened his mouth, then closed it again silently. For a long moment, they both simply gazed at Angela speechlessly.
“What?” she asked. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Blake found his voice first.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, his voice shaking. “You nailed the guy with a door, sprayed his eyes with hairspray, and then drove a high-heel into his neck?”
“Well, it was a stiletto,” Angela clarified after a few seconds thought. “It’s not like it was a block heel.”
“When you say it got stuck and now it’s gone, are you speaking metaphorically?” Stephanie asked, trying to avoid looking in Blake’s direction.
“No. It got stuck in his neck and he left. Well, after I pushed him down the stairs.”
“After you...well of course. Naturally.” Blake couldn’t control his face any longer and his lips trembled with laughter. “You didn’t happen to douse him in gasoline and toss a match his way, did you?”
It was Angela’s turn to stare at him.
“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “Why would I do that?”
He shook his head, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
“No reason,” he choked out.
Stephanie shot him a look filled with reproach even as her own eyes were dancing with amusement.
“I think I missed the part where you pushed him down the stairs,” she said. “How did that happen?”
“After I hit him he stumbled down the hallway toward the stairs, trying to leave,” Angela told her.
“Smart man,” Blake interjected.
“But when he got to the top of the stairs, he stopped and turned back,” Angela continued. “I panicked. I just wanted him out of my house.”
“So you pushed him.”
“Yes. He caught himself halfway down and slid the rest of the way. Then he left.”
Stephanie nodded, absorbing it all, and her lips twitched. Then twitched again. Angela watched her suspiciously.
“Are you laughing?” she demanded.
Stephanie started to shake her head, but her resolve failed her.
“Yes.”
As soon as the word popped out, Stephanie burst into laughter. Blake joined her and Angela looked from one to the other, frowning in consternation. Stephanie tried to tamp down the laughter, but only succeeded in laughing harder.
“I can’t...hairspray and a shoe...” Blake gasped.
“Well, it was the closest thing I had,” Angela protested. “What is so funny?”
Stephanie choked her laughter down and shook her head helplessly.
“It’s just so...so...you!”
“Well I know it wasn’t all professional like you and your law enforcement training, or Alina with her military training, but it was the best I could do,” Angela muttered. “It worked. He left.”
Stephanie reached out and hugged her old friend, her shoulders still shaking.
“It did work, and I’m so very glad it did,” she said, squeezing her tight before letting her go.
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because it’s so refreshing,” Blake told her, getting his amusement under control. His eyes were warm and still filled with laughter as they met hers. “That’s the best self-defense story I’ve ever heard.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he affirmed.
Stephanie nodded in agreement.
“Honestly, Ang, I’m amazed,” she said, her voice shaking. “For someone who has no weapons in her house, you were outstandingly efficient.”
“I was terrified, that’s what I was.”
A loud tone from the kitchen indicated the coffee was finished and Blake stood up.
“I’ll get the coffee,” he said over his shoulder, a grin still playing on his lips.
Angela watched him go and looked at Stephanie.
“Did I really do good?” she asked.
Stephanie met her look and smiled.
“Yes. You did very good.”
Angela nodded. Before she could say anything else the policewoman returned, striding down the short hall and through the living room with a plastic evidence bag in her hand.
“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the couch. “You said you hit the intruder with a shoe. Was it this one?”
She held out the clear plastic bag. Inside was a pastel pink Jimmy Choo, the stiletto heel soaked in blood about halfway up the four-inch spike. Angela nodded.
“Yes.”
“We found it in the back. You said it was stuck in his neck?”
“Yes.”
“That had to hurt like hell,” she said, a grin cracking her face. “Good for you!”