Chapter 3
— Mercedes —
By the time we got everyone out of the pub in the early hours of the morning, I was dead on my feet. Constable Eric Locklear—one of the local constables who worked with Reed—was on duty and ready to escort me back to Lavender Cottage. I could never be too careful, especially after Landon just brazenly assaulted me in front of everyone.
Poised for action, Eric straightened as I met him at the pub doors.
“Ready to roll?” he asked with a smile.
“Sure am. But please don’t judge my driving on the way home—I’m exhausted.”
He set a gentle hand on my upper arm. “Been drinking tonight, Mercedes?”
“Just two shots about four hours ago. I’ve had food and a gallon of water since.”
Happy with that, Eric nodded and swept his arm toward the exit. “Then let’s get you home, Miss Balaam.”
I stepped into the night and hovered close to the constable. While the parking lot lights lit the area enough for me to confirm no one lurked within attacking distance, Eric flanked me to my car and guarded the door until I was locked inside.
“Wait in your car at the cottage until I’ve cleared it,” he warned through the window.
Nodding, I buckled up and cranked the ignition while he slid behind the wheel of his patrol car beside me. After a thumbs-up, I reversed and slowly drove home with him diligently following.
I rolled to a stop in my driveway and turned off the ignition. The thud of Eric’s car door was loud through the darkness, then my already frayed nerves began to strip apart further as he commenced his security sweep of the front yard.
I’d called Lavender Cottage my home for the last three months. Leif Gatlin bought it soon after the original owner, old Ms. Alden, was put in respite care, and Leif allowed me to rent it after he heard about my rough split from Landon.
When Eric disappeared down the far side of the cottage and his flashlight faded, my fingers involuntarily tightened on the steering wheel. My heart pounded and reduced my breath to short, sharp pants that soon had the car windows beginning to fog.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I chanted, anxious as fuck for him to come back into view.
Movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. My pulse kicked and lungs squeezed as I barely restrained my flight reflex.
The dark figure ran from the garden, gunning straight for my car.
A strangled scream knotted in my throat as sheer terror paralyzed me from the inside out. I jolted when the man roughly tried the passenger door handle, then slammed his hands against the window. Dark eyes met mine through the narrow space between his black cap and face covering, creating a surge of fear-induced tingles throughout my body.
After drawing a full breath, a blood-curdling scream finally tore from my contorted mouth. I screamed so loud my ears rang. It drowned out the frantic knocking on the passenger window and tore the lining off my throat.
The echoes of that scream lingered while my body gathered strength for another. That second scream dried on the back of my tongue the instant the stranger tugged down his face covering, exposing his familiar features.
I gasped, froze, blinked, then burst into tears. It couldn’t be him. Surely.
Within seconds of palming my tears away and looking at the window again, he’d disappeared. My focus shifted when Eric came running from the shadows, pistol raised and flashlight frantically scanning across the front yard.
“I heard a scream,” he shouted while continuing his sweep.
I spluttered and stuttered, trying to work out if I’d merely seen a ghost or if it had in fact been Beckett in the flesh.
“Mercedes!” Eric snapped. “You screamed. Why?”
Feeling protected despite residual fear slowing my movements, I popped the driver’s door open and got out of the car. “It might have been my imagination…”
Still facing away, he backed toward me on high alert. “Was it Landon?”
I shook my head. “No. It looked like Beckett.”
His acute focus cut my way. “Beckett Manning?”
“Yeah,” I murmured and glanced around the shadows. “I thought I saw him.”
The sound of Constable Locklear clearing his throat was loud in the 2 a.m. shadows. I jumped when he called out, “Beckett, if you’re here, show yourself immediately!”
He lowered his pistol and cocked his head to listen. “Not a peep. Let’s get you inside, Mercedes, before we both start seein’ things.”
No need to tell me twice. I snatched my bag from the passenger seat and locked my car, then hurried along the garden path with Eric hot on my heels and his hand pressed to my back. We paused on the porch as I slid the key into the door lock, and he touched my arm when the deadbolt disengaged.
“Let me go first and do a quick sweep just to put both our minds at ease, okay?”
“Okay,” I replied with a nod.
As the cottage door swung open, Eric moved past me, then shut the door once we were both inside. We flicked on lights as we walked through the old house, and I waited outside each room as he systematically cleared them. Once happy that it was just him and me inside, he visibly relaxed.
“All clear. See me out and lock the door immediately behind me. Call the station if you need us in a hurry, and we’ll be here within minutes.”
“Thank you, Eric. I really can’t thank you enough.”
His expression softened and his friendly smile returned. “You’re welcome. Sleep tight, darlin’.”
“Thanks,” I whispered while trudging along behind him.
He checked outside before opening the front door, then firmly shut it behind him and waited until I’d engaged the deadbolt and chain.
“Night, Miss Balaam,” came his muffled voice.
“Night, Eric,” I called back.
I waited by the door until his patrol car eased from the driveway and cruised down the street. Now alone, prickles of fear rippled across my shoulders and created paranoia for no reason.
I tried to mask it by turning on the old radio alarm clock beside my bed and humming while waiting for the shower to heat. I needed some friendly noise to hide any sound my imagination could conjure at any given moment.
The shower spray was a solace until my head began to grow heavy. I only lasted a couple of minutes more before turning off the water.
Wrapped in a towel, I brushed my teeth while continuing to hum, then rushed to my bedroom. I hurriedly dressed and climbed into bed with all the cottage lights left on, just like I did every night.
Despite being desperately tired, my ears pricked at every non-existent sound that snuck its way through the music’s melody. My rapid pulse wouldn’t ease no matter how many deep breaths I took. As if clutching the blankets under my chin would keep me safe, I looked around the room and fought against fear-induced hysteria.
Just as my body began to relax, I thought I heard a light thud on the rear deck. It re-lit the match in my senses. Every one of them roared to life, alert and seeking other noises.
A soft knock on the back door pulled a strangled cry of terror from my throat. The urge to cry clamped my lungs, yet no tears formed.
Another soft knock on the wood accompanied my name being quietly called.
Goosebumps rippled and consumed my entire body as I forced myself out of bed. Armed with nothing more than my phone with the police station’s number ready to touch, I inched from the bedroom into the lit hallway.
As my trembling fingers reached for the curtain covering the long window that flanked the door, another knock rapped, pulling a blood-curdling scream from high in my throat.
“Mercedes! Open up!”