Chapter 6

She needed a safer place to hide. She jumped up, desperate, thinking about what to do, where to go. Looking around again at the meager furniture, she didn't see anything that she could use to put in front of the door to buttress it from her pursuers. She lifted up one of the center ends of the curtains to take a swift peek out the window. Oh, no!

Amanda stood along the darkening edge of the woods, in the shadows of the trees looking directly at her.

Leaping away from the window, Isabella hoped Amanda hadn't seen her. She turned, sprinted for the doorway heading into the huge dining room, looking for somewhere to hide. A closet, a hutch, or a buffet. I'm little enough to fit into a small area. There was no place to hide in there.

She ran to the next room, the kitchen. She slid to a stop on one foot to one side of the room to what looked like a closet but turned out to be a built-in china closet, the doors covered with fabric. A table sat in front of a wide window seat facing the woods. She went around to the other side of the table, but it was also a china closet. Both too small for me. Still nowhere to hide!

She looked around the kitchen again, this time for a weapon of some kind. At least if there was someone in the house she could protect herself. She started rustling through drawers and opening cabinet doors when she finally found a knife rack in one of the drawers. Looks like a steak knife but it will have to do.

She began to tremble. Her heart raced. Despair flooded her. Hopeless, she turned proceeded through a large arched doorway, and skipped on one foot to a quick stop. To her immediate right stood a wide, open staircase that curved down and on the other side, another led up. She flew to the side with the stairs going down and stopped when she reached the bottom.

The softly lit room was well furnished with a burgundy leather L-shaped couch, a recliner, and a large wooden trunk-used as a coffee table. Can I fit inside the trunk?

Newspapers were strewn all over the couch. After a closer look, she saw bare feet sticking out from the bottom of a pair of jeans under the newspapers.

Oh shit!

She shook uncontrollably, her teeth chattered, and her palms grew sweaty as her heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears.

The form lying under the papers moved. She choked and started coughing.

****

Wyatt had dozed off while reading the newspaper in the downstairs family room, exhausted from his last trip. When he heard the outside door to the playroom upstairs open, he became instantly alert.

Kerthump! Thump. "Ouch, damn it!"

What the hell? That door's always locked!

He wished he'd have turned on the alarm system he rarely used when he was home. Since he was so isolated by the three sides of the park, no one ventured out this way. If he'd had it on he might have missed this interruption from his afternoon nap.

The hair on the back of his neck bristled as he concentrated on more sounds coming from upstairs. On first reflex, he reached for his gun usually strapped under his arm but found nothing. Then he remembered he had put it on the coffee table/trunk and reached out for it, feeling much more secure now.

With his sense of hearing heightened, he lifted up the newspaper a fraction and peered out as he heard heavy breathing and footsteps running down the stairs.

The intruder came to a quick stop in front of him. The petite young woman, with a heart-shaped face like an angel, had a body made for sin. The image of her in her dirty, tattered blue jeans and ripped shirt posed a ridiculous backdrop as she stood before him with a knife in her hand. The threatening pose failed when her body trembled. She froze in mid-breath when he moved the papers aside and sat up.

He looked into her beautiful, liquid green eyes. Mystified, he felt like he could drown in them. She appeared real to him, but looked so nymph-like that he began to think he might be having a hallucination. He knew exhaustion could play tricks on the mind but-

"Please, please help me!" she whispered. 'They're coming after me. They're going to kill me. Help me, please. Please hide me."

Her voice jolted him back to reality. She was real. She could talk. He knew then she couldn't be a figment of his imagination. He threw the paper aside and stood up. He observed her forlorn and frantic state, the desperate fear in her eyes and the knife she held. He immediately grasped reality.

As if on cue, he heard shouting followed by loud banging on the front door.

"What the hell?" he asked to no one in particular as he retrieved a remote control from on top of the trunk and entered some numbers.

"Please, you have to hide me," she pleaded as the banging on the door grew louder. "If they find me, they'll kill me. Please, I'm begging you."

Each looked back and forth between the direction of the noise and each other, then glanced around the room, searching. Earlier in the day, Wyatt had opened the large glass sliding door on one wall to allow the warm fresh spring air into the room but had closed and locked the screen door. It would be their only protection for now.

"I just activated the alarm system so if anyone enters any door or window the police will be here immediately," Wyatt said to her in a calm voice.

His professional training took over, and keeping them both safe became his main concern. He grabbed her arm, took the knife away in one swift movement and tossed it across the room onto his desk.

He wanted to keep her out of sight in case anyone ventured to look in the large glass sliding door-he didn't want her recognized until he could find out more about her. He wanted to protect her, to take care of her but he wasn't sure why.

He took her arms and began pushing her across the room into the corner behind the blinds. She protested at first, wriggling, trying to get away, and screaming, "Let me go," but he quickly subdued her when he put a hand over her mouth and pushed his gun in the middle of her back.

"I'll remove my hand from your mouth if you swear you'll be quiet." Wyatt whispered close to her ear. "Don't say a word. Just stay behind me. I'm trying to protect you."

He could smell her scent, feel her warmth, and hear her quick breathing. She nodded, and he removed his hand.

"Now, stand close behind me and don't make a sound. Not one sound," he said as he held his fingers up in front of his mouth. "They're coming along the side of the house."

Wyatt heard a man's voice as if in a tunnel. "Where the hell is she?" He heard footsteps in the grass and stones outside the open sliding glass door. He held his breath, intent on listening to every sound, every noise, and every reverberation.

"We have to find her-she's worth too much money to let her go now." The man's voice had turned into a loud yell.

As the sounds of sirens blasted in the distance, Wyatt turned his head to see two people running across the backyard. Wyatt watched them, as they wasted no time, scampering across the yard, into the woods and into the darkening night.

He closed and locked the sliding door, put his gun in his desk drawer, and made a quick phone call. He turned to her, realizing she hadn't moved an inch from where he had put her. "You're safe now," he said as he walked closer to her. "It's okay. I'll protect you."

He saw her trembling as he reached out to her and pulled her up against his body to help her feel safe. Desire surged through him. Raw. Direct. He smiled and winked at her. Both could scarcely breathe as time stood still. The only sound was the beating of their hearts, their labored breathing.

Her short dark hair feathered against her fair skin, which made her eyes appear even larger. Dried blood from the bruise at the corner of her mouth riled him to his guts. He left her alone for a moment; returned with a warm, wet washcloth; and handed it to her. "Here, hold this on your mouth. It will help."

He looked into her bright, terror-stricken eyes, at her soft lips. He thought about how much he wanted to kiss away her pain. Something about this woman brought out his protective instincts.

He sat down a short distance from her on one end of the couch, watching as she held the warm, wet cloth against her lip, softening the dried blood. He almost relaxed until he saw her body shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks. When her eyes darted around the room, first toward one doorway, and then to the stairway, then back again, looking for a way out, he tensed. He had seen the same look many times during his years of interrogation experience. She was going to bolt.