her seat, screaming. Damn it. Even though she’d reached her complex, she wanted to be home. Under the covers.
This time when the electrical sizzle died off, she thrust open the door and rushed into the rain. Her apartment building stood only a few yards away.
A gust of wind blew her to the ground. Lightning hit the tree next to where she’d stood just seconds before. With another scream she turned away from the brilliant light of destruction. The wind grew stronger, buffeted her and blew her forward toward the apartment. Invisible hands pushed and pulled at her. For a moment she had the unnerving sensation of almost being carried.
The storm tossed her into the covered landing area, past the doors of the ground floor apartments, and onto the bicycles parked for the night. Her yelps got lost amid the clatter of metal and roar of wind. Sarah untangled her limbs from handlebars and wheels and forced herself to stand.
She ran up the stairs to her apartment, shaking with fear. Once inside, she locked the door and turned on all the lights in quick succession until her apartment blazed. She missed the people, the hustle-bustle of the newsroom. Tears burned her eyes. She should have hung around until some of the others were ready to leave. What an idiot. What a narrow escape—both from the men and the storm.
Sarah looked herself over. Bruised, scratched and sniveling, but still alive. She dashed away her tears. I’m okay. I’m okay.
The empty apartment had her skin crawling with the heebie-jeebies. She switched on the television and clicked to CNN. The murmur of the reporter’s voice filled the room and helped calm her nerves a bit.
She sank down into the worn denim futon from her old college days, curling her legs underneath her. The lumps had adjusted to fit her body. What had the guy meant when he’d said they weren’t getting paid enough? Was that his way of referring to how much cash he expected to find in her purse? Ha! The job, while interesting, came with lousy hours and lousier pay. You did it because you loved it. In the hopes that time, hard work and enough good stories would lead to the big time or at least management positions and better pay.
Or had the guy meant they’d been paid to attack her? To…to hurt her and…worse. Why? Who could hate her so much? Could it be the secret project? She dismissed the idea. Papers published controversial stories all the time. And those generated angry letters and threats of lawsuits, but not physical attacks…at least not in the gold old U.S.A. A shudder ripped through her. She cradled a pillow tight and closed her eyes. Tears leaked out at the corners.
Once again the grating voice rasped inside her mind: “I like to chase pussy.” The vision of his fingers twisting open the top button of his jeans looped through her head. Sarah’s eyes flew open and breath came in ragged sobs.
She needed a shower. A hot shower to wash away all reminders of the encounter, rid her of her fears of what could have happened. With a groan, she pushed to her feet and headed towards the bedroom. On the way she made sure all the doors and windows were locked and the curtains drawn. She stripped off her clothes and threw them into the laundry basket, then turned on the shower as hot as she could bear.
With a sigh of relief, Sarah stood under the pelting water. The trickle of tears turned into a deluge. She half raised her face to the water and let herself cry.
Oh heaven and hell, stop with the tears . Given the day Sarah had just had, the tears were logical. But watching her face crumple, hearing the gut-deep harsh sobs, filled Rukh with an irrational need to pull her into his arms, wrap her in a hug.
As soon as the urge had gelled into conscious thought, his essence hardened into visibility and his arms slid up around her shivering, wet body.
Sarah’s eyes popped open and she staggered back with a yell.
His arms tightened around her, steadying her, keeping her close. Well, shit.
This time when the electrical sizzle died off, she thrust open the door and rushed into the rain. Her apartment building stood only a few yards away.
A gust of wind blew her to the ground. Lightning hit the tree next to where she’d stood just seconds before. With another scream she turned away from the brilliant light of destruction. The wind grew stronger, buffeted her and blew her forward toward the apartment. Invisible hands pushed and pulled at her. For a moment she had the unnerving sensation of almost being carried.
The storm tossed her into the covered landing area, past the doors of the ground floor apartments, and onto the bicycles parked for the night. Her yelps got lost amid the clatter of metal and roar of wind. Sarah untangled her limbs from handlebars and wheels and forced herself to stand.
She ran up the stairs to her apartment, shaking with fear. Once inside, she locked the door and turned on all the lights in quick succession until her apartment blazed. She missed the people, the hustle-bustle of the newsroom. Tears burned her eyes. She should have hung around until some of the others were ready to leave. What an idiot. What a narrow escape—both from the men and the storm.
Sarah looked herself over. Bruised, scratched and sniveling, but still alive. She dashed away her tears. I’m okay. I’m okay.
The empty apartment had her skin crawling with the heebie-jeebies. She switched on the television and clicked to CNN. The murmur of the reporter’s voice filled the room and helped calm her nerves a bit.
She sank down into the worn denim futon from her old college days, curling her legs underneath her. The lumps had adjusted to fit her body. What had the guy meant when he’d said they weren’t getting paid enough? Was that his way of referring to how much cash he expected to find in her purse? Ha! The job, while interesting, came with lousy hours and lousier pay. You did it because you loved it. In the hopes that time, hard work and enough good stories would lead to the big time or at least management positions and better pay.
Or had the guy meant they’d been paid to attack her? To…to hurt her and…worse. Why? Who could hate her so much? Could it be the secret project? She dismissed the idea. Papers published controversial stories all the time. And those generated angry letters and threats of lawsuits, but not physical attacks…at least not in the gold old U.S.A. A shudder ripped through her. She cradled a pillow tight and closed her eyes. Tears leaked out at the corners.
Once again the grating voice rasped inside her mind: “I like to chase pussy.” The vision of his fingers twisting open the top button of his jeans looped through her head. Sarah’s eyes flew open and breath came in ragged sobs.
She needed a shower. A hot shower to wash away all reminders of the encounter, rid her of her fears of what could have happened. With a groan, she pushed to her feet and headed towards the bedroom. On the way she made sure all the doors and windows were locked and the curtains drawn. She stripped off her clothes and threw them into the laundry basket, then turned on the shower as hot as she could bear.
With a sigh of relief, Sarah stood under the pelting water. The trickle of tears turned into a deluge. She half raised her face to the water and let herself cry.
Oh heaven and hell, stop with the tears . Given the day Sarah had just had, the tears were logical. But watching her face crumple, hearing the gut-deep harsh sobs, filled Rukh with an irrational need to pull her into his arms, wrap her in a hug.
As soon as the urge had gelled into conscious thought, his essence hardened into visibility and his arms slid up around her shivering, wet body.
Sarah’s eyes popped open and she staggered back with a yell.
His arms tightened around her, steadying her, keeping her close. Well, shit.
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