Chapter 36
I’ll Take Steak Over Fish Anytime
Quinn was sated, utterly wrung out, and he floated on a cloud of ecstasy. After their couch antics, they’d both been ravenous, and they scarfed down a throw-together meal of omelets, bacon, and pancakes.
Sarah wanted to wash off the chlorine, so Quinn went to retrieve the robes they had left poolside.
He jogged downstairs to the gym, discovering he hadn’t locked this particular slider because he’d chased Sarah up the stairs to the hot tub.
Once outside, he aimed for the lounge chair.
It was empty. A quick spin revealed the other chairs were empty too.
Baffled, he smoothed the back of his head and scanned the perimeter of the pool.
Nothing. As he was about to give up the search, something pale caught his eye.
It lay motionless in the shadows, just beyond the edge of the glow cast by the pool lights.
He headed toward it, slowing his steps the closer he got.
A noise like a hiss stood his neck hairs on end.
It’s a cat. Calm the fuck down.
Another few steps, and the object came into view.
He crouched and brushed his fingers across it.
A pink robe. How had it wound up there? Picking it up, he peered into the dark, looking for the second robe, but the yard was plunged in inky blackness.
A chill chattered along his spine, and he hustled back to the house, locking the gym slider behind him.
Walking into the master bedroom, he glimpsed the curve of Sarah’s peachy-pink back as she fiddled with the shower controls, and he forgot the robe in his hand.
When she saw him, she turned and smirked. “I guess I need a coach to show me how to operate this contraption.”
His eyes traveled over her body, and he gave her a wolfish grin. “I’m your man.”
Her eyes dipped to his hand. “What’s that?”
“Oh. Your robe. Couldn’t find mine.” He held it up to show her, and her eyes went as round as an owl’s.
She let out a squeak. He craned his head and nearly squeaked himself.
The robe had been slashed repeatedly from just above the hem to the shoulder, rendering it a collection of wide terrycloth ribbons joined at the top and bottom. “What. The. Fuck?”
She pointed. “You found it like that?”
He explained how and where.
She blinked—several times. “I don’t think a cat would do that.”
Neither do I. “Maybe a mountain lion is prowling the neighborhood? I hear animals are bolder now that the pandemic’s got people sheltering in place.”
“You’re not serious!” She shivered and rubbed her arms.
“How do you explain it?”
“Not a mountain lion. Maybe a bobcat?”
By the time they’d showered and fallen into bed, they’d exhausted logical explanations and agreed to put the whole thing aside until morning.
As Quinn gathered her close, pulling in the scent of her freshly shampooed hair, he ran his hands over her silky bare skin.
With a sigh, he drifted off to sleep in a euphoric fog.
Quinn awoke with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. He was on his back, and Sarah’s warm weight nestled against his side as she slept in the crook of his arm. He scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to orient himself. Outside, it was still pitch-black.
Had he had a nightmare? He couldn’t remember.
He thought he heard a rustle and lifted his head to stare into the shadows surrounding the bed. Something moved. He blinked, convinced what he saw was a hallucination brought on by being jarred out of a deep sleep.
Then he felt a shift in the air. Something—or someone—was breathing heavily, and it wasn’t him. He glanced down at Sarah, but her inhales were soft, slow, a different cadence from what he thought he was hearing.
A flash in the dark, and every alarm bell in his head tripped at once.
Blood whooshed in his ears. Adrenalin flooded his veins.
An unearthly scream fired every nerve, and he shoved Sarah from the bed.
He rolled just as something punched into the mattress beside his head, a harsh ripping sound following after.
“He’s here, Sarah! Run!” he bellowed.
Scrambling from the bed, Quinn’s feet became entangled in the covers.
Whatever had slashed the mattress was yanked out.
It rose up and sliced through the air. Little grunting noises mixed with keening.
Quinn heaved his body to the side, his shoulders and head thudding to the floor.
Another blow struck the mattress, puncturing it scant inches from his hip.
The rest of him was still twisted in the sheets, and he kicked.
A light snapped on.
A wild-eyed woman stood at the foot of the bed, bathed in light, struggling to free a kitchen knife. She froze, distracted by the light. Blond hair escaped a black cap.
What …?
Dory’s eyes burned into his and jerked the blade free. She double-fisted the handle, drawing it up in what seemed to be slow motion.
“You called her ‘babe’! I heard you!” she shrieked.
“You couldn’t keep your hands off her—in the pool, the hot tub, and you fucked her on the couch right in front of me!
I hate you!” She raised the knife above her head, aiming it at Quinn.
He curled away, but not enough to escape the trajectory of the plunge.
He threw up his arm. A sudden thump, an impact, and Dory flew to the side.
The knife tumbled from her grasp, landing beside Quinn’s thigh.
He kicked the covers off and seized the blade. Then he was up, moving.
He rounded the foot of the bed. Sarah was crouched over Dory, one knee digging into Dory’s back.
Dory had lost her breath but was rousing.
Spitting, hissing. He nudged Sarah off her and took over, his knee now wedged in Dory’s back.
His weight drove the breath from her again, and he clamped down on her wrists and held them behind her back.
Sarah grabbed her phone from the nightstand where she’d clicked on the lamp, and her wide eyes traveled from Dory to Quinn as she dialed. She put the phone on speaker and tossed it on the bed. “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” crackled through the room.
“A crazy woman broke into my boyfriend’s house and tried to stab him.” Sarah wrenched open the closet door and darted him a look. “Tape? Rope? Laces?” She jerked one of his shirts from a hanger and wrestled it on.
What’s she asking me? A klieg light flashed on in his brain. Smart girl. “Gear bag, middle of the right wall. Should have laces and tape.”
The operator asked questions, and Sarah answered, her voice shaking as she rifled the closet.
“And the woman is still there?” the operator asked.
“Yes!” Sarah screamed.
Underneath him, Dory kicked, cursed, yelled.
Her strength took him by surprise. She bucked his knee off.
Then she rolled and twisted, and he lost his grip on her hands.
Screeching like a banshee, she scrabbled, hopped up, and rushed toward Sarah.
On his knees, Quinn lunged and caught Dory’s ankle.
She thudded to the floor, her free leg swinging wildly.
Her heel glanced off his shoulder, but he held on, adrenalin pumping furiously through his body.
Lunacy might have fueled her strength, but it was no match for his.
He caught her other ankle, hauled her in, and jerked her back on her face. Her back was too small to fit both his knees, so he rammed one between her shoulders and pinned her with his weight.
“Sarah,” he panted, “the cops need to unlock the gate to get in.” He rattled off his code and location of the exterior keypad.
Sarah relayed it and dropped beside him with two rolls of hockey tape and a handful of tangled laces.
Still talking to the nine-one-one operator, she dove for Dory’s legs, sat on them, and ripped a length of tape she handed Quinn.
Getting it wound around Dory’s wrists, however, proved futile.
Determination blazing in them, Sarah’s eyes met his in a silent exchange.
He nodded. While he held Dory’s hands, Sarah wound tape around her wrists.
In sync, they worked quickly and bound her ankles too.
Quinn gulped in breath, and sweat dripped off his forehead. Sarah slid off Dory and leaned her head against the bed, her chest heaving. Then she was on the move again, snatching his T-shirt and shorts. She tossed them at him and sat on Dory while he dressed.
The doorbell gonged just as the disembodied voice of the nine-one-one operator announced the police were at the front door.
Sarah leapt up. “You stay here with her. I’ll let them in.”
He kept his knee, and his weight, firmly in the center of Dory’s back, who now sobbed uncontrollably.
The officers appeared in the doorway, Sarah right behind; one had drawn her weapon. Quinn put up his hands and backed away in a crouch. The male officer’s eyes bounced between Dory bound on the floor and Quinn.
Questions, answers, more questions. The female officer looked at Quinn as though she were trying to work out a puzzle. Finally, she said, “You’re Quinn Hadley. You play for the Blizzard.”
He nodded and pointed at Sarah. “And that’s my girlfriend, Sarah Nelson.”
Dory shrieked. “I’m his girlfriend! I caught him cheating on me with that ugly bitch!”
Hours later, after Dory had been hauled away, the cops had sorted the situation enough to leave Quinn and Sarah in peace for a few hours until they were due at the station for formal statements.
Though the officers didn’t elaborate, they’d arrested Dory on other charges besides those she’d racked up at Quinn’s.
As Quinn closed and locked the front door, he sagged against it, fatigue seeping into the marrow of his bones. Sarah put her arms around his waist, rubbing her cheek against his back, and tugged him toward her room. “C’mon, Sparky. Let’s sleep in my room tonight.”
If I can sleep.