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It speaks volumes while saying little.
Ian Scott curled his fiancée’s tensed body closer and drew the comforter over them. “Probably just the palm fronds from the tree near the window scraping against the siding.” He smothered a yawn with his free hand. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been on edge ever since we pulled into the driveway.”
Cami reached behind her and turned on the lamp sitting on the nightstand. He winced when the light hit his tired eyes. “Maybe we should have stayed in Chicago,” she said, relaxing against him, and running her hands through his graying chest hairs. “I think it’s selfish of us to spend Thanksgiving away from our families.”
She hadn’t thought so last week when he’d booked the trip, or even this afternoon when they had been boarding his company jet. “You said you wanted to get away.”
Tossing her white-blonde hair over her shoulder, Cami raised herself up on her elbow and faced him. “That’s when I thought we were going to a beach resort,” she said, her bright blue eyes filling with apology.
He ran a hand along her bare hip. “It was twenty-two degrees and snowing when we left Chicago, and eighty when we landed in Florida. If you don’t want to stay, I’ll take you back home.” He squeezed her hip. “Or, maybe you could give this place a chance? We might not be on the beach, but we’re only twenty minutes from the nearest one. I’ll take you tomorrow.”
She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. “I’d like that.”
“But?” he prompted when he saw the hesitation in her eyes.
“We’ll still be staying here.”
“You don’t like the house I rented?” The last time he took a vacation, he’d secluded himself at this house and had loved every minute. Nestled near clusters of palm trees, but only one hundred yards from the Everglades’ eerily beautiful marshes, he’d enjoyed clocking out and going off the grid for a few days. The reception here was hit or miss, which meant limited phone calls. The place had Wi-Fi, but he’d spent the weekend avoiding emails and instead, had a great time connecting with nature. Because he’d loved the area so much, he had wanted to share it with Cami. Only his California girl obviously preferred to be closer to civilization…and the beach.
“The house is beautiful. But I was envisioning strolling on boardwalks, shopping, going to dinner—not worrying about alligators, venomous snakes and bugs. Not to sound ungrateful, but a swamp isn’t an ideal setting for a romantic getaway.” Her eyes widened and she tensed. “There’s that noise again.”
He hadn’t heard anything the first time, but he had now. And it sounded just like what he’d originally suspected. Palm fronds scraping the siding. “I told you it’s nothing. The wind has kicked up, that’s all.”
She looked over her shoulder toward the windows decorated with white plantation shutters. “Maybe you should go see for sure. What if it’s a gator trying to break in?”
“Maybe you should stop being paranoid,” he said with a chuckle. “And we’re not in a swamp, we’re in the Everglades. It’s one of my favorite places, which is why I brought you here.”
She faced him. “I’m sorry. I really
do sound ungrateful. It’s just this place reminds me of when I was filming
Evil that Lurks.”
“Which one?” Cami had started her acting career at eighteen, playing the terrified, screaming heroine of the low budget horror film,
Evil that Lurks, which had wound up being a cult classic. The film had eventually spun off numerous others.
Evil that Lurks in Paradise,
Evil that Lurks in the Sewers,
Evil that Lurks in the Woods were only a few that came to mind, and Cami always starred in the lead role.
“
Evil that Lurks in the Swamp, of course.”
He grinned as the memory of the film played out in his head… Cami, wearing next to nothing and screaming her head off as a machete-wielding, crazed madman rose from the murky water to attack her. The shame of it was that Cami was an excellent actress. Unfortunately she’d spent her late teens and twenties playing the role of the damsel in distress in so many horror flicks, she couldn’t find a film director to take her seriously enough to offer her a role where she could show off her acting skills.
“Of course,” he said. “So you’re telling me that this three thousand square foot home we’re renting, a home that has every modern amenity imaginable, a beautiful landscaped yard and is only a twenty minute drive to the Gulf, reminds you of a horror movie?”
She gave his bicep a light pinch. “Hardly. I told you I love the house. But I wish we could pick it up and move it directly
on the beach. I don’t do gators and snakes. When we were on location in Louisiana for
Evil that Lurks in the Swamp, we had to sleep in campers that didn’t have bathrooms. I practically dehydrated myself because I was afraid to go in the woods to pee.”
Laughing, he shook his head.
“Sorry, a little too much TMI, huh?”
“No,” he said, still laughing. “You’re good.”
“Well, anyway, I think that maybe if we’d arrived while it was still early enough to explore the area I might feel better about where you’ve brought me. You said we’re in the Everglades, so that makes me think we’re practically surrounded by water.”
In a way, they were. They were in a region known as The Ten Thousand Islands, which were a chain of islands and mangrove islets off the coast of southwest Florida. Most of the islands were uninhabited, and the house he’d rented for them was on the mainland near Everglade City, but they were definitely off the beaten path. Their nearest neighbor was at least a half mile away, and a walk in the wrong direction could have them ankle deep in the sawgrass marshes that covered the majority of the area.
“Since we have bathrooms, there’s no need for you to dehydrate yourself or venture off into the swamp,” he said with a grin. “Instead of comparing our vacation getaway to a horror movie, we’ll head out in the morning and do a little exploring. I really think you’re going to love it here. We’ll go on an airboat tour and—”
“Hold on. Are airboats the kind of boat with the big fan on the back?”
“I take it they didn’t use airboats in
Evil that Lurks in the Swamp?”
She rolled her eyes. “The producers couldn’t afford a Porta Potti. But I’ll take that as a yes.” She scrunched her brow. “Sorry, but we’ll have to pick up some Dramamine before we go on any kind of boating excursion. I get seasick.” Her dark blond brows furrowed even more. “What’s weird is that my daughter inherited my boating issues.”
“You really think seasickness can be passed down through genetics?”
“I know it is. When she was seven, the poor thing threw up the entire time we were on the It’s a Small World ride at Disneyland. As far as I know, she hasn’t been on a boat since.”
“So cruises are out?” he asked, tracing a finger along the swell of her breast. At forty-nine, Cami still had a figure of a woman in her early thirties. But her body wasn’t the only thing he loved about her. She had a great sense of humor, said what she thought without apology and was free-spirited. He, on the other hand, wasn’t funny, picked and chose his words carefully and was a slave to convention. Yet somehow they worked together, and eventually she would be his wife.
No more coming home to an empty home. No more lonely nights.
Yeah, life was good.
“Cruises are definitely—” She gripped his bicep. “What was that?”
Still focused on her soft skin and now thinking about what she was hiding beneath the sheets, he said, “I didn’t hear—”
He froze. His skin crawled with unease. Metal clanked against metal from somewhere. Inside or outside? Unsure, he looked to the closed shutters, gave Cami a quick, reassuring kiss, then climbed out of the bed. After pulling on the pair of jeans he’d worn during the trip down to Florida, he quickly moved to the window, then eased open one wood slat. The front lights, which he knew had motion sensors from his last trip here, flooded the small yard.
He looked to the left where he thought the sound had come from. When he saw nothing, he looked to the right, then quickly released the slat and jerked back. Heart pounding hard, he did his best to keep his concern in check. Cami was already apprehensive about staying at the house.
She has you spooked.
Right. The shadow he thought he saw could have been from a tree or a raccoon, maybe even a wild boar.
When he lifted the slat again, he saw nothing. But that didn’t slow his heart rate or ease his worries. He also knew Cami wouldn’t sleep well tonight if he didn’t find out the cause of the noise. Maybe the raccoons had flipped the trashcans while foraging for scraps. Were those even metal? Damn, he couldn’t remember.
“Did you see anything?” Cami asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“No. But it’s probably raccoons. I’ll go check it out.”
“I’ll go with you.”
He turned and hoped his irritation didn’t show. They should still be lying in bed naked and on the verge of sleep. Instead, she’d slipped into a pair of cream-colored satiny-looking lounge pants, along with a matching camisole and robe. “How did you get dressed so fast?” he asked.
“When you’re doing theater, there’s not a lot of time between scenes and I can’t keep my audience waiting,” she said with haughty, dramatic flair, then laughed.
He chuckled. “Never,” he said, pulling her close. Cami didn’t have an arrogant bone in her body, and despite the rave reviews she’d received, she tended to joke and down play her recent success. Probably because Hollywood hadn’t been kind to her in the past, and her peers had tended to look down on the roles she’d played in the campy
Evil that Lurks films. “That first night I saw you perform on stage, I—”
The lights flickered, then went out. She gripped his arms. “Oh, my God. Ian, I—”
“Shh. Hang on.” When he didn’t hear anything, he reached for her hand and guided her through the blackened room. Once he retrieved his cell phone from the nightstand, he put on the flashlight feature. “Let’s head downstairs. The owner has battery-powered lanterns for emergency situations in the kitchen.”
She jerked his hand, halting him. “Do you think this is an emergency?”
“No. Could be a power outage.”
“But the noises—”
“Coincidence,” he said, but used the flashlight to find the Glock he’d brought with him. Other than the firing range, he hadn’t been in a situation where he’d been forced to use the weapon in nearly nine years. He doubted he’d need it now, but the former FBI agent in him didn’t believe in coincidences. Not after what he’d witnessed with the Bureau, or what his CORE agents dealt with on a regular basis.
“Do you think you really need that?” she asked, gripping his arm hard. “Never mind, bring the gun, and if you have another, maybe you should give it to me.”
Hell, no. He had a .45 stowed in his other bag, but there was no way he’d let Cami have it. Just because she’d held a replica during one of her films, didn’t mean she could actually shoot the damned thing. “This is the only weapon I have,” he lied, and was tempted to tell her to stay put. Although he didn’t think they were dealing with anything more than a couple of pesky raccoons, or possibly a panther, he didn’t like the idea of her being on the second floor alone should he be wrong. “I told you, it’s probably nothing. Stay behind me, we’ll check things out downstairs and probably be back in bed in a few minutes.”
The glow from his cell phone touched along the worry lines creasing her forehead. “Can we at least stop in the kitchen? I saw a set of knives on the counter. In
Evil that Lurks in the Sewer, I used a knife to—”
He silenced her with a kiss. “No knives. I probably don’t need my gun. I’m just being cautious and tomorrow morning we’re going to laugh about a family of raccoons stalking us.”
She grinned. “I was up against mutant animals in one of my films and kicked their furry butts. I can handle a family of raccoons.”
“That’s my girl.” He gave her another kiss, then led her toward the door. “Stay behind.”
Cami hooked her fingers through one of the empty belt loops on his jeans. “I have no intention of letting go,” she whispered, her warm breath brushing his bare back. “If we get the power back on, maybe I’ll make us something to eat.”
Food would be good. Cami back in his bed would be better. But first he needed to find out the cause of the noises and turn the power back on, hopefully without having to call the electric company or the owner of the rental. That would be a pain in the ass and not how he wanted to start their vacation.
When they reached the bottom step, he moved the cell phone, sweeping the light between the entrance to the kitchen and the hallway leading to the foyer. Without power, the house had been plunged into darkness, and the phone was about as good as carrying around a lit match in the rain. Needing a battery-powered lantern, he led Cami into the kitchen and checked the pantry. “Damn it. I swear there were lanterns in here. Come on.” Without another word, he took her down the hall toward the foyer. Once they reached the door, he checked the locks. Secured. From there, he inspected the den, then moved them into the large living room. The small beam of light emanating from his phone barely touched on the closed windows, then the TV and furniture. Nothing appeared disturbed or out of place.
He glanced over his shoulder. “The electrical box is in the laundry room off the kitchen,” he said, keeping his tone quiet. “Let’s head into—”
A sudden burst of orange-red flashed from the kitchen. Cami tugged at his belt loop and dug her nails into his side. “There’s someone
in the house,” she gasped.
He quickly shoved the cell phone in his back pocket, turned, grabbed the back of her head, then put his mouth near her ear. “Hide in the coat closet,” he whispered. “There’s a phone in the kitchen for emergencies. I’ll call—”
She shook her head. “No. Let’s just get the hell out of here.” Her nails bit into his flesh. “Please,” she begged.
He looked over her head toward the front door. The keys to the SUV they’d rented were upstairs in the bedroom. They’d have to trek half of a mile to the nearest neighbor to call the police, and he wasn’t sure if there was anyone in residence at that neighboring house. Which meant they could end up walking for several miles. He glanced to what she was wearing. Her slippers reminded him of something a ballet dancer would wear. They weren’t ideal for the terrain they would face, but at least she had something on her feet. He, on the other hand, had been more concerned about arming himself than shoes or even a shirt. But she was right. He didn’t know who was in the house or their objective, and had no plans of finding out—not when he had Cami’s safety to consider.
Damn if he didn’t want those car keys, though.
Common sense had him hauling her toward the door. “Go,” he whispered, unlocking the deadbolt, then twisting the knob.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice rushed and filled with fear. “Open it.”
He rattled the handle. “Won’t open.” How could this be? The door swung inside, not out. Unless someone secured the door from outside to keep them…trapped. Although the house was large, claustrophobia set in. He grabbed her wrist. “The window—”
She pulled back. “The front windows don’t open, remember?”
He did now. Earlier, Cami had tried opening the windows in the den and on one side of the living room to let the afternoon breeze air out the house. But the ones on the other side by the dining room did open, only that would put them near the kitchen, and without knowing who was in the house, or where they were hiding, he wasn’t sure he wanted to take the risk. Then again, other than smashing the windows, what choice did they have?
“Back door,” he said.
She held her ground and stared at the decorative mirror hanging on the dining room wall opposite to the kitchen entrance, her eyes growing wide and filling with terror. He followed her gaze and caught his breath. A giant man, dressed in all black and wearing a ski mask stood in the kitchen, the orange-red glow of the flare silhouetting him. The man gave a single nod, then rushed from the room, his heavy footsteps pounding along the hardwood floor in the hallway.
“Go.” Ian pulled Cami across the living room, into the dining room and toward the kitchen. On the tile floor, the flare sizzled and burned. Smoke and the strong smell of sulfur hung in the air. “Try the back door,” he ordered, keeping his gun raised and his body in front of hers.
“It won’t open,” she said, her tone panicked as she jiggled the doorknob. “I can’t get it to—”
Another flare burst from the living room. “Move,” he said, covered her head with his chest, then slammed the butt of the Glock against the door’s window.
“There’s no escape,” a deep voice cut through the hiss of the flares and shattering glass. “Ready or not, here I come.”
“He’s coming,” Cami whispered in Ian’s ear. When her warm tears wet his cheek, he looked to her. The horror in her eyes had him thinking of the many ways he wanted to kill the man who had invaded their home. He had a gun. He could put a bullet in the bastard’s head. But first, he needed Cami safe.
The man’s heavy footfalls grew louder, closer. Not sure if he could break them out through the back door in time, Ian hurried her through the kitchen, saw the house phone had been ripped from the wall, then quickly pushed her into the laundry room and locked the door. Other than the glow from the kitchen shining from beneath the closed door, the room was pitch black. Ignoring the way the smoke had stung his eyes, he turned on the phone’s flashlight again, then aimed it to the window. The opening wasn’t large, and he doubted he could fit through it, but Cami could. “Here,” he said, handing her his phone. “You’re going to get out of here and run to the neighbor’s house.”
She looked to the small window he’d opened, then to the cell phone. “Do you think I’ll pick up a signal once I’m outside?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. “Ian, I have no idea where I am or how to even find the neighbor. What if I run into an alligator or—”
“Better than what’s in the house. Just keep to the edge of the driveway and in the shadows. Turn left when you hit the road we drove in on, and run. You’ll see a mailbox at the end of the next driveway.”
“What if he’s not alone? What if there’s someone outside waiting for us?”
But what if there wasn’t? He didn’t want to risk her life by keeping her in the house. He also didn’t want to send her into the unknown where he wouldn’t be there to protect her. Now he wished he’d have brought the other gun with them. He couldn’t second-guess himself, though. Not with—
“Knock, knock.” A soft wrap hit the laundry room door. “Anyone home?”
Cami’s breath came in short, shallow spurts as she backed into the washing machine. Ian stepped in front of her, then looked over his shoulder. “You
have to get out of here and call for help.”
Still staring at the closed door, she nodded, then wiped the tears from her eyes. “Okay, I’ll go,” she said on a quiet sob, then kissed him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now go.”
He set his gun on the washer, then grabbed her by the waist and lifted her.
The intruder slammed on the door, which knocked a picture frame off the wall. “You’re not trying to run are you?” He battered the door again, splintering the wood doorframe. “That’s no way to treat a guest in your house.”
“He’s going to kick it in,” Cami cried, squirming free of Ian’s grip, then hiding behind him.
Knowing she was right, he retrieved the Glock, made sure it was ready to fire, then aimed it at the door. Sweat coated his chest and back. Fear and adrenaline made his heart pound hard. He hadn’t killed a man in nearly nine years, but would kill this one before he let the bastard do anything to Cami.
The man grunted when he hit the door. “You’re making this harder on yourself,” he shouted, and slammed the door again. “And really starting to piss me off. Now I might have to have fun with your pretty little actress. She was great in those shitty movies, but now
I want to make her scream.”
“This is because of me?” she whispered. “Oh, my God, Ian, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…didn’t think…”
“You know who this is?” Whoever was on the opposite side of the door knew Cami. If they were dealing with a deranged fan…he didn’t want to even consider what the bastard might do to her.
“No idea. I’m sorry,” she repeated. “If anything happens to you because of me—”
The man hit the door again, and Ian worried the next blow would knock it off its hinges. Seconds ticked by. Other than Cami’s shallow breathing and the insects chirping from outside, the house had grown eerily silent. Could the man have gone outside? Ian glanced to the opened window expecting for him to be there. When he saw nothing, he quickly shut and locked it. Aside from the windows, there was one other exit, and that was in the small guest bedroom upstairs where a deck and steps led to the backyard. If they could find a way to—
“Where is he?” Cami asked, pressing closer to his back.
“I’m still here, lover,” the man said, then scraped something along the door.
Dread crawled along Ian’s skin and he quickly took aim again.
“Since you’re anxious to be with me, and I have a meeting planned, playtime is officially over.”
A meeting? Did this mean he wasn’t working alone? Ian reached behind and gave Cami a reassuring squeeze, then whispered, “Be strong and stay behind me.”
“I will. Ian, I—”
The door bounced off the wall with powerful force. Cami cried out just as a bright light blinded Ian. Without hesitation, he fired five quick shots, hoping to God a couple of them hit the bastard. The high-beam flashlight thudded to the floor and rolled. The man staggered back, hit the wall, then slowly slid down.
Dragging in deep breaths, Ian inhaled the strong scent of gunpowder and sulfur, then slowly approached the man. The red-orange glow from the kitchen hadn’t dimmed and cast eerie shadows throughout the hall. He couldn’t tell where he’d shot the man, but considered putting a bullet in his head for good measure. He nudged the intruder’s black boot with the heel of his bare foot first, which elicited no reaction. Heart still pounding hard, his stomach filling with an odd mixture of triumph and dread, he took another step.
“Is he dead?” Cami asked, breathless and maybe a little hopeful.
“Go upstairs to the guest room with the deck and lock yourself inside,” he answered instead. What they’d experienced was bad enough, and he wanted to shelter Cami from any more horror tonight.
She touched his back as she edged out of the laundry room.
“Don’t open the door unless it’s me or the police,” he added.
“And if it’s not you?”
The fear in her voice had him turning his head toward her. Shadows and smoke caused by the flare played across her face and intensified the apprehension in her eyes. “Run.”
“No one’s running from me.”
He saw movement in his peripheral vision and pulled the trigger. “Run,” he shouted, as the intruder shifted his body and raised his arm.
Ian fired another shot, then stilled. Every muscle in his body cramped tighter and tighter until he couldn’t hold the gun, let alone himself, up anymore. He dropped to his knees with a painful thud, then fell forward. The Glock was kicked from his hand as his body jerked against the cool, tile floor. He saw Cami’s ballet-slippered feet move, watched helplessly as the ski-masked intruder stood, still aiming the Taser on him. Tried to tell her to get out, but couldn’t make his mouth work.
“Nobody fucks with me.”
Ian shifted his eyes. The intruder raised his boot. “Nobody,” the man finished, then everything went black.
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DV Berkom is a slave to the voices in her head. As the author of two popular thriller series (Leine Basso and Kate Jones), her love of creating resilient, kick-*ss female characters stems from a lifelong addiction to reading spy novels, mysteries, and thrillers, and longing to find the female equivalent within those pages.
5 Stars – Would Buy It For Them (lol)
Demelza Carlton has always loved the ocean, but on her first snorkelling trip she found she was afraid of fish. She has since swum with sea lions, sharks and sea cucumbers and stood on spray-drenched cliffs over a seething sea as a seven-metre cyclonic swell surged in, shattering a shipwreck below. Sensationalist spin? No – Demelza tends to take a camera with her so she can capture and share the moment later; shipwrecks, sharks and all. Demelza now lives in Perth, Western Australia, the shark attack capital of the world. The Ocean’s Gift series was her first foray into fiction, followed by her suspense thriller Nightmares trilogy.
S. J. Harper is the pen name for the writing team of Samantha Sommersby and Jeanne C. Stein, two friends who met at Comic- Con in San Diego and quickly bonded over a mutual love of good wine, edgy urban fantasy, and everything Joss Whedon.
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