couldnât kick free of the bond that dragged her down. Her nightgown kept twisting around her legs, instead of floating upward. Her lungs heaved in agony, trying to draw in air. She fought the impulse, knowing that she would inhale only death. Fight. She had to fight for her baby.
Powerful hands were on her shoulders, pushing her deeper into the water. Despairing, her vision failing, she stared through the greenish water into the cool, remote eyes of the man she loved so much she would willingly have followed him anywhere. He was forcing her down, down, away from the life-giving air.
âWhy?â she moaned, the word soundless. The deadly water filled her mouth, her nostrils, rushed down her throat. She couldnât hold on much longer. Only the baby gave her the strength to continue fighting, as she struggled against those strong hands, trying to push him away. Her baby ⦠she had to save her baby. But thedarkness was increasing, clouding over her eyes, and she knew that she had lost. Her last thought in this life was a faint, internal cry of despair: âWhy?â
Helpless sobs shook Theaâs body as she woke. She curled on her side, overwhelmed by grief, grief for her unborn child, grief for the man she had loved so much that not even her destruction at his hands had been able to kill her feelings for him.
It didnât make sense
. He had made love to her, and then he had drowned her. How could a man feel his own child kicking in its motherâs belly, and then deliberately snuff out that helpless life? Regardless of how he felt about her, how could he have killed his baby?
The pain was shattering. She heard the soft, keening sound of her sobs as she huddled there, unable to move, unable to think.
Then she heard the Jeep, sliding to a hard stop in the driveway, its tires slinging gravel. She froze, terror running like ice water through her veins. He was here. She should have remembered that he had the same dreams she did; he knew that
she
knew about those last nightmarish moments beneath the water. She couldnât begin to think what he was trying to accomplish by repeating her death over andover through the ages, but suddenly she had no doubt that, if she remained there, she would shortly suffer the same fate again. After that last dream, there was no way he could sweet-talk her out of her fear the way he had done before.
She jumped out of bed, not taking the time to grab her clothes. Her bare feet were silent as she raced from the bedroom, across the living room, and into the kitchen. She reached the back door just as his big fist thudded against the front one. âThea.â His deep voice was forceful, but restrained, as if he were trying to convince her she wasnât in any danger.
The deep shadows of early dawn still shrouded the rooms, the graying light too weak to penetrate beyond the windows. Like a small animal trying to escape notice by a predator, Thea held herself very still, her head cocked as she listened for the slightest sound of his movements.
Could she slip out the back door without making any betraying noise? Or was he even now moving silently around the house in order to try this very door? The thought of opening the door and coming face-to-face with him made her blood run even colder than it already was.
âThea, listen to me.â
He was still on the front porch. Thea fumbled for the chain, praying that her shaking hands wouldnât betray her. She found the slot and slowly, agonizingly, slid the chain free, holding the links in her hand so they wouldnât clink. Then she reached for the lock.
âIt isnât what you think, sweetheart. Donât be afraid of me, please. Trust me.â
Trust him!
She almost laughed aloud, the hysterical bubble moving upward despite her best efforts. She finally choked the sound back. Heâd said that so often that the two words had become a litany. Time and again she had trusted himâwith her heart, her