Eventually, Grace shut off the television. She sat on the couch a few minutes longer, drinking her tea and finally thinking about nothing at all. If the house hadn’t been so quiet, Grace might not have heard someone turn the knob on the front door and bump it hard, twice.
She sprang up from her seat, heart lodged firmly in her throat. The noise had startled her. Was it Ryan? Had he forgotten his keys? How had she not heard his car coming down the driveway? Seen his headlights?
She pulled back the living room curtain. In her distracted state, Grace had forgotten to turn on the front porch lights for Ryan as she usually did, so when she peered outside she could see nothing but darkness. She heard another loud bang, someone at the front door. There was a Stay mode on the alarm, meaning any open door would trigger it, but she didn’t set that mode until Ryan got home. She’d left her phone somewhere in the kitchen, and there was no way to summon help from the TV room. Is there time to run to the kitchen?
Gingerly, Grace closed the curtain, not wanting anyone to know she was at home. Alone.
Another bang.
Fear and hope made her cry out, “Who’s there? Ryan? Is that you?”
Her heart thumped wildly. He forgot his keys, she told herself encouragingly. It’s nothing. She had all those thoughts as her eyes raked the room, searching for something she could grab to use as a weapon. She tensed, her breathing shallow and quick. Moving away from the window, Grace sought some kind of cover behind Arthur’s favorite armchair, hoping and praying the noise would go away.
Instead she heard a loud pop, along with a scrape of metal on metal. Her eyes weren’t deceiving her when she saw the front door swing open. She always engaged the deadbolt when she set the alarm, but she hadn’t done that yet, and the flimsy lock built into the doorknob was easy for someone to breach.
Two large men, both dressed in black, hoods covering their heads, entered her room like panthers on the prowl. The men split up. One went left, toward the TV room and Grace’s location, while the other headed down the hall to the kitchen. It would be seconds before she was spotted. Instinct sent Grace scurrying out from behind the armchair to her left, heading for the living room and the glass doors that opened onto a stone patio. If she could get outside, Grace thought she could sprint across the lawn, maybe reach a neighbor’s house.
A presence loomed behind her as Grace bolted for the patio door in slippery socks. “Get out!” she screamed, her voice drenched in panic. Her house was set far back from the road, so the chances someone would hear her desperate plea stood at slim to none.
With a hurdler’s stride, Grace leapt over the coffee table fronting her plush brown sofa. As she went up and over, her right foot clipped a vase, sending it to the hardwood floor with an explosion of glass in every direction. Choking on fear, she glanced to her right, only to see one of her attackers coming at her from the kitchen.
A black bandana covered his face right up to his ice blue eyes—eyes like a husky’s. She didn’t need to waste one second checking behind her to know the other man was closing in fast. Her best hope, really her only hope, was to get outside, where her screams might have a chance at being heard and her legs might carry her to safety.
The brown sofa was all that stood between Grace and the patio door. She couldn’t hurdle the sofa, but she could get over it faster than going around, saving two steps, maybe three. Grace’s right foot sank deeply into a plush cushion. The cushion functioned as a springboard of sorts, launching her up and over the back end of the sofa, but with too much velocity. Momentum carried her forward, sending her shoulder first into the patio door. She heard a crack, but the glass held. The force of the impact sent her reeling backward, and her lower half connected hard with the couch’s solid back, which sent her forward again like a ricocheting pinball. She hit the glass door for a second time, stabbing her abdomen on the doorknob. Her head banged the glass hard, and down she went to the floor in a heap.
Footsteps thundered in her ears, and she heard both men grunt loudly as they landed on her, pinning her to the ground. A blur of black fabric swam in and out of Grace’s vision. One man seized hold of Grace’s arms, yanking them over her head almost hard enough to pull her shoulders from their sockets. Grace yowled in pain when his gloved hands clamped over her wrists—strong, so strong that she feared he’d break bone.
The other assailant placed his knees on her chest, pressing into Grace’s ribs, putting pressure on her heart. He leaned toward her, close enough so the corner of his bandana tickled her face. His light skin and those blue eyes, so familiar to her, glowed in the dim light of the house. Someone reeked of cigarette smoke. She had a flash of the men smoking outside Vince Rapino’s auto shop.