Oh, God. The sixty-year-old woman was far too pale.
She seized her agent’s wrist, feeling frantically for a pulse. Each tortured second seemed an eternity before she detected a feeble throb. She was alive. But barely. Her skin felt much too chilled.
Desperate to save her, Brynn leaped to her feet, lunged for the telephone on the bedside table and punched in 9-1-1. “I need an ambulance. Fast,” she added, reciting the address. “Joan Kellogg. She’s been attacked in her bedroom upstairs. Hurry.” Ignoring the dispatcher’s questions, she hung up.
Then she dropped to Joan’s side again. “Hold on,” she pleaded. “Help’s coming soon. I promise.”
Her agent’s eyes fluttered open. “Brynn?”
“Don’t talk. Save your strength. An ambulance is on the way.”
Joan fumbled to grasp her hand. “Man...black hair. Snake tattoo. Looking for you...”
“Shh. It doesn’t matter now. Just rest.” Her throat thick, Brynn gently squeezed Joan’s hand, her clammy skin icing her heart. Where was the blasted ambulance? Why was it taking so long? She shot a desperate glance at the window, despising the feeling of helplessness—and guilt. Joan had nearly died because of her.
But who had sent the attacker? How had he connected Joan to her? Had he seen Brynn’s photo in the newspaper—or found her some other way?
“Go. Hide,” Joan croaked out.
“Forget it. I’m not leaving you alone.” She’d already caused enough problems. The least she could do was stay and protect her from further harm.
A siren finally cut through the night, and Brynn expelled her breath. Thank God. The ambulance was nearly here. But then a new worry thrummed through her nerves. In seconds help would arrive—along with the police. They’d ask questions she couldn’t answer, scrutinize her in ways she couldn’t afford.
“Go,” Joan whispered again, echoing her thoughts.
Red lights flashed outside the window. The siren abruptly cut off. Torn by conflicting emotions, Brynn dithered over what to do. She couldn’t abandon Joan, not after her agent had worked tirelessly to safeguard her. But neither could she stay and let the authorities find her here.
“Hurry...”
“All right,” she agreed. “I’m going. But I’ll call you later at the hospital. And I’m hiring you a bodyguard. I’m going to make sure you stay safe.”
Voices filled the house. Footsteps hammered on the stairs. Her pulse accelerating, Brynn grabbed hold of her backpack and rose, then glanced around the room. The house had to have a servant’s staircase. All these historic places did. Spotting a likely cupboard beneath the eaves, she rushed around the bed, flung the small door open and stepped inside. Then she felt her way down the unlit staircase, a steep, narrow passage with shallow treads. Seconds later, she emerged in the office behind the kitchen and exited the house through the alley door.
But as she blended back into the night, questions whirled through her mind. Who had attacked her agent? Not Parker McCall; he didn’t fit Joan’s description of that snake tattoo. And she couldn’t see him harming a woman, no matter how angry he became. She’d repeatedly provoked him in the alley, and he’d refrained from hurting her.
So someone else was on her trail, someone connected to her past. Someone ruthless enough to harm an innocent woman to get to her.
The gang leader she’d witnessed executing his prisoner? Her stepfather? She shuddered hard at the thought. Both men were equally vicious. Both men wanted her dead.
And now that her photo had appeared in the newspaper, they would hunt her down, endangering anyone connected to her. And who would be next? Haley? The pregnant teenagers in her homeless shelter? Some unsuspecting passerby on the street?
But what could she do to stop them? If she spoke out, if she broke her vow of silence and revealed the truth, she would jeopardize Haley and Nadine.
They were in danger either way.
She lurched to a stop at a lamppost, leaning against it as she caught her breath. What about Parker McCall? Was there any chance she could trust him?
Her nerves coiled tight at the thought. She’d be crazy to trust him. The police always banded together. He’d take her stepfather’s word over hers.
Wouldn’t he?
She started jogging again, slower this time, thinking back to Parker’s face—his hot black eyes, the harsh angles of his square-cut jaw, that unbridled masculinity that seeped from every pore. The man was dangerous, all right, disrupting her equilibrium in ways she absolutely couldn’t afford. And he clearly wouldn’t give up. She hadn’t missed the resolve in those lethal eyes.
But behind that determination she’d caught a glimpse of something deeper, darker.