Free Dark Inside by Jeyn Roberts Page B

promise me you’ll be here to help me get those punches right. Give me a sign to let me know you’re not just a figment of my imagination and are still alive and well in Seattle. It’ll give me the courage to kick ass. I promise.
    She needed to stop this. Talking to her maybe/more-than-likely dead brother wasn’t going to help the situation.
    Meanwhile the whistler had grown quiet. She strained her ears, listening. Was he gone? Had he slipped back out the door while she was making all her imaginary resolutions?
    No, there it was again—the sound of a boot scraping against wood from across the barn. Her assailant was climbing the ladder to the rafters. All she had to do was wait until he reached the top and she could get out. Moving as slowly as she could, she pushed the blanket off her head to get a better view. The doors to the barn were wide-open. She could slip out without making a sound.
    Her assailant swung his foot up onto the beams. The creaking noise above was the signal she was waiting for. It was now or never. Carefully she pulled back the blanket and scannedthe area. The barn floor was empty. She didn’t even look at the rafters. She forced herself to walk quietly instead of run, fully aware that her back was like one giant target. There were no shouts or sudden footfalls. No one rushed toward her. She moved quickly but cautiously. One misplaced step, one creaky board, could end it.
    Outside the air was cool on her face. She had forgotten to breathe. She inhaled heavily, and her wobbly legs continued to hold her weight. Avoiding the urge to lean against the barn and rest, she forced herself to keep moving. She would get the keys. The truck was hidden on the other side of the house. Whoever was in the barn would probably be there for at least ten more minutes. With a little luck she’d be able to start the car and be halfway down the lane before he got out of the rafters.
    It was one hundred feet from the barn to the house. She could see the porch light burning. Turning it on was the last thing her mother had done before they left for the town hall. She always left it on no matter how much her father grumbled over the electric bill. They would never wait up for her again.
    Dear Heath, I’ve really gone and messed things up. It’s not like an exam where I can take notes. I don’t get a chance to repeat this if I fail. Help me reach the truck. Give me strength, brother.
    One hundred feet. Not far at all. But it was similar to crossing the open sea, and she didn’t have any shark repellent.
    It was time to go. No time like the present. If she waited too long it would be game over. She began to run, silently cursing herself every time her foot hit the grass. She couldn’t be making that much noise. She was light enough to always be on the top of the cheerleading pyramid, and her mother was constantly complaining that she needed to gain a few pounds to fill out properly.
    When she reached the safety of the house, she was overcome with such relief that she almost broke down in tears. Instead she forced herself onward, making her way around the side to the back.
    Her hands were shaking as she unlocked the back door. The interior of the house was dark. Mom may have left the porch light on, but Dad had the sense to make sure the house wasn’t burning any extra electricity. Leaving the key in the lock, she crossed the kitchen in three strides. She reached blindly into the fruit basket until she felt the leather key chain. Mom’s address book was open on the table. She ripped Heath’s address out as quietly as possible, folded the piece of paper, and stuck it in her pocket. Now all she had to do was get back out to the truck.
    “Clem?”
    She nearly peed herself.
    Craig Strathmore stepped out from the shadows beside the fridge. His eyes were wide and unsure. His hands were clasped together and pressed against his stomach, white-knuckled in an awkward prayer. There was a small gash under his right eye; blood was