Someone Like Her(38)

 Think, Maria! A trail, she should leave a trail. She stepped out of one of her sandals, hoping he wouldn’t notice. At the beginning of the sidewalk leading up to the pool house, she kicked off her other shoe. When they reached the door the maintenance guys kept locked, he yanked it open and pushed her inside. Just before he did, however, she managed to drop her watch on the grass next to the sidewalk.

 That the door was unlocked meant he’d lain in wait for her to return home. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Was he going to kill her?

 He flipped on the light switch and just stood there, staring at her with the coldest eyes she’d ever seen. As she backed into the corner, she frantically searched for anything she could use as a weapon. There were lots of things: pool vacs, nets on long poles, and large bottles of chlorine. If she could get one of them opened, she could throw it in his face. If she went for one though, he’d be on her before she could get the cap off.

 She heard a whimper and knew it had come from her. “What do you want?” The sound of her voice surprised her, her heart pounding so hard she hadn’t thought she was capable of forming words. The back of her legs bumped into something and her knees gave out. Glancing down, she saw she was sitting on a pile of bagged grass fertilizer. On the floor next to the bottom bag was a trowel.

 “What do I want?” He took a step toward her. “You owe me, bitch. Because of you, the cops are looking for me.”

 As subtly as possible, she shifted, sliding her foot over the trowel to keep him from seeing it. “I didn’t do anything.”

 Another step brought him closer. “Why were you at my house?”

 “I-I . . .” If she told him she might be his daughter would it keep him from hurting her? Before she could decide what to say, he lunged. She twisted so that he came down on her back; she reached down and grabbed the trowel.

 With her stomach pressed to the bags of fertilizer and the weight of him on top of her, it was impossible to turn around. With one hand, he cradled her head and smashed her face into the plastic bag. The other hand pushed its way under her and into the top of her capris.

 There’d been too many times growing up in her mother’s house when she’d had to fight off the advances of men, many of them drunk. No way was the bastard trying to fondle her going to be the one to take what she’d never willingly given. That he might be her father sent a rush of adrenaline racing through her, a resolve to keep the unthinkable from happening.

 If only she could get herself turned around, she could aim the trowel at his throat, even better, one of his eyes. Knowing she didn’t have his strength and couldn’t move as long as he was on top of her, she went limp, pretending to pass out.

 When his weight suddenly left her, she thought her plan had worked. She twisted and brought the trowel up, preparing to plunge it into him, father or not. He wasn’t there. Instead, he and Jamie were in an all-out fight on the floor of the pool house. Maria pushed herself up and fumbled in her blouse for her phone. Her hands shook so hard, she dropped it and it skittered across the room. As she crawled to it, a toolbox against the wall caught her eye. Scrambling to it, she found a hammer inside, then snatched up her phone. A better weapon in hand, she watched for a chance to bring the hammer down on Fortunada’s head. The two men were rolling and moving too fast. Afraid she would hit Jamie, she stood back and watched, feeling helpless as her shaking fingers tried to dial 911.

 After giving the dispatcher their location, Maria kept the phone line open, but set her cell on a nearby shelf. The hammer clutched in her hands, she watched the two men fight. Neither man seemed to be aware of anything but doing as much damage as possible to the other.

 Sirens finally sounded in the distance, and she hoped they were responding to her call. In a move that happened so fast she gasped in surprised, Jamie hooked his leg around Fortunada’s, flipped him, and straddled his back. A gun appeared as if out of nowhere and Jamie pressed it to the man’s head.

 “You move, you die, you fucking bastard.”

 If he hadn’t used words she’d never heard Saint say before, she wouldn’t have known how upset he was. He wasn’t even breathing hard and he’d sounded like he was talking about the weather—all cool, calm, and collected.

 The sirens were earsplitting now, and she sank onto the bags, her legs suddenly refusing to hold her up. The hammer fell out of her hands, clanking as it hit the floor. The next twenty minutes passed in a daze as she answered Detective Nolan’s questions. Finally, the patrol car drove off with Fortunada in the back, and a few minutes later the detective left.