One Summer’s Knight

found thunder and lightning sort of exciting But wind to her seemed like something alive, like a raging beast trying to get to her where she cowered inside her pitiful shelter. When the wind blew hard, she felt small and helpless, and afraid.

But she couldn’t let the children know that. For them she had to be strong, confident and brave. Even when the power went out early on, and they couldn’t make popcorn or watch videos as they had during the big thunderstorm, she stayed cheerful, making an adventure out of it. Instead of popcorn, they made peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches by flashlight, took them upstairs-along with a huge bowlful of grapes-where, as before, everyone including Beatle climbed into Summer’s bed. No one was going to be doing any sleeping, not with the wind screaming like someone being tortured, and things snapping and crashing and thumping around outside. So, instead of watching videos, Summer read while David held the flashlight They’d finished The Black Stallion and were well into The Black Stallion Returns by now. Summer kept the portable radio on the nightstand, tuned to the emergency station but turned down low.

Once, after a particularly loud crash that made the windows rattle and the bed shake, Helen crept closer against Summer’s side and said in a small, frightened voice, “Mommy, is this the hurry-cane?”

Summer put an arm around her and hugged her. “Sure is. Remember what Brasher said? ‘It’s a bi-ig ba-ad storm.’ ”

Helen giggled, then instantly looked as if she might cry. “He said Riley. would take care of us, but he’s not here. Mommy, when is Riley comin’ home?”

“Soon,” said Summer firmly. “He’ll be here soon. Hey-you know what? I’m tired of reading. Why don’t we sing for a while? How about, ‘Jingle Bells, Batman Smells-’ ”

“Mom!”

“Well, okay, then how ’bout, ‘On top of Old Smo-o-key, all covered with fleas…’”

They were singing that, all the verses they could remember, as well as some really silly ones they made up on the spur of the moment, when suddenly Summer went very still.

David stopped singing and gasped, “What?”

“Hush,” she said, giving him a squeeze. “Listen…”

“It’s quiet!”

“Does that mean the hurry-cane is over?”

“No, dummy, it’s the eye. That means it’s only half over.”

“David, please don’t call your sister a dummy-how would you like it if I called you a dummy?” But she said it in a teasing way, tussling playfully with both children, a surefire way to start a roughhouse. But before it could get under way, Beatle went “Wuf!” and jumped down off the bed.

“Riley’s home!” Helen said with a little gasp of joy.

But Summer said, “Hush,” and her arms tightened around both of her children. She hadn’t heard a car drive in or a door open. And Beatle’s tail wasn’t wagging. Instead, from her tiny throat came a low but unmistakable growl.

“Mom-”

“Shush!”

At that moment, from downstairs there came a terrible screech. A panic-stricken “Get out, get out, get out!” Then a splintering crash. And finally…silence. Dead silence.

But Summer knew. Someone was in the house.

Riley was on his cell phone shouting at the top of his lungs, trying to make himself heard above the roar of wind and rain and the futile slap of his windshield wipers. Somewhere out there in that chaos of fallen trees and blowing shingles and whipping power lines he knew Jake Redfield was doing the same.

“I can’t get through,” he bellowed. “It’s flooded here. I’m gonna have to try another way. Dammit, can’t you do something? Send a damn helicopter!”

“Are you out of your mind?” Well, that came through clearly enough. But then Riley heard, “Best I can…police…emergency band…” and then nothing but static.

He swore, and in a gesture of rage and futility, hurled the phone onto the passenger seat. His lungs burned with cold fire, as if he’d been running. Like a nightmare-his nightmare. From out of his past, from the distant echoes of memory, he felt it-the icy paralysis of fear.

He wasn’t going to be in time. He’d left them unprotected, knowing that even then the syndicate thugs might be closing in. If they’d taken the FBI’s bait, picked up Hal Robey’s trail, if they came for Summer and the children now, in this…and why wouldn’t they? It was the best possible moment. Power and phones were out, roads blocked, Jake and his agents cut off, the local police helpless to respond even if the security alarm did sound. Dammit, they were alone…helpless.

He wasn’t going to be able to save them. Dear God, he raged, Why? Why did he always seem destined to fail those he loved most?

He had only one hope left. Tom Denby. Please, God, he prayed, let him be there, even in this. Please, God, let him be in time.

“Shh-not a sound,” Summer whispered. With one arm around each of her children, she herded them, tiptoeing, out of her room and into the dark hallway. She’d turned off her flashlight, figuring the one advantage she had was that she knew the layout of the house better than any intruder would.

“Where’s Beatle?” David hissed. “Mom-”

“Shh’ I’ll find her. Never mind that now. Come on-m here.” As quietly as she could, she led them across the hall and into the room where they’d discovered Helen in the magnolia tree. “Quick-under the bed. Stay there and don’t move. And not a sound, do you understand me? No matter what happens. Not one sound.” For once there was no argument, no squabbling. Just silence. Summer watched her children wriggle under the edge of the canopy bed, then smoothed the spread and left them there. Left the room and closed the door soundlessly behind her.

Out in the hallway she stood for a moment, listening. Her heart was pounding, but her head was clear. As she weighed the flashlight in her hand, she knew what she had to do. It was obvious to her that the FBI wasn’t coming, at least not in time; all their carefully laid plans had been blown apart by the hurricane. No one was going to come and rescue her. She was on her own. The flashlight was the only weapon she had, and it wasn’t enough. Her best hope was to get outside. If it was just a burglar she’d heard, taking advantage of the storm and the power outage, let him ransack the place. He could take whatever he wanted-he wasn’t going to find the children. If it was Hal- please, God, let it be Hal-he’d make himself known and then she could talk to him, convince him to turn himself in. And if it wasn’t Hal or a burglar…if it was the same thugs who had burned her house…well, then she’d draw them out after her, make them chase her, like a mother lark pretending a broken wing. They’d probably catch her, but she’d convince them the children were somewhere else, somewhere safe. Then…

Beyond that she didn’t dare think. First, she had to get past whoever it was…get outside. But where were they? She couldn’t hear anything!

And then Beatle began to bark. Furiously, viciously, growling and snarling the way she did when she was shaking and mauling one of her practice “kills.” Summer heard mutters… swearing. A muffled shout. A soft but dreadful thud. A sharp, shrill cry.

“Oh, no,” she whimpered. “Oh, Beatte-” She lunged for the stairs, her heart racing.

And stopped, stifling her sobs with her hand. No-she couldn’t go to pieces now. She had to stay calm. Keep her head. Brushing tears from her cheeks, she crept silently toward the stairs.

Someone was coming up the stairs.

Summer dropped down into a crouch in the shadow of the banister, and as she did, felt something brush past her face. Something silent as a breeze or a puff of smoke. Or a cat’s tail. Oh, God-Peggy Sue! Once more she clamped a hand over her mouth and held her breath, this time to stifle a hiccup of half hysterical laughter. It was almost too much-no doubt about it, the cat was heading down the stairs. Completely unperturbed by either storm or strangers, parading right down the middle as if she owned them, as she always did. And the intruder was coming up. Somewhere, the two were going to have to meet. And, of course, only one could see in the dark…