Chapter 25 Robyn
ROBYN
The noise broke into my dreams.
My eyes flew open, and I saw nothing but dark. Heart pounding, I struggled to hear over the rush of blood in my ears.
Something had woken me.
A crash.
My pulse leapt in my throat as realization dawned.
The suitcase. The suitcase I had stacked against the door of the trailer had been knocked over.
My ears pricked. It might have just been part of my dream. My subconscious—
Footsteps tapped softly across the trailer floor.
Blood whooshed in my ears.
Someone was here.
For a moment, fear paralyzed me as I heard the gentle creak of the floor moving.
Someone who didn’t want me to know they were here.
Move, Robbie, I hissed inwardly. Robyn, MOVE!
Escaping the cage of terror that imprisoned my limbs, I thrust off the bed covers, got onto my haunches, and waited as I listened through the thundering beats of my heart to the intruder’s movements.
They’d stopped outside the bedroom door.
The edge of the bed was less than a foot from the door.
The door was made of cheap wood, but more importantly, it swung outward into the trailer, not into the bedroom.
Balanced on the bed, hands holding the walls at either side of the doorway for support, I took a deep breath, pumped myself up, and then swung my knees up with force so I could drive my legs out into the door.
I threw my whole weight behind it and the door blasted open, hitting the resistance of the body behind it. A muffled but masculine curse preceded a clatter and then a thud.
Pushing out through the door, I almost tripped over his feet.
I’d knocked the fucker on his ass.
Slamming my palm into the light switch on the wall, I lit up the trailer and stared down at my would-be attacker as he stared up at me, gaze stunned.
Dressed all in black, black pants, black hood, black gloves, black ski mask, I could see nothing but his dark eyes. A gleam of metal on the floor caught my eye.
A push dagger.
My stomach somersaulted. First Mac, now me.
He’d obviously lost hold of it when I’d kicked out the door.
I instinctively lunged for the weapon, but the bastard grabbed my ankle and I lost my balance. My head whacked against the kitchen counter, momentarily dazing me.
There was a male grunt before I felt the heat of his body, trying to force me to my stomach on the trailer floor. Panic would finish me. If I let him pin me there, I’d have a hard time getting out of it.
My training cleared my mind and before he could grab my right arm, I twisted backward, elbow out, and smashed it into his face. It missed, but he flinched backward to avoid it and loosened his grip. I lunged forward and snatched up the dagger. He climbed over me, grappling me for it.
I needed to get him off me or this was over.
I slammed my head back and felt the pain of it connecting to his chin.
He fell off to the side, and I slid out from under him, swiping the dagger as I got to my feet.
The attacker scrambled to his feet to face me, his hands up defensively as I held the dagger expertly in my hand, body in fighting position.
If the attacker knew me, and I was pretty sure he did, then he’d know I could defend myself. Maybe he’d underestimated me because I was a woman.
Moron.
I had to hope the idiot hadn’t clocked the block of kitchen knives on the counter behind him.
“Who are you? Huh?” I yelled. “Is that you, Jared? Huh? Coward!” I swiped the dagger at him, showing my intention to maim, not kill.
A push dagger was called a push dagger for a reason.
It had a T handle designed to be grasped in the hand so the blade protruded from your fist. People also referred to it as a punch dagger.
That’s what Mac’s neighbor saw happen to my father. He thought someone was punching Mac in the gut. Instead, it was this asshole stabbing him.
Rage flooded me, and I swiped at him again.
Mac was right. His eyes were an unrealistic purple. Contacts. He bowed back against the counter, and his alien eyes flew to the door that lay partially open, suitcase collapsed in front of it.
Oh no, he was not getting away. I wanted this over with.
“Don’t even think about it, you fucker,” I hissed, blocking his path. “You’re going to stay right there, and I’m going to call the police.”
His eyes narrowed.
Who are you?
Then he did what I feared and turned to remove the largest kitchen knife from the block.
I bent my knees, lowering into a defensive position as he mirrored me.
Then he lunged with the knife with a lack of skill that told me he had no clue what he was doing.
I swerved to my left to avoid the blade, grabbed his biceps with one hand, and brought the push dagger down through the inside of his upper arm at the same time.
He yelled in agony, dropping the kitchen knife, and I tugged out the dagger with mean satisfaction, ready to take him to the ground.
But his fighting inexperience had lulled me into a false sense of security. I’d expected him to crumble under the pain of his wound.
Instead, he shocked me by slamming his fist into my face.
Throbbing pain exploded across my cheekbone, blinding me, and I stumbled back.
It was only seconds of distraction, but it was enough for him to lope over the suitcase and shove open the door.
I roared in fury and dove for him, my fingers grasping the hood of his sweater.
He grunted as I tried to haul him back, but I tripped over the suitcase, the trailer door slammed back toward my face, and I lost my grip on him as he took off.
Kicking the suitcase out of my way, ignoring the pain of my pinkie toe catching a metal buckle on the damn thing, I pushed open the trailer door, letting it slam against the side of the caravan.
Swiping up the kitchen knife, I checked left and right outside my temporary home and saw nothing.
No moving shadow in the distance.
No sound of gravel underfoot.
“Coward!” I shrieked my rage into the night.
Aware now of the adrenaline shooting through my body, I tried to control it as I hurried back into the trailer and grabbed my cell. Minutes later, the emergency services operator told me the police were on their way.
Hands shaking, I called Mac next.
He answered after four rings.
“Robbie?” he asked, sounding groggy with sleep.
The fear I’d felt when I’d heard the man breaking in came back, and I stared anxiously at the open door of the trailer. “Dad …” I rarely called him that. Then I told him what happened.
His worry was palpable as he ordered me to find a neighboring trailer. But I didn’t want to endanger anyone. “Stop arguing with me!” He sounded panicked.
“I’ll lock myself in my car,” I compromised.
“Fuck!” he bit out. “I’m on my way. I will be there in minutes.”
“Don’t kill yourself trying to get here.”
I did as I promised. I yanked on some socks and hiking boots, shoved my phone inside my left boot, armed myself with the dagger and a kitchen knife, and wrapped ice in a tea towel. I then hurried out of the trailer and into my rental car.
The bleep of the locks didn’t make me feel all that safe, but it was better than being a sitting duck in a tiny, static trailer.
I was wearing only a camisole and shorts, and the adrenaline was wearing off. Between that and the ice pressed to my cheek, I chittered in my car.
Until a black Range Rover pulled in behind my SUV a mere seven minutes later. The castle was fifteen minutes from the caravan site.
Staring into my wing mirror, I waited until the driver’s door opened.
Lachlan got out.
Great.
Mac rounded the hood to join him as they stalked toward my car; I finally opened my door.
I’d barely cleared my left foot from the vehicle when Mac hauled me into his arms.
“I’m okay,” I reassured him, holding on tight as I felt the tremble in his arms. Lachlan stood behind Mac, countenance fierce, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I’m okay.”
Moonlight lit his blue eyes, illuminating his disquiet. “What happened?”
Mac released me, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “He hit you.”
“Lucky punch,” I promised. “Hit my cheekbone, missed my nose, that’s all I care about.”
“Tell us everything.”
I opened my mouth to do so when Lachlan unexpectedly embraced me. My lips parted on a sharp exhalation, but I returned his hug, caressing his strong back. That’s when I realized we weren’t alone.
Over his shoulder, I spotted Jock and three security guards.
“Really?” I eased out of Lachlan’s arms. “You didn’t need to bring your men. The police are on their—”
I was interrupted by the kick of gravel and blue-and-red flashing lights dancing across the dark end of the trailer park. They parked up behind the Range Rover and we waited as the officers approached.
After introductions, I stood inside the trailer with the two police officers, Mac, and Lachlan. A fresh tea towel filled with ice pressed to my cheek, I told them what happened, hearing my father’s and Lachlan’s indrawn breath as I described the fight.
The police took my statement and promised the detective inspectors working on Mac’s case would be in touch to interview me.
The officers asked me if I required an ambulance, as had the phone operator, but I shook my head.
My face had gotten the worst of it, and I’d have a nasty shiner for a few days, but it would heal. Physically I was fine.
My attacker wasn’t, so there was hope he would go to the hospital.
The officers promised to put out an alert to the local hospitals for a man seeking medical attention for an injury matching the one I’d given him.
They bagged up the bloody push dagger and kitchen knife and took those with them, much to my annoyance.
My attacker wore leather gloves, but there was always a chance there could be prints on the dagger, and I’d wanted Mac’s forensic lady to run prints first. Moreover, this was the first time we had DNA.
I hadn’t considered that when I’d called the cops.
When the police left, silence reigned in the trailer.
Lachlan opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it.