Scarlett’s Hero (Heroes of Sleepy Hollow #4)

1. CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1

SCARLETT

It’s days like these that make me happy I moved to Sleepy Hollow.

I was nervous at first. Leaving a job I loved, giving up my cozy apartment, and losing the sense of safety I built over the last three years.

I didn’t know how I’d like working as a private nurse instead of bustling hospitals and doctors’ offices. Would I be nervous going into people’s homes instead of secure buildings with alarms and security? Could I handle something new after years of rigidly controlling everything?

Would the change in surroundings bring my nightmares back with a vengeance?

But for my best friend, it was worth the risk. Especially after I abandoned her when she really needed me.

When Maya brought up the idea of moving closer to her—not just her, but her new little family—I had to say yes. Was I going to let my fears make me miss out on getting to know Maya’s husband? Miss out on watching my new goddaughter grow up ?

No way.

So I shoved my fears to the side and did it.

With Maya’s help, I found a cute little bungalow to rent on the outskirts of town, complete with my own postage stamp-sized yard and a patio to entertain on. One of her friends at Blade and Arrow Security—the company her husband, Cole, founded—helped me find a job as a private RN. And the entire team at Blade and Arrow even helped me move in.

Despite my reservations, it’s so much better than I expected.

In the nine months I’ve lived here, I’ve made friends. I’ve discovered where to buy the best muffins in town, and I’ve learned Divine Design has a big sale on the last Thursday of each month. Maya’s friend Hanna showed me the best trails in Rockefeller Park for the days when the walls are closing in on me.

Sleepy Hollow has begun to feel like home.

And I like my job. I thought I’d miss all the kids at the pediatric office where I worked, but I’ve grown to care about my new patients, too.

Like little Carlie, who broke her femur and is stuck at home for months while it heals. Once she told me how much she loves video games, I always make sure to stay an extra half an hour each visit so we can play together.

There’s Emily Diamond, who was overwhelmed when she brought home her premature twins, sobbing during my first visit and telling me how terrified she was of doing something wrong. But a month on, she and the twins are doing great, and probably won’t need my help for much longer.

I might still offer to babysit, though. The twins are really cute.

And then there’s Saul Cunningham, who’s one of my favorites. In his eighties, he’s recovering from a stroke, but he’s still alert and funny and I always enjoy talking to him. I like hearing about how he started his company from a fifty-dollar loan. I think it’s interesting to hear about the time he met Paul Newman, or how he toured the pyramids in Egypt.

He reminds me of my own granddad, back when he was alive.

And it makes me a little sad that Saul’s family doesn’t seem interested in him. He doesn’t really need a nurse anymore—his family could easily help with meds and checking his vitals—but they’re always too busy and would prefer to pay someone else to do it.

“Scarlett, dear. You should be getting home.” Saul’s crackly voice is gently scolding. “It’s going to be dark soon.” He gives me a kindly smile and gestures at the tray of food I’m fussing with. “You don’t need to pick all that up. I can do it later.”

I glance up from the half-eaten dinner to meet his gaze. With an answering smile, I reply, “I know. But I’m heading to the kitchen, anyway. So it doesn’t make sense to leave it.”

His lips quirk. “Are you saying you don’t think an old man like me can carry a little tray of food?”

“Of course not. It’s just habit after years of waiting tables in college.” It’s not really part of my job—to heat up Saul’s dinner and bring it to him—but the family requested it and I don’t mind. “If you don’t want me to take it, I won’t, though.”

“Nah.” He grins, and his face looks twenty years younger. “I’m just joking, Scarlett. But truly—” His expression sobers. “I know you don’t need to do this. Bringing me dinner. Staying extra time. I’m sure you have other things to do. Friends to see. A young man, maybe?”

“I like staying to talk to you.” My watch buzzes, and I catch a glimpse of Maya’s name on the screen. “But I guess I should go. Unless you need anything else?”

Saul quickly glances around the living room—it’s part of his in-law suite that’s larger than my apartment—and gives a dismissive shake of his head. “I’m good, dear. Richard should be home in a few hours. I’ll just watch some TV until I fall asleep. You should get out of here. Go do something fun.”

My watch buzzes again, this time displaying a name that makes my stomach flutter. But I ignore it to focus on Saul. “Well, I have plans to get together with a friend later. But I don’t mind staying...”

“Absolutely not.” Smiling, he makes a shooing gesture at me. “Get out of here, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Laughing, I reply. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He watches as I sling my medical bag over my shoulder and pick up the tray. “You have a good night. And drive safe.”

“I will.”

I’m nearly to the door when Saul asks, “Oh. Are you going to be staying here next weekend while Richard is out of town? ”

I’ve stayed a few times overnight when Saul’s son, Richard, has to travel, but this is the first I’m hearing about this particular trip. “I don’t know. The agency didn’t say anything to me about it. But I’ll ask.”

He nods. “Ever since he and Vanessa separated, Richard’s been taking more business trips. But he probably forgot to mention it.”

“No problem.” Balancing the tray one-handed, I open the door. “If he wants me to stay the weekend, I’d be happy to.”

With a little wave, I say goodnight and make my way through the expansive house to the kitchen. And even though I’ve been working here for four months now, I’m still amazed at the ostentatious display of wealth. Gloomy paintings that I know for a fact cost tens of thousands, huge crystal chandeliers in nearly every room, dozens of sculptures of unidentifiable objects, and way too much gold detailing.

No thanks. I prefer rustic and cozy, with lots of books and candid photos and furniture that’s designed for comfort, not style.

Once I get to the kitchen, I rinse all the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then do a double check of Saul’s medications in the fridge. Then I grab my phone from where I left it on the counter and open up the messages I missed.

First, there’s the one from Maya.

Girls’ night this weekend? Cole just got back from his job, so he can watch Clara. Wine, charcuterie, and some cheesy movies? Hanna, Charlie, and Nora are interested, too. Unless you want to have it just be the two of us.

Another one of the great things about moving to Sleepy Hollow is I’ve become friends with Cole’s teammates’ partners, too. They all live in a renovated office building on the outskirts of town—with their own apartments, of course—so Maya has become really close with all of them. At first I was worried about feeling left out, but it’s been the exact opposite. Everyone has been really friendly and welcoming.

So I respond to Maya with a grin.

Girls’ night sounds great! And I’d love to see everyone. Just let me know what to bring.

I don’t get a response right back, which I’m not surprised about—Maya is probably giving Clara a bath or attempting to put her to bed.

Next, I open the message that made my heart do a little leap.

Hey. Hope work is going well. You still stopping by after? I’ve been waiting to see what happens on Love is Blind all week.

A laugh bursts out. I know darn well Grant only watches that show because he likes to make fun of it. And he likes to tease me about how much I love it. Smiling at the screen, I send a quick reply.

Yes. Just about to leave. I’ll stop home to shower and change before heading over. I can’t wait to find out what happens either! Will Garrett realize Janette is playing him or not?

His response comes back immediately.

Oh, yes. I’ve been losing sleep over it. Hurry so I can find out .

Laughing again, I send one more message before slipping my phone back into my purse.

I will! Leaving the Cunninghams’ now. I can pick up pizza on the way. See you soon.

My heart lifts. An evening of pizza and reality tv with Grant. It’s the perfect end to the day.

That's another great part of moving to Sleepy Hollow. Grant.

Not that we’re dating. We’re friends that hang out once a week and have a silent agreement to keep things platonic. It’s better that way.

Just because my chest gets tight and my skin feels electric whenever I see him doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. It wouldn't be a good idea, for a lot of reasons.

Being friends with Grant is the much safer and smarter option.

I’m about to leave the kitchen when my phone buzzes again. It’s probably Grant with a request about the pizza toppings, so I reach back into my purse to check.

Then.

I hear something.

Not the normal sounds of the house—the faint hum of the fridge, the distant tick of the grandfather clock in the dining room, the slightest hiss of heat kicking on in the cooling September evening.

This is different.

A creak. Slow. Deliberate.

Then a soft thump .

My heart clutches.

That familiar fear I’ve worked so hard to overcome comes rushing back again.

But no.

This is just in my imagination.

Or it’s something completely reasonable. Saul, coming to the kitchen for a snack. Richard getting home early. Richard’s son, Warren, coming over from the guest house to raid the kitchen.

There’s nothing to worry about.

Until.

My worst fear comes to life.

There’s someone.

In the kitchen doorway.

Not someone I know.

A figure all in black.

Black clothing. Black gloves. A black mask that covers everything but his eyes and a slit for his mouth.

The man—it has to be a man; with his height and size—lets out a low chuckle as he sees me.

I can’t breathe. Can’t move.

All that separates me from my nightmare is a marble island and twenty feet.

A soft, keening sound comes from the back of my throat.

Oh, please, let this not be real.

But he’s still moving towards me. Something glints dully in his hand. A knife? A gun? I can’t tell.

He laughs again, a rough, sinister sound .

Panic squeezes my chest until gray dots float across my vision.

Now he’s ten feet away.

No. I bite my tongue hard enough to make it bleed, and the pain brings a flash of clarity.

What am I doing? Am I just going to stand here? Let this man hurt me? Hurt Saul?

I’m not that helpless woman of three years ago.

Cole taught me about self-defense. I’ve taken classes. In theory, I know what to do.

So do it.

My gaze sweeps the kitchen for just a second, trying to come up with a plan.

I could run for the patio doors in the dining room, I might make it, but where does that leave Saul?

Or I could do what Cole told me years ago. Almost anything can be used as a weapon. Throw things. Kick. Scream. It’ll confuse the person coming after you. As soon as you get an opening, run.

There are things I can use. An electric wine opener. A French-press coffee-maker. Silverware in the drawers. Pans hanging from the rack above the island.

If I can just get past him and make it to Saul’s room, I can barricade us inside. Shove the furniture against the door.

Try to escape, or take the risk of making him angry at me?

He’s closer. Nearly to the island. So close I can see the glint of malice in his silvery eyes. Close enough to catch a whiff of deodorant mixed with a hint of garlic .

The fear is almost crippling, but I can’t leave Saul unprotected.

So I take a deep breath and move.

I fling the wine opener at him, and it bounces off his shoulder.

He laughs. This asshole laughs .

Anger floods through me.

I’m not helpless. I’m not .

My muscles unlock and I’m a dervish, throwing everything within arm's distance at him. Pots. Pans. The French-press, which smacks him flush in the face.

I’m screaming at him, shouting, “Get out, get out, get out! Leave us alone!”

The man in black lunges runs around the counter and lunges for me, and he’s not laughing anymore.

I duck as his fist flies towards me and it clips me in the cheek, sending a burst of pain exploding from my cheekbone to my jaw.

His hand clamps around my arm hard enough to bruise.

NO. Not this time.

With all my strength, I swing a heavy flying pan at his head and it connects with a soft, satisfying thunk.

He staggers back.

Then I snatch up my purse and run. Out of the kitchen, through the living room, bypassing all the other possible exits. My only goal is making it to Saul’s room .

With every step, my heart races impossibly faster. All I can think is please, please, please .

Footsteps follow behind me, gaining in speed.

But there. Saul’s room.

I fling the door open and immediately spin around to slam it shut. With shaking hands, I turn the flimsy lock while Saul asks shakily, “Scarlett, what’s happening? I heard shouting.”

All I can manage to get out as I scramble to shove the dresser in front of the door is, “There’s someone in the house. Call 911.”

Just as I get the dresser in place, something heavy slams into it.

Adrenaline surging, I grab more furniture—chairs, the desk, a wooden chest—and pile them in front of the door.

“Get away,” I call out loudly, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. “I’ve called the police. They’re on the way. Just leave!”

“Scarlett.” It’s Saul again, but he sounds weaker than before. When I turn around, he’s slumped on the couch with the phone held loosely in his hand. “I called. They’re… coming. But… I don’t… feel right.”

NO. I’m not losing him now.

Praying that the barricade will hold until the police arrive, I rush over to Saul’s side. Crouching beside him, I take his free hand in mine and meet his frightened gaze with my own. “It’s going to be okay. I won’t let him in here. You’re going to be okay.”

Please let me be right.