No sooner had the thought formed in her mind than there came an outraged feline screech, followed by a muffled cry and then a whole series of bumps, thumps and clatters. Almost the moment they began Summer was on her feet and running as soundlessly as she could down the stairs, counting on the racket to cover any noises she did make. Near the bottom she halted, warned by some primitive sense. No help for it-she had to risk turning on the flashlight, just for a second. Just for an instant-but it was enough to reveal what she had already suspected. And though she had been prepared, she couldn’t stop the sharp intake of her breath.
A man lay sprawled on the floor at the foot of the stairs-not dead, or even, she feared, badly injured; he was already beginning to move and groan a little. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew it wasn’t Hal-too big and broad to be Hal. And there was no doubt in her mind about what she needed to do. Leaning over the man and gripping the flashlight upraised like a club, she switched it on once more.
But before she had time to bring it down on the dazed man’s head, or even cry out, someone grabbed her from behind, knocking the flashlight out of her hand. She could hear it rolling across the tile floor as a powerful arm clamped across her throat, cutting off her air supply. She struggled, kicking at her assailant’s legs and making contact at least once. She heard a satisfying grunt of pain and a vicious snarl. “Do that again and I’ll break your neck.”
She believed that, so she stopped struggling. And in the sudden stillness a voice came quietly from the darkness near the door to Riley’s study. “It’s me you want. Let her go.”
The pressure on her windpipe eased, and her body dragged in air in a shuddering, convulsive gasp. There was a roaring in her ears. Fighting to remain conscious, Summer heard garbled bits of conversation:
Her head cleared just as a flashlight beam slashed through the darkness, pinioning the figure of a man…the man Summer had been married to for twelve years, the man she had once loved. Her children’s father. He looked strangely unchanged, she thought. His smile was as charming as ever.
“What’s that you got there?” the man holding Summer growled.
Still smiling, Hal held up a package wrapped in bright paper. “This? Just some presents for my kids.”
“Yeah? Let’s see it.” A hand moved into Summer’s line of vision-a hand holding a gun.
What happened next happened so fast, she was never sure of the exact sequence. And yet, some things seemed in slow motion: The package and Hal’s hand moving in a short downward arc. The gun flying out of the man’s hand. Hal’s scream.
Then she was running, through the dark kitchen, through the mudroom and out into a chaos of howling wind and driving rain. The eye of the hurricane had passed; the storm was on them again in its full force and fury, the noise so intense she couldn’t hear her own sobs. She ran instinctively, down the driveway and into the lane, heading toward the gate. Around her trees lashed and groaned like tormented souls. She couldn’t tell what was happening behind her-shouts, running footsteps, even gunshots were swallowed up in the storm.
Something-someone-grabbed her from out of the darkness. She struggled, half-mindless with terror, screaming, scratching and biting like a wild animal, until a voice growled in her ear, “Hey-take it easy! You’re safe now-you’re safe!”
When they had passed, the man holding Summer gasped, “Sorry I was late-had to ram through the damn gate…leave my car down there in the lane. Trees down.”
“Who…are…you?” Summer asked through chattering teeth.
“Name’s Denby, ma’am. I work for Mr. Grogan. I was supposed to watch out for you and the kids…sure hope he don’t fire me, lettin’ this-”
“My children1” And she was running again, back toward the house, running with her heart in her throat and her lungs on fire, deaf to the pleas of her rescuer to wait-wait for him to check things out! But she was driven by something more compelling than fear.
Into the house she went, soaked to the skin, water streaming down her face and into her eyes. Up the stairs and down the hallway, needing no light to see the way. Calling her children’s names, she threw open the door of their hiding place and dropped to the floor beside the canopy bed.
“David? Helen? Hey, you can come-
Her children weren’t there. They were gone.
Riley had some bad moments during that seemingly endless drive home through the height of the hurricane- such as narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a couple of suicidal idiots, one a four-by-four of some kind, the other a big dark sedan, both heading the other way like bats out of hell. Then finding his gate broken in, and a little farther up the lane, coming upon Tom Denby’s car abandoned with its hood buried in a fallen tree. But nothing-not all the worst moments of his life put together-could have compared with the moment when he burst through the wide-open doors of his house and heard that terrible cry. He’d heard something like it once before, the day they’d found Helen in the tree, but this was worse. A thousand times worse.
He didn’t even remember how he got up the stairs and down the hallway to that bedroom doorway. But somehow he was standing in it, frozen there, and his eyes were on Summer as she stood silhouetted against the lightening windows. She stood like a pillar, too stunned even to cry as the windows crashed open and two small figures, like storm-drenched fledglings, crept over the sill and ran to their mother’s side.
“We were gonna climb down the tree and run for help,” he heard David explain, gasping for breath. “I know you told us to stay here and don’t move, but then we heard the noises-”
And then Riley was across the room and he couldn’t get them gathered into his arms fast enough. He was shaking so hard he felt as though he’d break apart, as if the only things holding him together were their arms, their laughter, their joyous shouts of “Oh, God-Riley!” “Hey, it’s Mr. Riley!” “Riley’s home!”
Yes, he was. At long last, he was home.
It was David who pulled away first. While Riley closed and latched the window, he drew a hand across his nose, sniffed and said, “Mom, Beatle’s dead, isn’t she?” But he wasn’t crying; his voice was quiet and brave. “I heard. Those men-they killed her, didn’t they?”
Summer lifted her eyes from her son’s face to Riley’s. Hers was pale and glistening with raindrops in the graying light; dawn was breaking, even in the midst of the hurricane. “She tried to defend us,” she said brokenly. “I don’t know… I don’t know about any of them. They gave the alarm. And Peggy Sue tripped one guy and made him fall down the stairs. But I haven’t heard anything since. I just don’t know…”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Riley said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “It’s getting light. We’ll find them… won’t we, guys?” As the two children gazed up at him with trusting eyes, he took them each by the hand and, with a long look at Summer, led the way downstairs. Please, God, he thought, no matter what happens…don’t let me let them down.
But somehow, he didn’t think he would. Ever again.
Downstairs they found that Tom Denby had already checked out and buttoned up the place and lit the battery- powered lanterns he’d found in the kitchen. With their help and the slowly growing daylight, they quickly located Cleo. The little gray parrot was pacing back and forth along the tops of the living room draperies, muttering and swearing, “Stupid… dog…” and staring with baleful yellow eyes at the cat Peggy Sue, who was stretched out on the back of the sofa just below her like a panther on a tree limb, placidly twitching her tail.
“My God,” Summer breathed, laughing weakly with relief, “how did she get up there? I didn’t think she could fly.”
“Maybe,” said Riley, laughing, too, “she just didn’t have enough incentive.”
“Mom! Mom, come quick!” David’s shout brought them into the central hallway at a dead run. “I found her! I found Beatle! She’s not dead! Quick, Mom-she’s hurt…”
The little dog was lying on the rug just inside Riley’s study, whimpering softly. She didn’t try to get up, but when David knelt beside her, she lifted her head and licked his face.
“Quick-” Summer was already down on her knees beside the dog “-get me a blanket-towels, a pillow, anything-go on, David, hurry!” As David jumped up and ran for the stairs, her hands were moving gently and
