Page 53 of Love on the Run

She hightailed it back to the kitchen, the center of the house, scanning everything. Where could she go? Her eyes fell on the set of kitchen knives in the block on the counter. Without thinking, she grabbed two at random, coming up with a big carving knife in one hand, and a steak knife in the other. Now what? Upstairs? Her instinct was to climb.

She had just put her foot on the step when Bruiser whined. He didn’t want her to go up there, where he couldn’t follow. Callie thought hard.No, in the loft; there was only one way up or down. That was a good way to get trapped. Jake’s bedroom, then. Bigger, with a high window and a closet. Might be better.

She backed her way into the bedroom, casting an eye on the window, now with the blinds down. That side of the house was in the sun now, and any shadows that crossed it should be visible. She should call Jake. Right now.

Too late, Callie remembered her cell phone was upstairs in the loft. She’d barely thought of it in the past couple of days.

“Damn it,” she whispered out loud. There was a phone on the desk in the den, but she didn’t know Jake’s number by heart. Did they have 911 out this far? She’d have to risk it. She remembered the muffled yell of frustration at the front door. Someone was out there, now, and she’d bet anything Malcolm had found her.

Callie had just started to retrace her steps to the bedroom door, Bruiser shadowing her every move, when there was another sound outside. Voices. More than one person. She couldn’t make out any words.

Her plan to reach the phone was forgotten as she waited for what seemed like forever, listening for any movements outside. Her heart leaped erratically when she heard the front door getting rattled, as if someone was trying to knock it down.

A gunshot sounded, and voices rose, yelling in confusion. Callie ducked automatically. Hunched down, she strained to hear, but she couldn’t understand anything that might have been said.

Then another shot rang out, followed instantly by the sound of glass shattering. Callie clapped a hand over her mouth to hold in a scream, dropping the little knife to the floor. Fortunately, it fell soundlessly on the bedroom rug. She bent to pick it up, wedging the blade in between the folds of her bandage, a makeshift hip holster.

If the glass was a window of the house, and she was sure it was, it meant someone might be coming in. She held absolutely still, the dog pressed hard against her, choosing to defend her rather than give chase.

The sounds of more glass falling came to her ears, followed by a thud. A few muttered words, then the sound of something very heavy being dragged across the living room floor. Callie's heart thudded painfully in her chest. How had Malcolm found her? Who had he sent? She was far too aware of the blood rushing in her veins. She did not want to die.

Footsteps. Heavy ones.

“Brand?” A voice called. Callie blinked in confusion. Who the hell was in the house?

“Jake, you here?” The voice called again, louder this time.

Callie held herself immobile, and kept a death grip on Bruiser’s collar. The dog began to give a low, vicious growl in the back of his throat. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready to spring.

“Calista?” The voice came again. She still didn’t recognize it, but it didn’t sound like the voice of someone hired to kill her.

“Calista, are you here? My name’s Ty Holt, LAPD. Jake and I talked yesterday on the phone. Calista?”

The footsteps had been slowly coming closer all this time, and Bruiser was straining at his collar.

“Don’t move any closer,” Callie called out. “Unless you want your throat ripped out.”

8

Ty had stopped short when he heard the woman’s voice. For all he knew, she had one of Jake’s guns, and Bruiser could very well be in the room with her. He took in the house with a swift glance. His trained eyes saw the empty slots in the knife block as if they were gaping holes. Sure, the blades could be in the dishwasher. Or they could be in the room with the dog and gun. If she kept cool enough under pressure to take those knives, Calista might be Jake’s kind of girl. “Calista, is that you?” he called.

“No, it’s Marilyn Monroe,” she answered sarcastically, taking refuge in bravado.

“Calista, I’m a friend.”

“How can I trust you? Anyone could say they’re the police.”

“My name’s Ty. Jake and I were in the Army together. He mention that?” Ty wondered how much the two had talked. Jake had said he was keeping her in custody, but Ty, knowing Jake as well as he did, could sense something else going on.

“So you’re here to rescue me from the bad men outside? You got here pretty fast,” Callie noted coldly.

“What does that mean?”

“How do I know you don’t work for Malcolm?”

“How about because I’m a cop?” Ty asked in a puzzled, irritated tone. “You want me to toss my badge in there or what?”

“How will that help?That just tells me you still have your day job.”

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