Page 15 of Bedroom Therapy

Chapter Four

Amanda’s heart leaped into her throat as she sat up in bed and reached for the phone, along with the business card Zachary Grant had given her.

Earlier she’d had it in her hand, intending to throw it in the trash. But some impulse had made her set it on the bedside table. She had never believed in fate. Now she wondered if the universe had been watching out for her.

There was enough light coming in the window from the street light outside for her to see his mobile number.

“Zachary, thank God,” she blurted when he answered.

“Amanda, what’s wrong?”

“There’s someone outside on my patio.”

“Where are you?”

“In the bedroom.”

“Lock the door. And call the police. I’ll be right there,” he clipped out, then hung up.

She was left clutching the phone in the darkness.

Lord, how far away was the Duck Blind Motel? How long would it take him to get here?

Before she could follow his directions, there was another noise from the front of the house, this time the stealthy sound of the patio door opening.

With her pulse pounding in her throat, she jumped out of bed ran to the bedroom door and locked it. But how much good would that do her?

She was about to call the police when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. Heavy footsteps. A man’s footsteps.

Then someone tried to turn the knob on the bedroom door. When he found it locked, he leveled a blow at the barrier.

She was dressed only in the long tee shirt she’d worn to bed. But she didn’t hesitate to leap to the window and flip the lock open.

After pushing up the double sash, she kicked the screen out with her bare foot and climbed through.

Luckily the bedroom of the small house was on the ground floor. It was only three feet down to the flower bed, where she stood for a moment feeling dazed.

The sound of the bedroom door bursting open galvanized her to action. Dashing down the drive, she fled into the underbrush at the side of the road, stones digging painfully into her bare feet.

When headlights cut through the darkness, she stepped to the shoulder, waving. The car slowed and Zachary rolled down his window.

“He’s in the house,” she shouted to him.

“Did you call the cops?”

“Not yet.”

“Do it.”

Zachary pulled to the curb, sprinted up the drive, and then disappeared around the side of the house.

Her cell phone was inside, finally getting charged. And she couldn’t go back to get it. The neighborhood was fairly rural, and the closest house was fifty yards away. Wishing she had on more clothing, she ran down the road to her nearest neighbor and started banging on the front door. Ten seconds later, an upstairs window opened.

“What’s all that racket?” a man’s voice called into the night. “I’ve got a gun.”

She was glad the porch roof was between her and the weapon. Or would that make any difference?

“There’s an intruder at my house,” she screamed. “Just down the road. I can’t get to my phone. Call 911.”

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