Hostile Witness (Sanctuary, Inc. #1)

Chapter 40

40

T ia alternated between pacing the living room and sipping at the caramel macchiato she’d purchased on the way home from the airport. Flynn had given up on following her and lain down on his bed by the new back door, intently watching her.

The inside of her house resembled a humid inferno. The past two days had been swampish and in the high eighties, an unusual temperature for early May. Opening a few windows, she made sure the crosswind would cool the place down with the ocean breeze.

Had Ethan woken from the second surgery yet? She massaged her forehead with a couple of fingers. Mac had promised he’d call her when he had news. Glancing at the mantel clock, she plugged her phone into the charger. It might be a long night.

She was fried. Both physically and emotionally tired beyond her usual limits. But every time she considered the what-ifs of Ethan’s injuries, the monitors, the fluid drips, and the lax expression on his bruised face while sedated, her body kick-started into overdrive again. And the exhaustion was fueling the vicious cycle.

What she really needed was to settle down and grab a few hours’ sleep. She considered the huge iced coffee on the countertop. Surely it wasn’t helping. If she had any sense, she’d pour it down the sink. But plain water or chamomile tea didn’t appeal right now. Maybe accomplishing something would help her frazzled mind calm down enough to rest.

Her decision made, she whistled for Flynn and grabbed her phone and charger. The last thing she wanted was to miss Mac’s call due to a dead battery. Flynn trotted up the stairs ahead of her and waited at the top. Halfway up— the gun —she jogged back down and retrieved the weapon from the hutch. I promised Ethan. It was a wonder she could remember where she’d stashed it from day to day at this point. Security was a practice she meant to keep, just so she could look him in the eye and say that seriously, she was watching her back.

Three stairs up, Tia sighed. The alarm system. She backtracked and reset it, allowing for open windows and the cross breeze upstairs. Taking the stairs two at a time, she joined Flynn at the top, plugged in her phone, and placed the Glock on her dresser.

A blessed coolness blew across her face as she opened the bathroom window. The gusty ocean wind she often cursed in the winter was a welcome friend today. After lifting a sash in each of the bedrooms, Tia got to work switching out her closet from winter to summer. As usual, it was exciting to see the vibrant summer clothes again and hide the subdued winter colors in the cedar closet she’d customized by herself.

May as well purge as I go. She made a discard-and-donate pile on a chair and held up a seafoam-color gauze midi dress with a plunging neckline. Love, love. What she wouldn’t give to wear it again. Well, that meant she’d have to make a decision soon between skin grafting or a tattoo to cover her elongated scar.

Ethan’s velvet bass voice whispered in her memory, That scar brought you back to me . Inhaling a quick breath, she stepped back from the closet. He wasn’t a flowers-and-candy kind of guy. She liked to pick out her own flowers anyway. He was a new red coffeepot, Thai food, and salsa dancing sexy-as-hell man who made her heart race and was perfect for her.

After spending almost an hour hustling clothes from one closet to another, she changed the sheets on the bed she and Ethan had tumbled into several times. She opened the closet door and tossed the soiled linens down the laundry chute. On reflection, she dropped the pink-rosebud winter comforter down the big funnel, too. A thump echoed as the dirty laundry landed on top of the washer.

Every time she used the chute, Flynn would still combat crawl to the huge opening, peer over the edge, whine, and back away. Tonight was no different. His apprehension was healthy as far as she was concerned. After the ordeal of extricating him from the old doggie door, she couldn’t imagine trying to get him out of the laundry chute. That thought was so not funny.

A minute later, a noisy blast of wind slammed the bathroom door shut. Huffing, she propped it open again with a painted brick one of her students had gifted her.

Tia yelped when her phone rang, because the volume was high enough to wake the comatose. Jumping over Flynn, she grabbed the phone.

“Mac?”

“Yeah, hi. He’s out of surgery. They said it went well, but he’s in for a hell of a recovery with the repaired tendons and ligaments in his arm. The good news is... they fixed everything.”

“Is he awake?”

“Not now. He’s out for the night.”

“What’s his prognosis?”

“They’re cautiously optimistic about a full recovery, but it will take time. The orthopedic doctor said she doesn’t expect him to be back at work until at least the fall.”

Tia’s heart sank. “Oh, wow. That was really hard on him last time.”

Mac’s voice perked up. “He told you about that, huh?”

“Yes, it was difficult for him.”

“Well, his marriage to that narcissist was rocky back then. He’ll be okay this time, and they don’t prescribe painkillers as freely nowadays. He’s got a lot to live for, you know?”

“He’d better. I’m counting on him.”

Mac chuckled. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Did you call his grandmother?”

“Yes. Right before I called you. She knows everything.”

“Okay. I’ll stop by and check on her tomorrow. When can I see him again?”

“If Ethan said when he was up and moving around, then he meant it. I’ll send the chopper back for you, because he’ll stay in Baltimore until he’s able to fend for himself with most things.”

Tia pulled the scrunchie from her ponytail and set her hair free, the way Ethan liked it. “Okay, I’ll text you for updates?”

“That’s fine. I’m planning on catching a few winks, so wait until the morning if you can.”

“Thanks, Mac. I appreciate you keeping me in the loop.”

“No problem, you’re family, T.” He disconnected the call.

Tia sank down onto the freshly made bed, smiling with relief. He’s gonna be okay. She’d help him if he let her. The previous exhaustion rolled over her tired mind and body once again. It would feel so good to crash right here. Closing her eyes, she stretched out her fingers and pulled a clean pillow under her head. He’s all right. I can rest now.

But the house alarm wailed as a rush of refreshing cool air skimmed over her shoulder. Damn security system. It was the same problem she’d had after they’d installed it. The system was so sensitive, especially during windy weather. Groaning, she forced herself to move and padded down the hallway.

Once she caught a few hours’ sleep, she’d explore the security app on her phone and get comfortable with it. After installation two days ago, she hadn’t had any time to familiarize herself with the usage options. As of right now, she wasn’t sure she could even reset the thing remotely. And Ethan’s yard cameras were gone in favor of the bells-and-whistles system they’d just put in.

Halfway down the stairs, her bedroom door slammed shut. Oh, to hell with it. After resetting the security system, she’d close the windows and turn on the air-conditioning. The fresh breeze wasn’t worth the trouble it was causing. Sure, it was windy outside, but most seaside towns experienced stiff winds. Why couldn’t they make a security system that knew the difference between wind and a break-in? Ridiculous. And yeah, she was grumpy.

Overtired.

Freaking exhausted.

She’d damn near lost the man she loved and hadn’t slept.

Her fingers skimmed across the keypad, resetting the system.

When a rope cinched tightly around her neck.

Tia’s hands flew to her airway. He walked backward, choking her and dragging her with him. As she struggled to get her feet situated for a strike, she pulled at the rope, hoping for a quick breath.

He laughed. “Thanks for resetting the alarm. Now we won’t be disturbed by the cops or a nosy neighbor.”

Where was Flynn? Her heart plummeted when she remembered. He was trapped upstairs in her bedroom, along with the gun and her phone. Terror sprinted through her veins. She held onto a bookcase, hoping to slow the guy down, and pulled it over on the way to the kitchen. Books cascaded across the floor, and the crack of splintering wood reverberated as the unit crashed to the tile.

“You like it noisy, huh? I can do noise. But I really like mess. You saw what I did to old Margie, didn’t you? I messed her up real good.”

Tia forced one finger under the rope and dragged in a shaky half breath. The man stopped in the kitchen, and she collapsed against the countertop, eyeing the knife block. Lightheaded as she was, she still recognized that if she pulled a knife, he’d likely use it on her. But if he faced her straight on, she could take him down.

Pulling in as much air as possible, Tia wheeled around to face him. Omigosh. Covered in infected, oozing black stitches, his face resembled a patchwork quilt. He must’ve performed a self-stitch job after Flynn had bitten him in the video she’d seen. Ugh, gross. His stench permeated the air around them.

He swung a fist at her, and turning aside, Tia brought the flat of her hand up and nailed him from his chin to his forehead, ripping out stitches as she moved. He cried out in pain and yanked the rope around her neck tighter than before. “You bitch. You’ll pay for that.”

The growling upstairs morphed into the same otherworldly werewolf seething she’d heard during the traffic stop. But there was nothing Flynn could do for her now. Her survival was up to her. All of her preparation had been to fight a person, not a rope. She clawed at her neck, desperate for another fingerhold.

The man laughed and twisted the cord tighter. “You’re a little panicked, huh?” He took a quick look around. “Where’s your fucking dog? He’s somewhere close by, because I can hear him.” Empowered now, he called out, “Oh, Flynn, where are you? I’m here to do your lady friend. Wanna watch?”

Tia’s thoughts faded as black spots invaded her vision and her knees buckled. The air all used up, she crumpled to the floor.

On a sharp inhale, her eyes fluttered open. She remembered passing out as a wave of panic slammed her heart into overdrive.

The alarm system blared in the background, and the end of the rope lay next to her. With stiff fingers, she pulled it close and frantically worked it loose, dragging in massive drafts of air as she slid the noose over her head.

Adrenaline pumped like gasoline through her body, and nausea threatened to kick in. Turning on her side, she caught the intruder facing the keypad and cursing. “You fucker, all I did was open the door so I could get something from the car.” He slammed his fist into the picture frame next to the pad while the silver glint of a gun sticking out of his pocket danced in the flashing emergency lights.

Tia crawled behind the cabinets and hauled herself to a shaky standing position. If she could disarm him, it would be an equal fight. Whatever Flynn was doing upstairs resounded through the walls. Poor dog must be beside himself locked in that room. Tia squinted at the distance. She’d never make it past the guy to run the stairs two at a time to unleash Flynn.

This was her battle to win or lose on her own.

She took a few seconds to strategize. Judging by the sounds coming from upstairs, Flynn had to be body-slamming her bedroom door in his effort to get free. On her third deep breath, Tia rushed the guy, grabbed his gun, and kicked his knees out from under him. The tall man hit the floor with a groan. Considering the size and weight of the gun, it had to be a standard police-issue firearm. Could this have been stolen from Margie Plante’s home?

She spun around and ran toward the kitchen. Seconds later, his big hand latched around her ankle and yanked her down. Rolling over, Tia kicked his face.

His nose spurted blood. He let go of her ankle and staggered to his feet as she leaped up and ran.

Roaring like a wounded beast, he seized her hair with one hand and held her wrist with the gun in his other hand. Tia squeezed the trigger, firing a shot into his foot.

Enraged, he forced the gun toward her head. “You’re gonna get messed up, girl.”

Tia sent two more upward shots into the living-room ceiling in an effort to empty the gun of bullets. She headbutted him, but his strength and body weight pulled her toward him. Sucking in a huge breath, Tia launched into a crotch shot meant to disable, but he let go of her hair and jumped out of the way.

He laughed and sneered. “You think you’re the only one who knows self-defense?” He grappled for her hand holding the gun and shoved it at her face.

She ducked and pulled the trigger, blasting a bullet into a kitchen cabinet. The tinkle of shattering glassware echoed from inside. It didn’t matter. As long as she controlled the gun, she had an honest chance at survival. Four bullets spent. Two more to go.

But the man gripped her wrist and shoved it toward her head again, clawing at her fingers to release the firearm. Her back was to his front as they fought for control. Tia squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet through the kitchen window. Only one more.

He tore at her hair again. She jumped as high as she could, nailing him in the chin and knocking him off-balance. She ran like hell. Her reprieve was temporary. The perp lifted a butcher knife from the block, smiled, and strode toward her.

Flynn didn’t sound as far away anymore. Had he escaped? She trained the gun at the guy’s heart and screamed, “ Fass, Flynn, fass .” There had to be one more bullet in the gun. She couldn’t remember. Tia took a step backward.

There was an eerie screech of groaning metal close by as the man raised the knife and barreled toward her. But in a flurry of white percale, Flynn flew out of the laundry chute like a snarling avenging angel wearing a pink-rosebud sheet. With momentum behind him, he sprang from the washer, caught the perp by the throat with his jaw, and in one smooth strike knocked the intruder to the kitchen floor.

Stunned, Tia gawked at the heap of dog and man. A puddle of scarlet spread under them.

No, no, no. Still holding the gun, she rushed over and felt for a pulse on the man—nothing. Flynn was growling underneath the guy’s body. She grabbed hold of the man’s shirt and rolled him over. He’d fallen on the knife intended for her.

Flynn had his jaw firmly affixed to the man’s neck, as if he were waiting for the command to let go. He gave Tia an eye, and his tail started to wag.

Bursting into euphoric tears, Tia got down on her knees. “ Aus , let go, Aus .” He growled once but obeyed, releasing the man. She held out her hands, coaxing her canine protector away from the invader with gentle praises. Flynn shimmied closer and whined.

“I know, buddy, I know. You’re so brave. You overcame your biggest fear and went down the laundry chute. I love you, Flynn. I’m so grateful.”

With Flynn’s left side covered in blood, he scrambled upright, licked her face, and barked.

An older neighbor whose name she didn’t even know rushed through the front door with a baseball bat in his hand. “I heard gunshots and called 911,” he panted. After taking one look at the carnage, he stepped back. “Are you all right, Miss?”

Tia nodded and ruffled Flynn’s fur. “Thanks to this guy. Do you have a phone I could borrow?”

He reached in his pocket and held up a phone. “That’s a big dog you’ve got there,” he commented with a hint of trepidation. He bent down and slid the phone across the floor to her. “It’s unlocked.”

“Thank you.” With a trembling, grateful smile, she tapped in a number.

“Carson.”

“Uncle, there’s been a break-in at my house. I need you. And bring Mom.” She disconnected the call and slid the phone back to the neighbor.

Tia wrapped her arms around Flynn, holding on to him for dear life, as the cacophony of sirens in the distance grew closer.