Whiskey Beach Part 26

"h.e.l.l, h.e.l.l, h.e.l.l!"

She wouldn't relax until she'd checked, and it would take only a few minutes. In any case, she'd made that turkey stew earlier. She'd take the container she'd culled out for Eli down with her.

She pulled it out of the refrigerator, then took off her cozy socks to stick her feet in her ancient Uggs. She pulled her coat over her pj's, grabbed a hat and, dragging it over her head, jogged out to her car.

"Five minutes, ten tops, then I'm back home with that gla.s.s of wine."

She zipped down to Bluff House, unsurprised by a rumble of thunder. Late March equaled crazy in the weather department. Thunder tonight, snow or sixty and sunny tomorrow. Who knew?

She made the dash through the rain, heading straight for the front entrance, keys in one hand, turkey stew in the other.

She booted the door closed with her hip, reached out to flip the light switch so she could key in the alarm code.

"Great. Perfect," she muttered when the foyer remained dark. She knew all too well the iffy power in Bluff House during a storm, or in Whiskey Beach altogether. She flicked on the little penlight on her key ring and followed the tiny beam to the kitchen.

She'd check the windows, then she'd report the power outage-and the fact that the backup generator had failed. Again. She wished Hester would update that old monster. She worried how Hester would get by in a serious power outage, no matter how the woman pointed out she'd been through plenty of them and knew how to hunker down.

In the kitchen, she retrieved a full-size flashlight out of the drawer. Maybe she should go down into the bas.e.m.e.nt, check the generator. Of course she didn't know what to check, but maybe.

She started for the door, stopped. Dark, cold, potentially damp. Spiders.

Maybe not.

She'd just leave a note for Eli. If he came home in the middle of the night to no power, no heat, no light, he could bunk on her sofa. But first she'd check the windows.

She hurried upstairs. Naturally, the window she'd worried about was secured, and naturally now she could clearly remember pulling it shut, flipping the latch.

She went back down, turned toward the kitchen. She wasn't easily spooked, but she wanted to get home, wanted out of the big, dark, empty house and into her own cozy cottage.

Thunder rolled again, made her jump this time, made her laugh at herself.

The flashlight flew out of her hand when he grabbed her from behind. For an instant, just an instant, full, mindless panic struck. She struggled helplessly, clawing at the arm hooked tight around her neck.

She thought of a knife held to her throat, of the blade skipping down her ribs, slicing flesh on the way. Terror shoved the scream from her guts to her throat where the arm chained it down to a choked wheeze.

It cut off her air, had her fighting to draw a breath until the room started to spin.

Then survival kicked in.

Solar plexus-hard elbow jab. Instep. Full-force stomp. Nose-a hard turn as the grip loosened, then a slam with the heel of her hand where instinct told her the face would be. Groin, fast, furious upward jerk of the knee.

Then she ran. Instinct again driving her blindly toward the door. Her hands struck it with enough force to shoot pain up her arms, but she didn't stop. She dragged the door open, ran to her car, dragging her keys out of her pocket with a shaking hand.

"Just go, just go, just go."

She hurled herself into the car, jabbed the key in the ignition. Her tires squealed as she threw the car in reverse. Then she whipped the wheel, shot it into drive, floored it.

Without conscious thought she drove past her own house, slammed the brakes in front of Maureen's.

Light. People. Safety.

She ran to the door, shoved it open, stopping only when she saw her friends snuggled up in front of the TV.

Both of them lunged to their feet.

"Abra!"

"Police." The room spun again. "Call the police."

"You're hurt! You're bleeding!" Even as Maureen rushed to her, Mike grabbed his phone.

"I am? No." Swaying, she looked down at herself as Maureen grabbed her. She saw the blood on her hoodie, on the pajama top beneath.

Not from the knife, no. Not this time. Not her blood.

"No, it's not mine. It's his."

"G.o.d. Was there an accident? Come sit down."

"No. No!" Not her blood, she thought again. She'd gotten away. She was safe. And the room stopped spinning. "Someone was in Bluff House. Tell the police someone was in Bluff House. He grabbed me." Her hand went to her throat. "He was choking me."

"He hurt you. I can see it. You sit. You sit down. Mike."

"Cops are coming. Here." He tucked a throw around Abra when Maureen led her to a chair. "You're okay now. You're safe now."

"I'm going to get you some water. Mike's right here," Maureen told her.

He knelt down in front of her. Such a good face, Abra thought as her breathing labored. A caring face with dark puppy-dog eyes.

"The power's out," she said, almost absently.

"No, it's not."

"At Bluff House. The power's out. It was dark. He was in the dark. I didn't see him."

"It's all right. The police are coming, and you're all right."

She nodded, staring into those puppy-dog eyes. "I'm all right."

"Did he hurt you?"

"He ... He had his arm tight, tight around my throat, and my waist, I think. I couldn't breathe, and I got dizzy."

"Honey, there's blood on you. Will you let me take a look?"

"It's his. I hit him in the face. I did SING."

"You what?"