“Strip,” he ordered. “Everything off. I promise not to look.” His voice rang with sarcasm.
Rainie bent her knees to set the bottle of wine and empty goblet on the tile surface that enclosed the tub. Then, feeling oddly numb, she kicked off her boots and began unbuttoning her blouse. If only she’d worn a pullover top, she might have gotten the knife away from her throat for an instant. But no. Her blouse and bra came off easily while he held the weapon firmly beneath her chin. She toed off her boots and socks. Her filmy skirt and panties fell to the floor without a hitch once she’d worked them down past her hips.
Naked.
Her skin burned with humiliation. She’d thought never to let this man look at her body again. She stepped into the water. It had grown cool, and she shivered as it licked around her lower calves. He stayed with her, the blade ever at her throat as she sank to her knees and twisted to sit down.
She wasn’t feeling the effects of the drug yet. As he sloshed more wine into the goblet, she sank as deeply into the water as she could to conceal her body from his gaze. He smiled that horrible smile she remembered so well.
“Feeling shy, Lorraina?”
“Sleepy. The pills work fast.” In truth, half of them were still in her cheek, gooey and dissolved to paste, but they weren’t all down the hatch yet.
Be smarter than he is. Outwit him.
She let her eyelashes droop, then pretended to struggle back to alertness. “How will you explain being bald?” she asked with a fake yawn. “Surely people at work will notice that and ask questions. You don’t even have any eyebrows.”
“Emotional breakdown.” Hunkered down and bent forward to keep the knife under her chin, he pulled a sad face. “My wife left me. I was suspected of killing her aboard a cruise ship. The police and reporters gave me no peace. I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist, taking medication for depression. Suddenly my hair started to fall out. Terrible thing.” He shrugged and winked at her. “The hair-removal products that are on the market now are fabulous. I dabbed it on in little spots at first so my hair appeared to be falling out in patches. My doctor assured me that emotional trauma can do strange things and that my hair will grow back once my life settles down.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a feeling it’s going to smooth out drastically in only a few more minutes. How are you feeling, darling?”
Rainie fluttered her eyelashes again and let her head nod. Then she jerked it erect. “I’m fine. I told you this wouldn’t work.” She slurred her words slightly. Her heart was pounding. If she pretended to fall asleep too fast, he would get suspicious. But if she waited too long, she might fall asleep for real. Parker was on his way. He’d probably called the police as well. Unfortunately it took only a few seconds to drown. “I still feel wide awake.”
He shoved the full wineglass under her nose. “Drink it straight down.”
“I can’t hold another one.”
“You’ll find a way. The alternative is so ugly. Cutting your throat in the bathtub would be tidier, though. No blood and gore all over the floor. It’s your choice.”
She downed the wine as ordered. This time, the remainder of the dissolved pills went down with it. She wondered how long it had been since she’d first put them in her mouth. She truly was beginning to feel drowsy. Time was running out. She sank a little lower in the tub and pretended to struggle to keep her eyes open.
“Back to my emotional breakdown,” he droned on. “The confidentiality laws that protect a psychiatric patient’s privacy are very strict nowadays. Unfortunately, they aren’t bulletproof. So I took the added precaution of lying through my teeth to my doctor and letting him see my hair fall out, more and more, week after week. If my records are subpoenaed and he is called to testify, my emotional upheaval and hair loss will be verified by an expert witness. I went to Snohomish to buy the hair-removal cream, wore sunglasses and a hat so I wouldn’t be recognized, and paid cash, leaving no paper trail. They’ll never be able to prove that I denuded my body on purpose. Losing every hair on one’s body is rather extreme, of course, but it’s not medically impossible.”
While Peter boasted about his cleverness, Rainie scanned the area around her from under droopy eyelids.
Almost anything is a potential weapon.
She stared for a moment at the bar of soap. Then her gaze shifted to the wine bottle. Last, she studied the goblet in her hand. Definitely a potential weapon, almost as lethal as a knife. She let her head nod forward. Then she blinked and jerked erect.
“I’m fine,” she told Peter, speaking sluggishly. What frightened her most was that not all of her slurred speech was an act now. The combination of the wine and drug was hitting her hard. “You’re screwed, Peter. Before I go under, Parker is going to show up and kick your sorry ass into next week.”
“In that case, I’ll just shove you under.”
Rainie let the wineglass loll sideways in her hand and leaned her head back. She closed her eyes, then fluttered them back open again. It was important that she appeared to be fighting sleep. Finally she closed her eyes and let her head roll sideways, watching him through the veil of her lashes.
A train. Parker slugged the steering wheel with the heel of his hand.
Holy Mary, mother of God.
He counted the cars ahead of him. Then he took measure of the damned train.
Five minutes, shot.
Frustration and terror for Rainie made his skin feel electrified. He clenched his hands. Relaxed them. Clenched them.
Sweet Jesus.
Needing to do something, he dialed the police again. Different dispatcher this time.
“Has a car been sent over to Lorraina Hall’s home?” Parker was so upset he shouted the question.
The male dispatcher said, “We had no officer in the immediate area, sir, but we do have a car on the way.”
“I’m stalled at the railroad tracks. Train passin’. I can’t get through. How far out is the car?”
“The officer will get there as quickly as he can, sir. ETA is fifteen minutes.”
“She may not have fifteen minutes!” Parker cried. “Call for another car. Get somebody over there
now
!” Parker could not believe it took the cops so long to respond to an emergency. “The bastard is gonna kill her. Are you readin’ me loud and clear?”
“This isn’t our only emergency,” the dispatcher replied. “We’re doing the best we can, sir.”
Their best wasn’t good enough. Rainie was alone in the house with a homicidal maniac.
Fooled by Rainie’s pretense of being asleep, Peter whispered, “Farewell, Lorraina,” and at last he took the knife from her throat.
Rainie tightened her grip on the stem of the goblet, and then with all her strength, she belted him in the face with the bowl. He cried out. The thin crystal broke on impact and shards went flying.
Don’t hesitate. You may have only one opportunity. Speed, strength, agility. Go after him with everything you’ve got, Rainie mine. No mercy.
Before Peter could react, she smacked him a second time, driving the spikes of sharp glass deep into his face.
“Ah-hh-h!” he cried, grabbing for the glass that had attached itself over his nose. “God
damn
you!”
Rainie grabbed the bar of soap, twisted up onto her knees, and swung, clocking him on the temple with all her strength. He toppled sideways, hitting the wall with his shoulder. Before he could recover his wits, she grabbed the wine bottle, leaped from the tub, and brought it down on his head. The sound of the thick glass striking flesh and bone almost made her vomit.
Don’t run. Finish him. He’s bigger, stronger, and faster. He may give chase, and you won’t be able to outrun him.
She raised the wine bottle over her head and struck him again. And again.
Dizziness made her vision spin. Her legs buckled. She crashed to her knees near his feet. The wine bottle rolled away from her over the floor, going
ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ka-thunk.
She felt blackness closing in.
No, no, no!
If she lost consciousness now, he might regain his senses and kill her. With rubbery fingers, she grabbed the edge of the tub, hauled herself erect, and ran, her wet feet slipping and sliding.
Phone.
She had to get help. Careening like a drunk, she made it into the kitchen. Her purse sat on the counter. She staggered over, fished inside for her cell phone, and speed-dialed Parker. He answered on the second ring.
“I’m almost there, honey.”
Rainie’s lips had turned to rubber. She could no longer feel her arms or legs. The room twisted and lurched around her. Black spots swam before her eyes. When she tried to talk, her tongue felt like a dry sponge and would barely work.
“Peter,” she managed to push out. “Thleeping pillths and wine. Need ambulanth. Hurry.”
It was all she could get out before a blanket of blackness came over her.
Parker already had the accelerator tromped clear to the floor. He dialed 911 again. The same female dispatcher who’d taken his first call answered. Parker cut her off and said, “Ms. Hall just called me. Danning drugged her up on sleepin’ pills and wine. She lost consciousness while she was talkin’ to me on the phone. Get every car you can over there, and an ambulance as well. She’s gonna need immediate medical attention.”
She put him on hold for a moment. When she came back on the line, she said, “Three cars are on the way, and so is an ambulance. It’s going to take a few minutes for them to get there, though, Mr. Harrigan.”
Parker was shaking with fear. “I’m three minutes away. I’ll get there before they do.”
“Before you hang up, can you give me more information about Ms. Hall?”
Parker clenched his teeth in frustration. She was unconscious and in the house alone with a killer. What the hell else did they need to know?
“Sure,” he bit out as he took a corner with a squeal of tires.
“Do you know any of Ms. Hall’s medical history? It may be helpful to the EMTs. Is she allergic to any medications?”
Parker had never been so scared in his life. It was difficult for him to think clearly. Fudge instead of cookies. Cider instead of mulled wine. A ballerina instead of a witch.
Damn it to hell.
She’d tried to signal him, bless her heart, and he’d totally missed the hints. An old lady in a Ford Crown Vic pulled out from the curb directly in front of him. Parker hit the brakes. His truck went into a sideways skid. The moment he regained control of the vehicle, he passed the car, praying as he did that a child wouldn’t dart out into the street. He was in a residential area now.
“Sir,” the dispatcher said, “can you answer the question? Is Ms. Hall allergic to any medications?”
Parker jerked himself back to the moment. He remembered when Rainie had filled out a form at the doctor’s office to get a sleep aid and glanced up at him to ask,
How do you spell ‘penicillin’? I can never get it right.
“She may be allergic to penicillin. That’s all I know.”
Parker took the corner onto Walnut on two wheels. Up ahead, he saw Rainie’s Mazda parked in front of her one-story duplex. He aborted the call, tossed aside the phone, and pressed even harder on the gas pedal even though it was already clear to the floor. In front of her house, he stopped dead center in the street, shoved the gearshift into park, and left the truck running.
Rainie.
As he raced toward her porch, he felt as if he were in one of those dreams where everything happened in slow motion. Running, running, and never getting anywhere. It was like pushing against a headwind. After scaling the steps, he found the door locked. He drew back and rammed it with his shoulder, once, twice, three times. Finally he heard the framework break. With one more hit, the door gave way.
Parker burst into the living room at a run. Where was she?
Sweet Jesus.
Where was she? He glanced in the bedroom. Nothing. Raced for the kitchen. He was well into the room before he saw her, crumpled on the floor.
“Rainie?” He dropped to his knees beside her naked body. His hand shook as he felt for a pulse. At first, he could detect nothing. Then he found it, a faint and slow beat. She was alive, maybe just barely, but still alive. In the distance, he heard sirens.
Please, God, let it be the paramedics.
Pushing to his feet, Parker left her to search the house, his fists knotted, his body trembling with rage. The second bedroom was empty. He veered away from the doorway to advance on the bathroom. He took only two steps into the enclosure before he saw him, slumped in a sprawl against the wall.
Holy mother.
What looked like a wine goblet protruded from the bastard’s face, and two long gashes on one side of his bald head were streaming blood.
Down for the count.
Parker didn’t bother to feel for a pulse. He hoped the son of a bitch was dead. He turned on his heel and ran back to Rainie.
Dropping to his knees, he peeled off his shirt to cover her nakedness and had just gathered her limp body into his arms when three policemen burst into the house. Cupping a hand over the side of Rainie’s skull so her head wouldn’t loll, Parker gave them his take on what he thought had happened and directed them to the bathroom. A moment later, one of the cops returned.
“He’s alive. He’ll have one hell of a headache when he wakes up, though.”