Snowball's Chance Read Free Page B

up in a half smile. Whoa. Down girl. That small smile was so potent, she wondered what it would be like full strength. Judging from her accelerated heartbeat it was probably a good thing that he’d be leaving soon. To go home to his wife.
    â€œâ€˜Next door’ is more than twenty miles away,” he pointed out, biting into a cookie. “But I didn’t—”
    The phone rang. Thank goodness. It was working again. It had been out for what seemed like forever, and she’d left her cell phone up at her cottage. As much as she’d like to have made some personal calls, she had no intention of braving this weather to retrieve her own phone.
    Kendall held up a hand to stop him as she picked up the receiver. “Cameron residence.” As she listened every vestige of warmth she’d felt seconds before drained right out of her, as did most of the blood in her head. “I know. It’s been out since this morning. I’m sorry to hear that,” she said flatly into the phone as she watched him pick up the mugs she’d bought to brighten up the dark tones of the kitchen. “No, absolutely. I quite under—” The phone went dead. “—stand.”
    Her heart was beating fast again. But this time it had nothing to do with the proximity of a sexy-looking man. She turned away as she returned the receiver carefully to the instrument on the wall. At the same time she lifted the front of her sweater and surreptitiously withdrew the small LadySmith handgun tucked against her skin.
    Given the man’s appearance she hadn’t mistaken him for a house cat. But she hadn’t pegged him as a predatory tiger either. More fool her.
    â€œYou’re the best so far, ya know that?” She could almost hear Dwight Treadwell’s mild voice echoing like a never forgotten nightmare in the here and now. Obscene in this Christmas-scented kitchen a thousand miles away and a dozen months later. Goosebumps rose on her skin. “Defiant little bitch, ain’t ya? You’re scared as shit, but your eyes say go to hell. This is gonna be fun. F. U. N.”
    Treadwell chipped at the Formica tabletop with the tip of what he’d told her was his second favorite knife. There was nothing but mild interest in his eyes as he observed her.
    There was no more room for terror in her mind. It was filled to capacity. It felt like forever since he’d grabbed her at the grocery store and forced her, struggling, into the trunk of his car. Had no one noticed him kidnapping her? Had no one heard her screams before he’d knocked her out?
    She’d woken to find herself naked, cut out of her clothes, and him standing, smiling, over her, a large, curved knife in his hand. It was already covered with her blood. She screamed—
    Kendall turned around to face the man in this kitchen. She knew the six-inch-long gun only weighed about twenty ounces, but it felt as heavy as lead in her hand. “Oh no you don’t,” she snapped as he started to rise. “You stay right where you are. Keep your hands where I can see them.” She motioned at him with the barrel.
    â€œYou’re not Donald Sanders. So just who the hell are you?”

2
    K endall thanked God she wasn’t paralyzed be her fear. She’d learned, during her months of therapy, that action cured fear, and inaction created terror. Been there, done that, had the scars to prove it.
    She curled her naked body protectively over her bare legs. Her skin was already slippery with her own blood where he’d repeatedly played with her. Short cuts. Long cuts. Shallow. Deep. They all gave Dwight Gus Tread-well pleasure. Each slice made her flinch and cry out. And each flinch caused the bicycle chain he’d used to tether her to the wall to rattle. She could tell that he was growing bored with this. He was going to kill her. Soon.
    She shook herself mentally. Back to now. This guy didn’t have to do anything to