Texas Hunt. Barb Han

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      Lack of sleep and constant ache did nothing to improve her mood. Plus, the news of her father...she couldn’t even go there. Grief would engulf her if she allowed herself time to think about it. Emotions were a luxury she couldn’t afford. Beckett was still out there. The rest of her family was in danger. As difficult as it was, Lisa had to maintain focus.

      At least she’d convinced her sister to leave town. Lori and Grayson were in a swank fishing cabin on a lake in Arkansas. That was the only bit of good news in what had been one of the worst days of Lisa’s life.

      Dad.

      Thinking about him, about what had happened brought a whole new wave of sadness crashing down around her.

      She tried to ease to a sitting position, searching her memory for any sign he’d been relapsing. Pain pierced her chest, her arms and her back with movement. No use. She’d refused pain medication, needing a clear head. She was still reeling from the news of losing her father while trying to sort out why any of this was happening now. She’d kept Beckett’s secret, dammit. Shouldn’t that have bought her a pass?

      One of the lab techs padded in. Great.

      Trying to sort out the day’s events while Prickzilla jabbed another needle contributed to a dull ache in the spot right between her eyes.

      Take a deep breath. Count to ten.

      It wasn’t a magical cure but she felt better.

      “Try to get some sleep,” Dracula-in-an-aquamarine-jumpsuit whispered before she closed the door behind her and disappeared.

      If only it were that easy.

      Lisa tossed and turned for another half hour at least. As frustration got the best of her she resorted to counting sheep.

      Still didn’t work.

      Just like when she was a kid, the darn things shape-shifted into snakes, their slimy bodies slithering after her. The closet had offered a perfect hiding spot when she was six. Another half dozen years later, Beckett Alcorn had been the beast that kept her awake nights. There wasn’t a closet big enough now for the monster she faced.

      In the category of “not making it better,” she was wide-awake at—she checked the clock—three fifteen in the morning. Great. Even the chickens were conked out at this hour. Lisa had been drifting in and out, but every time she got close the door would creak open and a nurse or technician would pad inside. It was probably just as well. Anytime Lisa got anywhere near real sleep, she’d jolt awake from one of several nightmares ready to cue at a moment’s notice.

      In one scenario, hands were closing around her throat. She woke screaming, giving the nurse who was attending to her quite a scare.

      In another dream, fists were coming at her from every direction and she felt blood spilling out of her cracked skull with each jab.

      After the last round of fifty ways to beat up Lisa, she gave up checking the clock. There was no use realizing just how late it was and how little REM she was getting.

      The worst-case nightmare involved being held under water, drowning, only to bob to the surface and find that it was Ryan holding her down. There was no doubt in her mind that he would never try to hurt her in her waking world. Absolutely no way could she even consider him doing her harm on purpose. The dream must represent something she feared. Didn’t need a psychology degree to know she’d been afraid of the opposite sex ever since that summer, ever since Beckett.

      What did it say about her that even a male friend scared her to death?

      She thought about that as she drifted off to her first real sleep.

      A hand clamped around Lisa’s throat so hard she feared her windpipe would crack. She struggled against the crushing grip. It was like trying to peel off custom-fitted steel.

      Her fight, flee or freeze response triggered as she railed against the force pushing her deeper into the mattress. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. In her other dreams she’d always been able to shout.

      Coughing, she had the frightening realization that this wasn’t a dream.

      She was wide-awake.

      A soft object, maybe a pillow, was being pressed against her face, suffocating her.

      More coughing came as her lungs desperately clawed for air.

      Could she somehow signal one of the nurses? Where were they? How had someone walked right past them in the middle of the night and gotten into her room? She felt around for the call button, but came up empty.

      Oh. God. No.

      Desperate and afraid, she reached for her attacker. Her hand stopped on denim material. Must’ve been his leg, meaning he was most likely straddled over her. Beckett?

      At twelve, Lisa had blamed herself for what he’d done to her. She’d been too embarrassed and too scared to tell anyone. Beckett had threatened to kill everyone she loved if she so much as breathed a word of his actions, and he had the power to follow through with his warning. He’d threatened to do worse to Lisa’s little sister. And if Lisa told, he’d said it would be her word against his, and who would believe her, anyway? He’d made a good point. She’d been a shy girl, in and out of the system, who’d mostly kept to herself. Worse yet, she was daughter of Henry Moore, the town’s constantly rehabilitating alcoholic.

      Lisa wasn’t a little girl anymore. No way did he get to destroy her. She followed the inseam straight up to his groin, grabbed and squeezed with every ounce of strength she had.

      He muttered a curse as he shifted position long enough for her to take in a swallow of precious oxygen. She clasped harder and he groaned, cursing her.

      The weight on top of her lifted for a second as he wriggled his groin out of her grasp. His hold loosened on the pillow pressed against her face so she fought the pain burning through her as she drew her knees to her chest and then thrust them toward his face. They connected with his chin.

      His head snapped back.

      Lisa screamed for the nurse. She tried to launch another attack, pushing through the agony that came with every movement. Her arms felt like spaghetti and even a boost of adrenaline didn’t give her enough strength to keep fighting.

      The mattress dipped and then rose as he pushed to his feet.

      “I’ll be back. You’ll regret this, bitch.” The voice wasn’t Beckett’s. It was too dark to get a good look at the details of his face.

      A fresh wave of panic seized her as she searched for something, anything on the side table. Her fingers reached the landline phone, so she hurled it toward the stranger’s back. “You won’t be able to hurt me from jail.”

      What was taking the nurse so long?

      The dark silhouette slipped out of her room and disappeared moments before the door reopened and the night nurse rushed in.

      “Someone was here. He’s out there. In the hall,” Lisa said through coughing fits.

      Light filled the room as the concerned nurse’s face came into view.

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