Chapter 10
KARA
I refused to think about who had destroyed my apartment or why. I could only focus on the task Shawn had given me. He stood in the hall, his gaze taking in the wreckage as my trembling hand dialed emergency services.
The person who answered didn’t speak any English. My gaze went up to Shawn. “Do you speak Dutch?”
His eyes went wide. “You don’t?”
“Almost everyone speaks English here. I tried to learn, but I’m terrible at foreign languages.”
“Americans,” he’d muttered, taking the phone from me.
“Yeah, I am.” It made me crazy when he said it, like my nationality was a disease. Especially when he had a US passport in his pocket.
The policeman must have understood enough German to get an idea of what had happened. Shawn hung up and handed the phone back to me. “They’re on their way.” He peered inside. “How is it your company sent you here when you don’t speak the language?”
This is what he wanted to talk about now? Normally I would be humble, but my fear disrupted that. “I’m amazing at what I do.”
His gaze fell on me, a hint of surprise ringing in his eyes. “If that’s true, you should come work for me.”
When he took a step inside, I put a hand on his chest to stop him. “Whoever did this could still be in there.”
“I don’t think so.” He pointed to a shattered bottle of red wine on the floor by the kitchen area. The splattered remains of puddles around the shards of glass were dry, leaving an ugly, dark mess. “This happened a while ago.”
He moved cautiously, scouring the apartment for the intruder while I hesitantly followed, my breath held when he disappeared into my bedroom.
“It’s empty.” His deep voice came from inside. “Don’t touch anything. I’m calling Jason.”
“Okay.” My muscles were tense and my heart threatened to beat out of my chest.
The kitchen off the main area wasn’t quite as bad, but it was overwhelming, nonetheless. Silverware was strewn over the counter. Coffee mugs lay in pieces on my kitchen table. Cereal crunched under my feet as I ventured further inside.
I wanted to scream.
If this was Juric, it made no sense. And if it wasn’t Juric, who and why? I had nothing of value, and there was no reason for someone to be angry enough with me to do this. Unless . . . Scott Rhodes? That made even less sense.
My foot nudged a broken picture frame on the floor.
The photo was of me, Laurel, and Jason at my sister’s theater last month, the premiere of “Swan Lake.” Just looking at it made my heart hurt.
Sometime soon after that night, Jason had been told of the fire and Juric’s possible escape, and that had sent them into hiding.
Would their worst nightmare become reality?
Through the open doorway, I heard the German flowing from Shawn. He sounded upset, more so than the language usually sounded to me.
He’d told me not to touch anything, and as I stared at my damaged home and broken things, it was incredibly hard to just do nothing. I liked tackling problems, liked feeling useful, but—
A knock on the front door made my breath catch. The cops were here already? I cracked the door and saw a badge on the other side. Thank God.
“Do you speak English?” I asked as I opened the door.
The man wasn’t wearing a uniform. He nodded and stepped inside, looking around and surveying the damage with interest. He was young and short, with black jeans and a dark shirt, and scowl twisted on his face.
“When I came home, it was like this,” I said.
He moved exceptionally fast. His hands were rough, and I only saw the knife because the flat side of it caught the light before it bit into the flesh of my neck.
“Where is Juric?” The man’s voice was low with a European accent I couldn’t place, and he rasped like he smoked a thousand cigarettes a day. “Tell me or I slit your fucking throat.”
“W-What?”
His hand jerked, and the burning pain said he’d cut me. A nick, just deep enough to make me bleed and believe he’d do what he said.
“We know he was here. Why?”
Oh, my God. Juric was here?
“I don’t know,” I blurted.
My legs were weak, and I shook violently, but my mind raced. Living in New York, I’d been told not to fight back when being mugged or attacked, but I’d always been a fighter. I needed a weapon.
The ugly man grabbed a fistful of hair at the base of my skull and used his hold to painfully yank me closer to the stove. His knife was abruptly gone from my neck so he could flip the gas burner on. It clicked and ignited, and then the sharp point of his blade was at my side, just below my ribs.
My terrified gaze was drawn to the ring of flames rising from the empty burner.
“Put your hand out,” he commanded.
I tried not to whimper. “No.”
“Then talk. Why did he come here?”
“Please, I don’t know,” I gasped loudly.
His hold in my hair tightened, and the pain made my vision blur. Warm blood ran down my neck, soaking my shirt, and my heart throbbed in my throat. Being burned was one of my greatest fears, and I could not let it paralyze me.
There was a heavy skillet in the drying rack on the other side of the counter. I couldn’t reach it, not with his hands on me.
Abruptly, a blur of dark hair and angry eyes emerged from the bedroom and barreled toward me. For the first time in my life, I was overwhelmingly relieved to see Shawn. Holy shit, he moved fast.
So fast he probably didn’t see the knife lying in wait for him. The man released me with a shove, assuming Shawn was a bigger threat. Finally free, I reached out and closed my hands around the handle of the skillet.
Shawn was almost to us, where he’d run right into the knife that was meant for me, and I wasn’t going to let that happen. I swung with all the force I had.
A horrifying crack rang out when the skillet connected with the man’s skull. The impact reverberated up my arms and I stumbled back, crashing into the stove. The man spun halfway around and fell, the knife skittering across the floor.
Shawn pulled up short, stunned.
“Oh, shit.” My voice was barely audible as I dropped the skillet.
He flew toward me and grabbed a dishtowel along the way, pressing it to the side of my neck when he reached me.
“Are you all right?” His eyes were full of panic.
A bloody puddle formed beneath the man’s head and grew rapidly, causing the words to spill from me. “Is he dead? Did I just kill him?”
Shawn pressed harder on the towel to staunch my bleeding and his other arm looped around my back to hold me. “Kara, how badly are you hurt?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I looked at the stove, saw the burner still going, and switched it off. My mind was numb from what had happened.
From what I’d done.