Her Stolen Past. Lynette Eason

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СКАЧАТЬ shut her mouth and moved sideways. She hit a bench and set her bag on it. She wanted to reach in the bag and search for her cell phone, but didn’t dare make the noise she’d have to make in order to find the thing.

      So, making no sound, she twisted the strap of her purse around her fingers and stepped around the bench, her soft-soled tennis shoes quiet on the tile floor.

      With her pulse pounding in her ears, she moved toward the door once again, hoping whoever had been there seconds before had moved. Another muffled scrape reached her. The person still blocked Sonya’s exit.

      She slipped back and into one of the bathroom stalls. And wondered if that was possibly the dumbest thing she could have done.

      * * *

      At ten after five, Brandon started to get a little nervous. Where was she? He was parked at the top of the circle next to the front door where she said she’d meet him. Maybe she’d gotten held up. He tried her number and frowned when she didn’t answer. He called Frankie. “Where’s Sonya?”

      “She’s changing in the locker room. Taking her a while, though. I was just getting ready to check on her.”

      “Did you clear it before she went in?”

      “I did. Another woman was in there and came out when Sonya went in.”

      Brandon waffled. “Give her another minute then knock on the door.” He should have put a woman on her. Would have made it easier to keep tabs on her in the bathrooms.

      “Of course.”

      Brandon waited for all of fifteen seconds, then got out of his car and headed for the entrance. He was probably overreacting but he’d rather play it safe. He couldn’t believe how worried he was. Telling himself he was being silly, that Frankie had it under control, he nevertheless hurried to the elevator.

      * * *

      Sonya held her breath then let it out in a slow, soundless hiss. She’d lost track of how many seconds—minutes?—had passed since she’d stepped into the stall. Two? Three? And yet, she heard nothing. No footsteps, no one breathing. Nothing.

      She was beginning to think it really was her imagination after all, but her gut said it wasn’t.

      She opened the stall door and stepped out.

      From behind her, she felt movement. She started to turn and gasped when something hard, cold and sharp touched her throat and pressed. Sharp, stinging pain froze her. “This is your last warning. Stop looking for Heather Bradley.” The knife dug a little deeper. Sonya felt a warm trickle of blood begin to slide down her throat. She let out a whimper, lifted up on her tiptoes. She couldn’t speak, was afraid to move. One wrong slip of his hand and the blade would end it all.

      The knife lowered and she shoved back against her attacker. The figure stumbled. She heard the knife clatter to the tile floor. Sonya spun away and lunged for the door. A hand gripped her collar and yanked her back.

      A knock on the door made her attacker pause. Sonya swung around with her fist and connected with a cheekbone. He cried out and cursed, but let go.

      * * *

      “Sonya? Are you in here?”

      “Missy! Get back!” Sonya moved and slammed into the bench. Pain shot through her knee and she heard Missy scream as the man raced through the open door. Sonya spun to see Missy shoved against the door and the dark-clothed figure disappear around the corner. Commotion escalated like a cresting wave. She thought she heard Frankie holler, then pounding feet.

      Sonya sank to the floor and lifted a hand to her bleeding throat, wondering how deep the wound was. Weakness invaded her. Mentally, she knew she needed to get up and get help, but her body wouldn’t cooperate with her. Shock held her in a tight grip.

      Then Brandon was beside her. “I need a doctor in here!” To Sonya, he said, “Let me see.” He removed her hand and she thought she saw relief flash in his eyes. “I think it’s just a surface wound.”

      “It stings,” she whispered, “but doesn’t really hurt. My knee hurts worse.” She tried to laugh but wasn’t sure she succeeded when he grimaced.

      “Sonya?”

      She glanced up at Dr. Eddie Ryan’s concerned voice.

      “Hey, Eddie,” she whispered. Security and police officers were already on the scene. They must have been close by. The observation almost made her laugh. She’d just had her throat cut and she was thinking about the proximity of law enforcement. Too bad they hadn’t been around when she’d been attacked.

      Brandon moved back and let Eddie take his spot.

      “Who did this?” Eddie asked without taking his eyes from her neck.

      She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Someone who’s decidedly unhappy with me. Is Missy okay?”

      “I’m fine.”

      Hearing Missy’s shaky voice sent relief pouring through her.

      “Unhappy with you?” Eddie snorted. “I’ll say.” He looked up and spoke to one of the nurses. “Let’s get her into a vacant room. Looks like she might need a stitch or two. Call the pharmacy and get me a prescription for an antibiotic.” He wrote the script, then looked back at Sonya. “I’m assuming your tetanus vaccination is up to date.”

      “Yes.”

      “Good.”

      She looked at Brandon. “Where’s Frankie?”

      “He went after your attacker,” he said. “Security is helping him. We should hear in a bit that he’s in custody. Now, let’s get you taken care of.”

      Then hands were helping her into the wheelchair that had been called for. “I don’t need this. I can walk.”

      “Sh.” Brandon laid a hand on her shoulder. “Sit.”

      Since she didn’t think she could stand, much less walk as she’d said she could do, she bit her tongue on any further protests.

      Thirty minutes later, she had two black stitches in the worst part of the cut, had downed the prescribed antibiotic and was waiting impatiently for Brandon to reappear. Thankfully, the wound was numb and she wasn’t in any pain at the moment, but she was grateful for the little bottle of pain pills in her purse for when the numbing medicine wore off.

      She wanted to go home and sleep, but more than that, she wanted to head over to the Bradleys’ house. Brandon had wanted to cancel the meeting, but she’d asked him to just postpone it if that was all right with the Bradleys. She didn’t want to wait a moment longer than necessary to talk to them.

      Doubtful, he’d done as she’d asked and now she itched to go. To get the visit over with. To determine once and for all that she was not Heather Bradley.

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