Page 2 of Organized Chaos

Broad shoulders filled her vision. She craned her neck and met a pair of sapphire eyes that sparked with absolute fury. She belted out another scream and scrambled backward. Her arms swung behind her, searching for a weapon. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” the man’s voice ground out. He brushed a hand down his chest like she’d offended him by smacking into his body.

Well, that wasn’t her fault. He’d been the one standing in her way.

That same tickling sensation ran down her arm and Sarah spun in a circle while flapping her arms around like a mad chicken. “Get them off me.” She saw his eyebrows lift and she paused her wild churning. “Do I have a spider on me?”

His jaw locked, and a muscle jumped there. He rubbed the back of his neck and blew out a breath that sounded like exasperation. “I don’t see any.” He dropped his hand. “Now tell me what you’re doing here?”

Sarah spotted a broom tucked into the corner between a doorway that led into the kitchen and another shrouded piece of furniture. She grabbed it with both hands and jabbed the stick toward his chest. “Not getting abducted. That’s what I’m not doing.” Her hands twisted around the narrow handle.

He could snap it like a twig, but he merely looked at the broom denting his perfectly pressed dress shirt, then at her. “Why would you think I’m a kidnapper?” He seemed curious and not the least bit intimidated.

Shoot. Now that he’d pointed it out, Sarah had to wonder that for herself. Wait, wasn’t that the point? She pushed her strength into the broom handle, trying to guide him backward.

He grunted and held his ground. “That hurts.”

“Yeah, well…” She didn’t know what she was supposed to say to a kidnapper. Why’d he have to be cute? It wasn’t fair.

Forward wasn’t an option. Her mind spun with possible escape routes. The front door was behind the man, cut off by his impressive stature. Sarah tried to remember the layout of the house. The kitchen was behind her. Would there be a back door? She could run upstairs and lock herself in one of the bedrooms until she could call for help.

Which way? Indecision warred within her. The man shifted his weight forward.

Sarah abandoned all pretense of holding him back. She threw the broom at his face and bolted. The bristles smacked him in the chin, and he grunted.

“I’m calling the police.” She careened up the stairs and toward the room at the end of the hall. Surely the master bedroom had a lock on the door. She’d not spotted one in either of the rooms she’d entered earlier.

His thudding steps followed but at a slower pace. Like he had all the time in the world. The threat that implied pushed Sarah faster.

She grabbed a lamp from the hallway table and chucked it at her pursuer. The loss hurt her to her core as the vintage piece hit the wall and shattered without coming close to landing where she’d aimed. “Leave me alone.” She burst into the room, spun, and slammed the door.

The lock gave a satisfying click, and she put her back against the frame. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. “Time to restart that exercise program,” she muttered under her breath while rubbing her stinging ribs.

A heavy knock bounced the door behind her. “You know there’s a key out here, right?” His voice held a hint of amusement. “Granddad always kept it on the top of thedoorframe. Kept all us youngsters out when we were kids. But now that I’m grown, it’s easy to reach.”

There was a slight scraping sound from overhead, then down by her feet.

Sarah looked down as the tip of a nickel-plated key appeared. She slammed her heel down, attempting to trap the key on her side of the door.

The man jerked it back and grumbled. “Look. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you need to leave.”

“How can I leave when you’re blocking all the exits?” Sarah pressed her shoulder blades into the wood. It wouldn’t stop him, but it made her feel better. The window on the far side of the room mocked her. Did she dare? Silence reigned on the other side of the door. Sarah leaned forward, then moved on tiptoes. The carpeted floor muffled her steps. She reached the window. Relief rushed through her. Part of the roof extended past the second-story window. She could climb out there, then drop to the ground. Easy peasy.

Her jelly legs and rapid heartbeat said otherwise. Sarah brushed that aside and reached for the window latch. She pulled, but the latch refused to budge. Rust lined the metal and flaked onto her fingers.

Sarah grimaced and brushed her hand over her jeans. She gripped the window and tried to force it upward despite the lock. It groaned but held. That’s when she noticed the nails driven through the lower frame and into the windowsill. “Who nails their windows shut?”

Crazy people who wanted to trap unsuspecting women in their house of horrors.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as panic set in. She clenched and unclenched her sweaty hands. No problem. She’d find something to pry the nails out.

Her gaze pulled toward the door. The shadows on the other side said the man remained in place. Why wasn’t he using the key to barge in and take her down?

“Have you called the police yet?” His question startled her into spinning left. She hit her hip on the corner of the bedframe and fell onto the mattress. Dust puffed upward and then fell in delicate particles that were almost pretty in the filtered sunlight.

Sarah blew hair from her eyes and grimaced at the sheen of dirt covering her arms. Her nose itched and her eyes burned but she refused to give up. “I’m calling them now.”

“Good luck. There’s never been cell reception out here.” He was mocking her.

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