was playing mind games with herself, but she had the strangest sense that someone was watching over her.
Feeling foolish, she turned off the lights and headed for the kitchen. Those cookies wouldn’t bake themselves. She tied on her apron and turned on the ovens to heat. While they did their thing, she went into the storeroom and half dragged, half carried a new fifty-pound bag of flour out into the kitchen and heaved it up on the counter.
Then she went back to get a package of baker’s chocolate. After unwrapping it, she used her chef’s knife to chop the dark chocolate into small pieces before dropping them into the top of her double boiler. She added the first batch to the pan and then went back to cutting as she did her best to ignore her aching back and tired feet.
As late as it was, she probably should’ve waited until tomorrow to start this, but baking always relaxed her. She kept rocking the knife, whittling away at the chocolate. When she had another pile ready, she scooped it up with the back edge of her knife blade.
That’s when the trouble started. Her foot slipped causing her to bump the counter with her hip hard enough to send the bag of flour toppling over to collide with her arm. The chocolate flew everywhere while the razor-sharp blade sliced her hand wide-open.
A flood of crimson pooled in the palm of her hand and poured onto the floor. She grabbed a clean towel and stepped over the pile of flour on her way to the dining room. She’d call for help from the phone by the register and unlock the front door so the medics could get in.
She dripped a trail of blood on the floor all the way into the other room. Her head was already woozy as she fumbled with the lock. She needed to sit down. Now. Maybe lying down would be even smarter, but not until she called 911. She’d been using her good hand to hold pressure on the cut. When she let go to dial the phone the blood started gushing again.
Stars and spots danced in her eyes, and the floor came rushing up. Or at least she thought it was, but somehow she never hit bottom. Something had stopped her fall. No, someone. As her world spun, she closed her eyes and whispered a one-word question.
“Who?”
“Della, it’s me.”
She knew that deep voice. That, combined with the smell of fine leather, put a name to the man who had swooped her up in his arms and then settled her in a chair near the kitchen. How odd that he’d kneel at her feet.
Her eyes stubbornly refused to cooperate enough for her to see her rescuer clearly. “Eagan, is that you?”
“Yes, damn it, it is. Now relax and let me see your hand. I’m going to lift the towel away to see how badly you’re hurt.”
She tried to comply but couldn’t quit shivering. Eagan muttered a curse and then wrapped her in his coat. As grateful as she was for its warmth, she was worried about ruining it. When she tried to shrug it off her shoulders, he tugged it right back up in place.
“It will get blood all over it.”
“It won’t be the first time. Now sit still and let me do this.”
Eagan hissed when he peeled the towel away from her hand. “Damn, that’s deep. Okay, we’ll do this the hard way.”
He caught her chin in his hand. “Open your eyes and look at me, Della.”
Although his voice remained calm, she didn’t mistake his request for anything other than a direct order. She stared down into his blue eyes. No, right now they weren’t blue at all, but black. “Eagan, your eyes!”
“I know, but don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.”
That darkness in his gaze was swallowing her whole. She could still hear him talking, but from a long distance away. He smiled at her. Such a sad, sad smile on his handsome face. And when had his teeth gotten so big? Not all of them. Just those two.
He was nodding, so maybe she’d said all that out loud, although she didn’t think so.
He kept talking. “Breathe slowly, Della, and everything will be fine. Some of this is going to seem weird, but I’m hoping you won’t remember any of it. I swear you can trust me not to hurt you.”
She smiled down into those blazing black eyes. “I know that, Eagan.”
Then he did the oddest