Page 55 of Nothing But the Night (Basic Instincts 2)

He heard the killer’s footsteps at the top of the stairs.

Jason stumbled through the gloomy kitchen. The only source of light came from the landing. He yanked opened a cupboard.

The silhouette of the killer filled the doorway. Jason reached into the cupboard. All he found was a pile of plates. Better than nothing. He flung the first plate like a Frisbee, putting substantial force behind the throw. It missed the stranger by a foot, shattering against the wall. The debris clattered to the floor. Jason already had his hand on the second plate—he adjusted his aim and took another shot.

The killer was faster. They ducked and the plate sailed over their head and through the open door.Before he could grab another plate, they were racing across the room towards him.

With a cry of rage, he swatted them as they came at him, landing a blow to their shoulder, but lacking the force required to do any damage. The killer drew back their arm and plunged the knife towards him.

A flare of lethal steel.

Jason jumped and rolled. He felt a rush of air as the blade just missed his arm. The pain in his chest was excruciating as he spun across the floor. Powering through, he staggered to his feet and rushed back the way he’d come. He snatched the handle and yanked the door shut behind him. It wouldn’t lock but the delay to his hunter would buy him valuable seconds.

Rushing past Olivia’s desk, he grabbed her chair and hurled it behind him. The castors rattled across the floor, crashing into the kitchen door just as his pursuer pulled it open. Jason kept moving. To glance around could be a disaster.

The adrenaline surging through him took the edge off his pain and he made it to the top of the stairs. He gripped the handrail and hurried down, two and three steps at a time.

Something heavy struck his back on the right side, sending a fresh surge of agony through him. He yelled in pain as the object banged down the stairs ahead of him. It was Olivia’s laptop. There were footsteps behind him. Jason kept moving.

The killer had closed the front door when they came in.

Without a key, he knew it couldn’t be locked. It could only be on the latch.

He reached the bottom and raced across the hall, already reaching for the lock, anticipating what he needed to do.

Then the instinct and intuition he’d learnt to rely on in the Navy kicked in. The killer was right behind him.

Jason spun and flattened his back against the wall.

His pursuer came too fast, and momentum carried them forward. They ran into the front door before spinning around, coming at him again with the knife raised.

At the last second, he ducked into a rugby position, ramming his good shoulder into their middle. Then he levered upwards, throwing them over his back, to land in a heap at the foot of the stairs.

The manoeuvre took him to the edge of complete agony. He had nothing left in him to keep up the fight. He had to get away before they got to their feet again. If they came at him with the knife, this time they would succeed in tearing him apart.

He grabbed the lock and twisted it off the latch. Racing outside, he pulled it shut behind him.

He scrambled in his pocket for the keys. He would lock the bastard in.

Too late. The latch clicked again and the door began to open.

Jason hurried out of the way.

The coffee shop next door was still open. There were a dozen or so customers inside, as well as staff.

As he staggered through the door, gasping in pain, struggling to catch a breath, most of the people stopped what they were doing and stared at him in astonishment.

“Police,” he panted. “Call the police.”

The killer was right outside. For a moment, their eyes locked through the window.

They can’t be mad enough to follow me in.

A second seemed to drag for eternity.

Jason was not at all certain he was safe. This bastard was crazed enough for anything.

The spell broke. The figure in black stuffed the knife into their jacket and turned, fleeing in the direction of the bus station.

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