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“But I thought you were just trying to help.” The sarcasm came through loud and clear. Michael took another step toward her. “Why would you be afraid of me?”
She didn’t understand his tone. Some of it felt like concern—but some of it felt like crazy-serial-killer. Becca took another step back, putting the cooking island between her and him, before realizing this felt very much like cat and mouse. “Stop it.”
He stared back at her. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth.”
Gabriel pulled a cookie from the package and sat back in his chair. “My money’s on the girl.”
My money’s not.
Michael took another step closer “How about it? You want to try another story?”
He stood in the gap between the island and the counter now, blocking her path to the doorway. He was close enough to touch, close enough to grab her. She kept hearing Paul’s words in her head, bits and pieces from the class. Eye contact. Target. Control. Balance.
Then she was doing it. She swung her fist into his midsection, trying to scrape past him into the hallway. He caught her arms.
“Hey,” he said. “Wait a second—”
She swung for his face with the keys, but missed and got his shoulder. She tried to kick him, to knee him in the groin, anything. She had no idea if her hits were successful. His fingers caught at her hoodie and she slid out of it. She felt her shirt ride up to her chest, but she didn’t care. The wet fabric pulled free, and then she was loose, bolting for the doorway.
She felt him right behind her.
Her feet slapped the slate floor of the foyer; then her hand caught the doorknob. The door swung wide and she exploded into the darkness, slipping on the wet steps, skidding in the grass on the way to her car.
Thunder growled in the sky, and the grass gave way to mud, clutching her sneakers. Her knees hit the ground. Her hands squished into the dirt. She slipped and slid, struggling for purchase, but couldn’t find her footing. Her fingers seemed to tangle in the grass, as if the roots grabbed her hands and held her down.
A hand seized her arm and hauled her to her feet. The landscape spun as her eyes tried to keep up. She saw the brightly lit front of the house, the twins on the porch, the frustration in Michael’s face as he tried to get hold of her.
And behind him, on the second floor, Chris’s face in a window, watching the whole thing.
Her breath caught. She pulled to get free, but Michael’s grip was secure. “Just wait a minute,” he said. “I’m not going to—”
Thunder broke again. Rain poured down, slicking her skin.
She felt stronger suddenly, invigorated by the chill in the rain. She fought Michael, wrestling against his hold. Her arm slid through his hand as if the water pried him loose. Her feet found traction as the mud thickened, and she was suddenly five feet away. Then ten, her feet on the pavement.
She flung the back door open and jumped into the backseat of her car, grabbing for the handle to lock herself in. Her hand jammed the lock down, and she scrambled over the center console to get into the driver’s seat.
The key was firing the ignition when she realized Michael hadn’t pursued her. He was already back on the porch, standing in the light of the doorway.
Chris was no longer in the window. Rain pounded on the windshield.
Her breath was shaking.
No one was coming after her.
He’d grabbed her, right? Come after her in the kitchen?
Or had she misread a situation again? She watched; they were ignoring her now, filing back through the front door of the house as if she’d left like a normal guest.
So she put the car in gear and backed down the driveway.
CHAPTER 3
Chris lay in the dark and listened to the rain strike the house. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. He didn’t bother to strip the wet clothes from his body, and he’d left his windows open so he could inhale the dampness in the air. The rain called to him, each drop begging him to join the downpour, whispering promises he didn’t quite understand yet.
But the house was quiet. His brothers were quiet. Solitude and silence were precious things, and he’d cling to them as long as possible. Experience told him it wouldn’t be long.
Rain came through the screen, droplets collecting on the wood surface of his desk.
