Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) (37 page)

He took her hand again. “Just let me do this. Please? I need to get you home safe.”

T
ara awoke in Liam’s bed, but this time she wasn’t alone. They were tangled together, arms and legs, and it was hard to tell where her body stopped and his began.

She lay there wrapped in his sheets, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. The room was gray and quiet. She had no idea what time it was, and she didn’t want to.

Her throat felt sore and parched. Slowly, she extricated herself from his arms and slipped from the bed. She crept into the bathroom and gulped down a handful of water, carefully avoiding the mirrors because she didn’t want to see her bruises. When she’d first arrived last night, he’d made her spend half an hour lying flat on his sofa with ice packs, but she knew it hadn’t done any good.

She crept back into the bedroom, where the light had a strange quality to it. She felt drawn toward the window and gently lifted a slat in the blinds to peer out.

Her breath caught.

She glanced back at Liam, sprawled on his stomach now, still completely out. She took his flannel shirt from the arm of the leather chair, shrugged into it, and buttoned it up as she watched him sleep. Careful not to make a sound, she unlatched the door to the porch and stepped outside. The planks were cold under her feet as she walked to the wooden railing and looked out.

The world was blanketed in snow. Tiny flakes drifted down from the white sky, and she gazed up, awestruck. Everything was so
quiet
, so utterly tranquil. She pulled Liam’s cuffs over her hands and crossed her arms against the chill as she gazed out.

Twenty-nine winters she’d lived here, and only a handful of times had it snowed. She envisioned her grandparents’ roof covered in white, probably brighter than the aging paint on their house. She gazed across the lawn at the pines and the maples. Beyond them near the creek, she saw the lacy cypress branches that hung low over the water, and they looked like they’d been dusted with sugar.

She shivered and pulled her arms closer. When she’d first come here, the woods had seemed dark and sinister. Now everything looked fresh and pure and otherworldly. As she stood there, the flurry picked up energy. She reached out her hand. Flakes landed on her palm and instantly disappeared.

The door opened behind her, and Liam stepped out, bare-chested. He wore jeans and carried his leather jacket.

“I had no idea it was supposed to snow overnight,” she said.

“It wasn’t.” He settled the jacket on her shoulders, and she slipped her arms into the sleeves. “Want me to make coffee?”

“Maybe later.”

He slid his arms around her and tugged her back against the firm wall of his body. “How do you feel?”

“Good.”

He lifted the hair off her neck and planted a kiss below her ear. “I don’t believe you.”

She snuggled closer, not wanting to argue about it. Right now she only wanted to think about his warmth and his smell and the weight of his arms around her waist.

“Through the trees there,” she said. “Is that a dock?”

“Yeah. I don’t have a boat, though. I sometimes use it for fishing.”

“What’s in the creek?”

“Catfish, mostly.”

“My granddad used to take me to the Neches River. We caught perch.”

He kissed the back of her neck again, and warm shivers swept over her skin as she gazed out at the trees. The wind gusted and snow flitted off the branches.

She sighed. “It’s beautiful here.”

“I know.” He paused. “Think you could get used to it?”

She went still. For a moment she didn’t move or even breathe.

He eased back and turned her to face him. His green eyes were dark and serious, and her heart was thumping.

“Could I get used to visiting here?”

“Living here.”

She turned to look out again. “I don’t know, that’s . . . I mean, that’s a big step.” She looked up at him, trying to read his face for clues. “It seems fast. You barely know me. You’ve never even seen where I live.”

“That’s not hard to fix.”

Panic welled inside her. He was serious. “Liam . . . there’s so much you don’t know about me. And so much I don’t know about
you
, too. And it doesn’t make sense,” she babbled, “especially right now after everything that’s happened.”

She gazed up at him, but he was just watching her calmly. How could he be so calm?

“Things feel confused right now,” she said. “And to be honest, I’m scared.”

“Why?”

She turned to look at the trees again. Her heart was racing, and she felt him watching her. She truly could not believe they were having this conversation. “Because I think . . . I think I love you.”

Her stomach dropped the instant she said the words. They were out there, hovering in front of her mouth like frost, and every muscle in her body tensed as she stared out at the woods and Liam stayed silent beside her.

She glanced at him. “Sorry.”

“Why?”

“I’m jumping the gun.”

He pulled her against him, and her heart was pounding like crazy now because she’d blurted it out, the thing that had been dawning on her for days now.

“You’re not.” He gazed down at her. “I think I’ve loved you since that first day you showed up here.” He smiled. “You should see the look on your face.”

“I just—the first
day
? That’s impossible.”

“You were ready to slap the cuffs on first and ask questions later. I was hooked.”

Tara felt numb.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m scared, too.” He pulled her into a hug. “I never asked a woman to live with me before. Maybe you’ll hate it after a day.”

“People will think we’re crazy. I know I do. This is all so fast.”

For a few moments they just stood there. Tara rested her head against his chest and heard his heart thudding. And she realized he
was
scared. It wasn’t just her. She could get burned here, but so could he.

“You know when you have a raid coming?” he said. “You get your intel together, you plan everything, you gear up. But even after all that, when the time comes, you’re worried anyway because no matter what you do, you never really know what’s waiting behind that door.” He went quiet for a moment. “It’s an unknown, Tara. Everything is.”

Unknown.

She understood that. She knew all about fear. It had a texture, a taste. And in those critical moments all she could do was take a deep breath and summon her courage—even if it was fake—and go in anyway. He’d been in those situations, too, and he knew. He knew
her
. It didn’t seem possible, but somehow he did.

And now he was offering her a chance at something. She knew that chance was rare, as fleeting as a snowflake.

He tipped her chin up gently and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, absorbing his heat and his strength and his passion, all the good things she loved about him and hadn’t even known she was missing. She didn’t want to go back to not knowing. She wanted warmth and love and intimacy. She wanted
him
. He felt right. He fit.

She pulled back. “Okay.”

He smiled down at her. “Okay what?”

“Okay, I’m in.”

Turn the page for a sneak peek of Laura Griffin’s next heart-pounding Tracers novel,

DEEP DARK

Coming spring 2016 from Pocket Books

L
aney Knox blinked into the darkness and listened. Something . . . no.

She closed her eyes and slid deeper into the warm sheets, dismissing the sound. Probably her neighbor’s cat on the patio again.

Her eyes flew open. It wasn’t the sound but the light that had her attention now. Or
lack
of light. She gazed at the bedroom window, but didn’t see a band of white seeping through the gap between the shade and the wall.

She stared into the void, trying to shake off her grogginess. The outdoor lightbulb was new—her landlord had changed it yesterday. Had he botched the job? She should have done it herself, but her shoestring budget didn’t cover LED lights. It barely covered ramen noodles and Red Bull.

Laney looked around the pitch-black room. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, never had been. Roaches terrified her. And block parties. But darkness had always been no big deal.

Except this darkness was all wrong.

How many software developers does it take to change a lightbulb? None, it’s a hardware problem.

She strained her ears and listened for whatever sound had awakened her, but she heard nothing. She saw nothing. All her senses could discern was a slight chill against her skin and the lingering scent of the kung pao chicken she’d had for dinner. But something seemed off. As the seconds ticked by, a feeling of dread settled over her.

Creak.

She bolted upright. The noise was soft but unmistakable. Someone was
inside
her house.

Her heart skittered. Her thoughts zinged in a thousand directions. She lived in an old bungalow, more dilapidated than charming, and her bedroom was at the back, a virtual dead end. She glanced at her windows. She’d reinforced the original latches with screw locks to deter burglars—which had seemed like a good idea at the time. But now she felt trapped. She reached over and groped around on the nightstand for her phone.

Crap.

Crap crap crap. It was charging in the kitchen.

Her blood turned icy as stark reality sank in. She had no phone, no weapon, no exit route. And someone was
inside
.

Should she hide in the closet? Or try to slip past him somehow, maybe if he stepped into her room? It would never work, but—

Creak
.

A burst of panic made the decision for her and she was across the room in a flash. She scurried behind the door and flattened herself against the wall. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her heart pounded wildly as she
felt
more than heard him creeping closer.

That’s what he was doing.
Creeping.
He was easing down the hallway with quiet, deliberate steps while she cowered behind the door, quivering and naked except for her oversized Florence and the Machine T-shirt. Sweat sprang up on the back of her neck and her chest tightened.

Who the hell was he? What did he want? She had no cash, no jewelry, just a few thousand dollars’ worth of hardware sitting on her desk. Maybe she could slip out while he stole it.

Yeah, right. Her ancient hatchback in the driveway was a neon sign announcing that whoever lived here was not only Dead Broke, but Obviously Home. This intruder was no burglar—he was here for her.

Laney’s pulse sprinted. Her hands formed useless little fists at her sides, and she was overwhelmed with the absurd notion that she should have followed through on that kickboxing class.

She forced a breath into her lungs and tried to
think
.

She had to think her way out of this because she was five-three, one-hundred-ten pounds, and weaponless. She didn’t stand much chance against even an average-size man, and if he was armed, forget it.

The air moved. Laney’s throat went dry. She stayed perfectly still and felt a faint shifting of molecules on the other side of the door. Then a soft sound, barely a whisper, as the door drifted open.

She held her breath. Her heart hammered. Everything was black, but gradually there was a hole in the blackness—a tall, man-shaped hole—and she stood paralyzed with disbelief as the shape eased into her bedroom and crept toward her bed. She watched it, rooted in place, waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting.

She bolted.

Her feet slapped against the wood floor as she raced down the hallway. Air
swooshed
behind her. A scream tore from her throat, then became a shrill yelp as he grabbed her hair and slammed her against the wall.

A stunning blow knocked her to the floor. Stars burst behind her eyes as her cheek hit wood. She scrambled to her feet. She made a frantic dash and tripped over the coffee table, sending glasses and dishes flying as she crashed to her knees.

He flipped her onto her back and then he was on her, pinning her with his massive weight as something sharp cut into her shoulder blade.

She clawed at his face, his eyes. He wore a ski mask, and all she could see were three round holes and a sinister flash of teeth amid the blackness. She shrieked, but an elbow against her throat cut off all sound, all breath, as she fought and bucked beneath him.

He was strong, immovable. And terrifyingly calm as he pinned her arms one by one under his knees and reached for something in the pocket of his jacket. She expected a weapon—a knife or a gun—and she tried to heave him off. Panic seized her as his shadow shifted in the dimness. Above her frantic grunts she heard the tear of duct tape. And suddenly the idea of being silenced that way was more horrifying than even a blade.