Unmasking The Shadow Man. Debbie Herbert

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СКАЧАТЬ Harper drew a deep breath. Inhale, hold for four counts, and then a long exhale—just as her yoga teacher advised for easing stress. Nobody’s there. The house had been locked up tight ever since Mom died. A couple more therapeutic breaths and she dismissed the silly feeling of being watched. The prank email this morning had her jumpy, that was all.

      Quickly, she flipped through the envelopes. Mostly junk, but a couple of utility bills were due. Call and cancel utilities for next month—Harper added the chore to her mental checklist. By then, the house would be on the market, and…

      A flash of something large came toward her at breakneck speed. A whisper of tires on asphalt, the faint scent of car exhaust—Harper’s head snapped up in alarm. A black pickup truck barreled down on the wrong side of the road and aimed straight at her, its headlights blinding. Paralyzing fear kept her rooted to the spot for a couple seconds.

      Get back. Her body caught up to her brain’s screaming message. Harper lunged off the curb and rolled onto the sidewalk. The truck crashed into her mailbox, and then its engine revved, increasing speed. Gaping at the truck’s fading taillights, she lay on one elbow and watched as it sped around King Street’s sharp curve, disappearing into the night as quickly as it had arrived.

      “Harper! Harper, are you all right?”

      Mrs. Henley’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. Harper tried to catch her breath, to let her neighbor know that she was okay, but damned if the words wouldn’t form past her numbed lips.

      Pain radiated from the palms of both her hands and her right hip. Blood formed beneath the ripped knees of her jeans. She raised her hands to eye level and stared blankly at the deep abrasions marking the tender skin.

      “Oh my God, Harper. Tell me you’re okay.” Mrs. Henley knelt beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “The nerve of some drivers! He could have killed you with his recklessness.”

      The reality that she’d been seconds away from possible death or disfigurement finally sank in, and Harper trembled uncontrollably. Reckless? It had seemed deliberate.

      She sucked in deep breaths of the crisp air and managed a wan smile. “I’m okay, thanks.”

      “Let me help you up.”

      “No. Wait a minute.” She needed to collect her wits.

      “Of course.” Mrs. Henley nervously scanned her prone body. “Where all are you hurt?”

      Good question. “I—I think just my knees and hands and hip.” She drew a deep breath and sat up. “Okay, I think I’m ready to stand now.”

      Mrs. Henley placed her hands under Harper’s right forearm. “I’ll help.”

      She surveyed her neighbor’s somewhat frail body. “That’s okay. I’ve got this.”

      The sound of a racing motor set her heart skittering. Had the truck returned to finish her off? Harper twisted around. A Baysville Police Department sedan screeched to an abrupt halt by her fallen mailbox. Officer Andrews was halfway out of the vehicle before the motor turned off.

      “What happened? Are you injured?” he called, running toward them.

      He was beside her, his brow furrowed with concern, assessing the situation. Harper had the oddest sensation of falling into the warmth of those gray eyes. She wanted nothing more than to lean into the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders—to draw momentary comfort from his strength and kindness.

      “Some fool driver nearly ran her over,” Mrs. Henley jumped in to explain. “He nearly gave me a heart attack! And he didn’t even stop, just kept right on going.”

      “Did you get a plate number?”

      “No. Sorry, Officer. It happened so fast.”

      Andrews turned back to Harper. “What about you?”

      “All I can tell you is that it was a large black pickup truck.”

      “Catch the make and model?” he asked hopefully.

      “No.” Even if it hadn’t been for the darkness and her shattered nerves, Harper couldn’t have relayed that information. Vehicles were just vehicles, and she’d never bothered learning different manufacturers’ specifications. Not that Officer Andrews needed to know all that.

      “How bad are you hurt? Should I call an ambulance?”

      “No, don’t. I’m fine. Was just going to stand when you drove up.”

      Andrews held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation. He wouldn’t let her fall. His grasp was strong, an anchor to momentarily lean on. She winced, though, as the raw patches on her palm pressed into the hard strength of his hand. Luckily, her legs and ankles were uninjured, and she stood on her own two feet again. She gave him a nod, and he released his hold.

      “Thank God, you’re okay.” Mrs. Henley held up the stack of envelopes Harper had dropped as the truck came at her. “I believe I’ve gathered all your mail.”

      Harper took the envelopes and shook her head. How unimportant the mail seemed now.

      “Let’s go inside, and I’ll fix you something to drink while I take your statement.”

      Andrews’s deep voice washed over her scattered senses like a balm. “I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.”

      “I can do that for you,” Mrs. Henley chimed in.

      “That’s okay, ma’am. Thanks for your help.”

      Harper shot him a grateful look. Mrs. Henley meant well, but once she came in the house and settled down, she was likely to stay for hours, wanting to chitchat. While her neighbor was a perfectly lovely person, Harper didn’t feel up to that.

      Andrews guided her in the house and helped her get seated at the kitchen table.

      “Let’s get you cleaned up. Where are your first aid supplies?”

      She pointed to the hallway on their left. “Second door on the right. Should be alcohol and bandages below the sink. At least, there used to be, years ago.”

      He left momentarily, returning with an old, dusty bottle of rubbing alcohol, a washcloth and several square packages of gauze. Kneeling by her feet, he gently cleaned the abrasions on her knees and palms. At her slight, involuntary hiss as alcohol touched the wound, he bent low and blew on her skin to ease the pain.

      Holy hell. The tender intimacy of the gesture bulldozed her senses with as much impact as when she’d crashed to the ground dodging the wayward truck. After he wrapped her palms with the gauze, he moved on to her knees and she gulped hard, fighting back unexpected tears. What was wrong with her? Was she so broken that a kindly ministration reduced her to a puddled mess?

      He finished, cocking his head to the side as he regarded his handiwork. “Might want to pick up some antibiotic cream tomorrow. Just to be safe.”

      She cleared her throat, determined to keep her voice steady. “Thank you. I’ve made coffee, and there’s some cheesecake in the fridge,” she told him. “Help yourself.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ