Grace sighed. “Okay. But be fast.”
Chloe exited her vehicle. “Man, it’s dark out here tonight. Good thing you gave me this flashlight key chain for Christmas last year. It’s the only reason I haven’t tripped and busted my face.”
Her sister never would have stayed out late on such a dark night if she could have helped it. “What kept you at the clinic so late?”
“We can discuss that after you get here. Oh, but I do need to tell you, I received another letter from Benjamin Hamilton wanting to purchase the farm.”
The farm was eighty acres of prime pastureland and the two-story farmhouse they had lived in growing up. It had sat empty since their father died, until Chloe moved back in several months ago. Grace had no need of the property and planned to sign over her share to Chloe once her divorce was finalized.
“Didn’t you tell him you plan to live there permanently?”
“I did. His recent letter lists all the reasons I shouldn’t live out here alone.” Keys jingled. “Hang on a second while I open the door.”
The screen went black. “Chloe, I can’t see you. The screen says ‘Poor Connection.’”
A thud boomed across the line, and her sister’s scream split the air. “No! No-o-o!”
Grace’s heart pounded. The video reconnected, but the ceiling had replaced her sister’s image.
“Chloe. Are you okay? What’s happening?” Grace yelled into the phone.
Had Chloe’s Great Dane, Barkley, knocked her down?
“Chloe! Answer me. Right now.”
The sound of a struggle and furniture being knocked over echoed in the background. “Okay, I’m calling nine-one-one.”
A person wearing a full-face novelty ski mask that resembled a black bear stared into the phone. Brown eyes glared at her, assessing.
An involuntary gasp escaped Grace’s lips as she covered her mouth with a trembling hand.
“Go ahead. It’ll be too late by the time they get here.” He laughed and the screen went blank.
Pressing the call button on the steering wheel, she put the vehicle into gear and sped out of the parking lot.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“My sister.” Grace took the curve at Newfound Gap fast. Too fast. Except right now there was no such thing as too fast. “Chloe Osborne, 1362 Monteagle Lane. Someone broke in. I heard a struggle and a scream. There’s a masked man, and the phone went blank.”
“There’s an intruder?”
Wasn’t that what she’d said? Grace bit back angry words and fought to stay calm. “Yes—1362 Monteagle Lane.”
The dispatcher repeated the address. Then, “What is your name?”
What did that matter? Why weren’t they sending a troop of police cars, lights flashing and sirens screaming, to Chloe’s house?
The nearest neighbors are a half mile away. There’s no one to hear my sister’s cries for help.
“Ma’am, your name?”
“Grace. Dr. Grace Porter. Chloe’s my sister. Why aren’t you sending help?”
“Help is on the way.”
The dispatcher’s calm voice infuriated Grace. Chloe’s life was in danger! How could she be so absolutely nonchalant?
She’s supposed to be calm. That’s why she’s got this job. Breathe. Think. Pray.
But she couldn’t breathe. Not normally. Or think. The only thing she could envision was Chloe’s worst nightmare coming true. Being on the phone with Grace hadn’t stopped it from happening.
Disconnecting the call, she pressed harder on the accelerator.
Please, Lord, let help arrive in time.
She turned onto the road that led to her childhood home and pulled up to the edge of the property, cutting the engine. Even from this distance, she could see the front door was open. Lights spilled out from the downstairs windows.
Now what? There was no sign of the police yet.
She couldn’t sit there. Her sister might be injured. Or worse—dead.
What could she use as a weapon?
Digging through the glove compartment, she found a flashlight, an ice scraper and the vehicle owner’s manual.
Ugh, what else do I have?
She felt under the passenger seat. An umbrella. Success!
Thankful for the cover of darkness, she sprinted across the lawn. Reaching the corner of the two-story farmhouse, she inched along the side, stopping at every window to peek and listen.
A whimpering growl sounded. She pressed her face against the cool glass of the window. Barkley, locked in a bedroom, clawed at the door. Desperate to save his owner. Grace’s veterinarian heart bled for him, but she couldn’t offer comforting words for fear he’d reveal her presence.
She reached the porch and climbed. One. Step. At. A. Time.
Muffled voices reached her. Chloe’s and a man’s. Deep and guttural.
Umbrella at the ready, she entered the house and stopped short. Chloe, her back to the stairs, was struggling with her attacker on the second-floor landing.
The faint sound of a siren pierced the night.
Thank you, Lord.
The masked man met her eyes above Chloe’s head, and for a split second, she wondered if she’d spoken the words out loud.
Inching closer to the stairs, Grace battled the desire to race up to them. If she distracted her sister from her mission of survival, it could be catastrophic. Chloe must have sensed her presence because she glanced over her shoulder. That was all the edge the attacker needed.
He pushed Chloe, and her body bent backward over the railing. She had one hand gripping the wood rail, the other grasping his mask.
Grace charged. Before she made it even midway up the curved staircase, her sister flew through the air.
“Chloe!”
She landed on the foyer floor in a heap, a ski mask in her outstretched hand.
Grace rushed down. Footsteps pounded on the stairs right behind her. She looked over her shoulder. A man in his midforties, with collar-length brown hair and a scruffy beard sprinkled with gray, smirked at her.
She raised the umbrella to ward off an attack. The man ducked and head-butted her in the side, sending her tumbling down the last four steps.
Pushing herself up onto her hands and knees, she pressed a hand against the wall, struggling to stand.
The man snickered as he planted his booted foot on her back and pushed her flat to the floor. “You’re next, Amazing Grace.”
She froze. Amazing Grace. She hadn’t
