Trust Me (25 page)

Not again, her mind screamed. Ican't do it. But she knew she could if she had to. She'd done it before. Besides, she'd wanted Burke to make his move soon, right? To spare her the agony of waiting and wondering?

Maybe she was getting that wish....

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Opening the door a crack, she eyed the hallway. She couldn't see anyone, but she heard the slight rustle of movement. Where? In the kitchen?

She sensed whoever it was creeping through the house, slowly, methodically. But he was so damn quiet. And how had he disabled her alarm? Probably quite easily. All he had to do was snip a wire. She lived too far out for monitoring.

Slipping into the hallway, she hurried to her bedroom, where she recovered her gun from the nightstand.

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Skye didn't want to be caught in a towel. Being naked made her feel vulnerable, even when she was holding a gun. So she set the weapon on her dresser and put on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. There was no time for shoes. Or a call to the police. It would all be over before they could reach her, anyway. Trying to remain calm, which wasn't easy, she poked her head back into the hallway.

Silence. She wasn't sure anymore that she'd ever smelled smoke. It was tempting to believe she'd imagined everything. Until she crept down the hall to the front entry and saw the cigarette butt discarded by the coat rack.

The front door stood ajar, letting the wind rush through.

How 'dhe unlock the door? She'd used the dead bolt. But she was too frightened to work out the logistics. There was no question now. She'd been right all along. She had a visitor.

The wind was intermittently stirring the drapes and the papers on the table, and she had no idea if that was what she'd heard earlier or not. He could be anywhere....

With her back to the wall, Skye peered cautiously around the corner, into the living room. She had to find him before he found her. But she wasn't expecting him to be behind her. From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement as someone stepped out of the bathroom she'd vacated only minutes before. Then there was a deafening blast and a bullet whizzed past her head. She had a fraction of a second. No chance to aim. Crouching and turning at the same time, she fired just as he squeezed off a second round.

His bullet missed and buried itself in the wall behind her. Skye's didn't. It pierced the intruder's chest. After that, he didn't even last long enough to gasp and gurgle like gunshot victims on TV. His jaw dropped briefly, he glanced down at the wound and he crumpled.

Judging by the hole and the blood, Skye was pretty sure she'd hit him in the heart.

Shaking more badly than before, she stared down at the face of the man who'd approached her in the restaurant. Without any animation, without any life, his skin looked waxy, strange. If not for the holes in his earlobes 159

and that goatee, she might've thought he was someone else.

She tapped his leg with her foot, hoping he'd groan or move or something. She actually prayed he would. She wanted him to be incapacitated but not dead; he had to tell her who he was and why he'd invaded her house.

But he didn't move.

Swallowing hard, she set her gun on the hall table, crouched next to him and pressed two fingers to his neck. Those fingers were so cold that contact with his skin seemed to burn. But that warmth was deceiving. She couldn't find a pulse. Her restaurant suitor had died almost immediately.

There wasn't much blood. His heart had probably stopped beating as soon as the bullet entered his chest.

"Oh God," she whispered. As much as she'd wanted to eliminate the threat Oliver posed, it wasn't easy to kill a person. She couldn't possibly feel good about it. Especially when that person wasn't Oliver Burke. She knew the kind of memory this would become, knew she'd collected too many harrowing memories already.

Creeping away from that lifeless body, she tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't support her. Rocking back into a sitting position, she gasped for breath and rubbed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them again she'd see something different.

But the corpse was still there--growing colder by the second.

Skye was growing colder, too. The freezing wind coming through her open door didn't help. Too bad she didn't have the strength to get up and close it. She was too shaken, too overcome with the emotions she'd experienced four years ago, when she'd awakened to find Oliver looming over her bed. That sense of violation--and the lack of security and peace of mind--immediately returned to swallow her.

It had happened again....

She covered her mouth, fighting the urge to vomit. He would've killed her if she hadn't killed him. The bullet holes in the wall testified to the seriousness of his intent. But she still couldn't cope with the shock of it.

Taking a deep breath, she slid even farther from the body. She didn't want to see it, didn't want to acknowledge what she'd done. It was so permanent. She'd taken a life....

She needed to calm down, get a grip. She'd survived again. That was what mattered. She'd always known that future threat, future violence, was a strong possibility. She'd trained for it--and that training had done exactly what it was supposed to do. It'd saved her life. And this time, the man who'd broken into her house wasn't capable of causing her any future harm.

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"You asked for it," she hissed. "You had no right to be here."

Slowly, her strength returned and her thoughts became more coherent.

Maybe this man couldn't tell her who he was, but he might have some ID.

Reluctantly reversing her direction, Skye averted her gaze from his unseeing eyes as she searched the pockets of his jeans.

He didn't have a wallet. He had two pieces of paper folded into squares, which turned out to be computer-generated maps giving detailed directions to her house and someone else's.

Holding the second map up to the light, Skye easily recognized it, too.

Directions to Sheridan's condo.

Fresh fear blasted through her. What if this man had visited Sheridan's house again? And what if--

Suddenly strong enough to move mountains if she had to, she launched herself to her feet and ran for the kitchen. Grabbing the phone attached to the wall, she started to dial. Then it dawned on her that there wasn't any dial tone. The phone was out of service or, more likely, the line had been cut. Of course. She'd known he must have disabled the alarm system.

Frantic, she dug through her purse, which was sitting on the kitchen table, just where she'd left it. Obviously, her intruder hadn't broken in to rob her. "Come on, come on, come on," she chanted. If Sheridan was hurt--or worse...

Tears blurred her vision as her fingers closed around her cell phone, but there was too much adrenaline flowing through her system to make it easy to dial. She had to start over three times before she punched in all the right numbers.

"Hello?"

Skye sank into a chair at the kitchen table, weeping when her friend answered on the first ring. Sheridan was alive--and she sounded fine.

"Hello?" Sheridan said again.

Skye was too choked up to answer.

"Skye?"

Wiping her wet cheeks, she finally managed to speak. "It--it's me,"

she whispered.

"What's wrong?" A spurt of anxiety filled Sheridan's voice. "Are you hurt?"

"No. I--I think I'm okay."

"What do you mean, 'think'? What's going on?"

Skye glanced over her shoulder. She could see the tennis shoes on the feet of the corpse lying in her hallway and shuddered. "That m-man who was 161

w-watching your house? The--the one in the old J-Jag?"

"Yeah?"

Her teeth were chattering so hard she could barely talk. "He's d-dead."

"How do you know?" Sheridan asked.

Skye started to laugh. She had no idea why. But she couldn't stop.

"Because I just k-killed him."

After leaving the ice cream parlor, David headed for the delta. He wanted to drive by Skye's house, see for himself that everything seemed okay. He hated leaving her safety up to strangers, no matter how well-intentioned they seemed to be.

And he was definitely glad he'd had that impulse when he received a call from Deputy Meeks. "I've spotted a white Jag near the residence you asked me to watch," the deputy said with little preamble.

David looked in his rearview mirror at Jeremy, who was finishing his strawberry shake. This wasn't the kind of news he felt capable of handling with his son in the car. But it wasn't as if he had time to take him back to Lynnette. "Where?" he asked.

"It's parked next to a levee less than a mile from Skye Kellerman's house. I'm there now. It's locked up tight."

"Did you run the plate?"

"Came up stolen."

Son of a bitch. Fervently wishing he had somewhere safe to leave Jeremy, David punched the gas. He didn't want his son anywhere near a possible crime scene, but he was already halfway there, and Skye's life could hang in the balance. "Get over to her house. Now."

"I'm on my way."

David hit the End button, then tried to call Skye, to warn her. The phone rang without answer. When he tried her cell phone, it was the same.

"Wow, we're going fast!" Obviously impressed, Jeremy was trying to loosen his seat belt to see the speedometer.

David used his rearview mirror again. "Leave your belt alone and sit still," he said, but even at eighty miles an hour it seemed to take forever to reach Skye's house, especially with Jeremy chattering the whole way.

"What's wrong?.. .Where are we going?.. .Are you after some bad guys, Dad?" And his favorite question, "How fast are we going?"

When David got there, he saw that three cars from the sheriff's department had beat him--and prayed to God they'd made it in time.

Coming to an abrupt stop, he rammed the gearshift into Park and jumped out. "Stay here," he barked to Jeremy. Locking the car behind him, he ran to the entrance.

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The front door stood open. Inside, he could see several uniforms crowding the living room and entrance hall. They were deputies, and they were talking about a body.

David froze at the threshold, his blood running cold. He'd never forgive himself if he'd let Oliver get to Skye, despite everything. The man had been stabbed less than fifteen hours ago. He was in the fucking hospital.

She should've been safe tonight.

"Has someone called the coroner?" one of the deputies asked.

"I did, as soon as I realized what we had here." That voice belonged to Meeks. David recognized it immediately. "Sheriff's on his way, too. Wants to handle this one himself."

David tried to go inside, to see what had happened, but he was immobilized by fear of what he might find. Skye... His chest constricted until he could feel every beat of his own heart.

"I'm glad he wants to handle this mess," the first deputy responded.

"The press will be all over it. She was attacked once before, remember?

What was it...three, four years ago? By that dentist?"

So Skye had been attacked again. David rubbed his chest, finding it even more difficult to breathe.

"Daddy? What's wrong?" Jeremy called from the car. He'd removed his seat belt, opened the door and stuck his head out.

"Nothing," David said. "Get back inside and keep the doors locked until I come back!" He hadn't meant to sound so impatient, but the adrenaline flooding through him made it hard to control his voice.

A pouting expression appeared on his son's face, but the door shut as a deputy came to the stoop, drawn by the noise. "Who're you?" he asked, scowling in confusion.

Numbly, David felt in his pocket for his badge. "Detective Willis.

Sacramento PD."

Older and broader than his counterparts, the deputy glanced at it, then hooked his thumbs in his heavy black belt. "Aren't you a little out of your jurisdiction, Detective?"

"This is part of a case I worked a while back. A case I'm still working." / should've kept her with me. I should've protected her.

"Hey, he's okay." Meeks walked up behind his fellow officer. "He's the one who told me to keep an eye on the place."

The first deputy's skepticism cleared. "I see."

David took as much of a breath as his aching chest would allow.

"What happened?"

"We have a body in the hallway."

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The lump rising in David's throat threatened to choke him. "Did you catch the guy?" Because if they didn't, David certainly would. He'd go to the ends of the earth, if necessary.

"The guy? It was a woman who shot him."

David blinked. Had he heard correctly? "Ms. Kellerman's okay?" He knew his face must be giving away the personal nature of his concern for Skye, but he couldn't hide his emotions tonight.

Meeks grinned and squeezed his shoulder. "She's a little shaken, but I think she'll be fine." He motioned with one hand. "She's in the living room.

We're waiting to question her until the sheriff arrives."

The relief that swept over David left him weak. "Who's the man she shot?"

Meeks shook his head. "We have no idea."

"David?" It was Skye, calling him from inside the house. He was feeling much better, but the tension, exhaustion and fear in her voice still made his heart ache. What had she been through tonight? He hoped it wasn't as bad as before.

"I'm here."

Asking Meeks to keep an eye on his son for a minute, David ducked inside to find Skye perched uncomfortably on the edge of her own couch.

She had a mug in her hand-- most likely that green tea she'd mentioned when he was here the last time--but she wasn't drinking it. She looked pale, hollow-eyed.

"You okay?"

Wordlessly, she set the mug aside and reached for him, and he pulled her into his arms. "I've got you," he murmured against her silky hair.

Her body convulsed on a sob, and he kissed the top of her head. He knew others were watching, but he didn't care. He'd nearly lost her.... "Don't cry. Everything will be okay."

"He came in through the back bedroom." She spoke into his coat, through her tears. "I don't know how he got the bars off. He must've done it before I got home."