Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Molly sat on the couch, the empty takeout containers on the coffee table in front of her. She’d managed to get into her apartment without being stopped by her neighbors. Thank god because she hadn’t figured out how to explain her absence—and appearance—to those she spoke with often.
Word would get out that she was home, and it was likely people would come by to see her. Not that she had friends in Panama outside Tara, but she did have a couple of caring neighbors, including Sandy Milne, who lived two doors down.
Sandy worked as a flight attendant and had given Molly a key to her apartment so she could pop in to check on her cats while she was away. Guilt sat in the pit of her stomach. She hoped Sandy had found someone to care for the animals and that they hadn’t gone without food and water.
Tomorrow she’d stop by Sandy’s place. Thankfully, Molly kept Sandy’s key in her kitchen cupboard and not on her key chain. She’d leave Sandy a note explaining what had happened and that she’d be happy to resume caring for the cats.
For how long, she couldn’t say. Coming to Panama had been an adventure. A way to escape her sheltered life back home. Until a couple of weeks ago, she’d loved every minute. Now, the little life she’d created was tainted. Perhaps with therapy and time, the trauma would pass and she could move on.
But would she see Atlas again?
Her heart ached at the thought that it might not happen. Atlas had been a comforting presence for her when she’d needed it the most. A true, rare gift. Part of her wondered if he was even real. Maybe she’d imagined this whole thing and had just escaped on her own.
Oh god. I’m losing my mind.
She switched off the TV show barely holding her attention even though it was one of her favorites. All she wanted was to think about Atlas. To remember him. His voice, his warm, strong hands, and the ease with which he’d carried her.
He’d said he’d be in touch.
She glanced at the phone he’d given her and sighed. His number was programmed in it. She could just call him to say hi.
To make sure he’s real.
No, that was crazy thinking. He was busy. Working. Even if she was slightly desperate, she wouldn’t show him that.
She needed sleep and ibuprofen for the tension in her neck and the pounding in her head. But first, a hot bath. Her achy muscles craved one. It was 10:23 p.m., already bedtime, but she wasn’t going to sleep without a bath.
She rose from the couch and cleaned up the coffee table. Then she took the phone into the bathroom with her and made sure the ringer was on . . . just in case someone called her. Someone like the only person in the world with this number.
The little bar at the top of the screen revealed that the battery was low.
After placing the phone on the vanity near the tub, she went into the bedroom and removed her charger from the outlet near her bed.
Back in the bathroom, she plugged the charger into the wall and then fit the other end into the device.
At least she wouldn’t miss Atlas’s call.
She cranked on the tap and poured her favorite bath salts into the hot water. She refused to look in the mirror. Seeing her too-thin, bruised face always jolted her. Right now, she needed to think about nothing but relaxing.
And maybe a hunky soldier.
At the thought of Atlas her skin prickled. God, being held by him in the parking lot had been the closest to heaven she’d ever been. Never had she felt so safe. So protected.
If at any point you need help, call me. Whether it’s tonight, next week, or next year, call me. I’ll come.
The memory of his words sent yearning pulsing through her. But not just the kind that she needed a man to fill . . . the kind that touched her heart. She should just call him. Ask him to come. To stay with her and—
And what?
She blew out an exasperated breath and stripped off her clothes. Geez, how desperate was she? That was a surefire way to send Atlas in the opposite direction. She dipped her foot in the nearly too-hot water, then sank in the rest of the way.
No, she wouldn’t call Atlas right now. She’d wait to hear from him and maybe then drop a hint that she’d like to see him again. Only if she could manage a sentence that didn’t make her sound like a beggar.
The memory of the scar on his chest flashed in her mind.
The skin there puckered and rippled with the evidence of healing.
It’d been too round to be from a knife, which meant it was likely a gunshot wound.
She’d wanted to ask what had happened, but the moment had passed before she could.
Did the man possess more scars? Had he really been shot before? Now she might never know.
Warmth engulfed her and tension eased from her shoulders. She slid lower into the tub, letting the water nearly touch her chin. Atlas’s touch burst into her mind and her folds throbbed, aching for release.
She dragged her fingers over her thigh, then delved between her legs.
Her mind drifted to Atlas, imagining his long, thick fingers touching her, spreading her heat.
She bit her lip and worked over herself until pleasure taunted around her nerve endings.
Her flesh pulsed and sang, and she pushed two fingers deeper.
The image of him burying his cock inside her tipped her over the edge. She cried out as her orgasm arched her toes and coated her skin in sweat. Limp with satisfaction, she closed her eyes, soaking in the warm water and not regretting her fantasy for a second . . .
She startled and her eyes popped open. She must have drifted off.
Smart, Molly. Everyone knows not to fall asleep in the tub.
She hadn’t even washed herself yet and the water was cold. She turned on the hot faucet. Once she was comfortable, she turned off the tap and scrubbed a soapy cloth over her skin. While she rinsed the suds, her mind went back to Atlas.
He still hadn’t called.
Which meant he hadn’t found Rex.
Creak
Molly froze. Her gaze snapped to the unlocked bathroom door. No, she was hearing things. Paranoid. No one had gotten into her apartment. She’d surely have heard them break open the front door.
Creak, creak
A shadow crossed the slat of space between the floor and the bottom of the door.
The silver knob turned slowly.
Terror kept her in place. If she got up, whoever it was would hear the water and know she was in here. She glanced around. No weapon lay nearby.
Her pulse thundered against her eardrums. She reached for her towel the second the door swung open.
A man in black clothing and a black ski mask rushed forward.
Molly screamed, but his hand clamped around her throat, shoving her against the wall of the bathtub before she could stand. The towel fell from her grip.
Shock rattled her so fiercely that for two heartbeats, she could only stare into his soulless eyes.
Then anger filled her veins. “No!” she screamed. The cry barely made it through her knotted vocal cords.
Kicking and punching wildly, she grabbed at his mask, but he clenched her throat so tight her vision waned. The thin tendons in her neck threatened to snap.
Gasping, she clawed at his clothed wrists, searching for skin—anything she could injure.
His gaze raked over her body and his mouth, poking through a hole in the mask, slid into a grin. Her eyes bulged and her cheeks were on fire.
“Too bad this has to look like an accident.” He shoved her beneath the water.
She stared up through the water, his image distorted in the ripples.
Her eyes burned with the need to close them but she couldn’t—wouldn’t.
If she did, she’d never open them again.
Her throat spasmed. Bubbles leaked from her lips as the rest of the air in her lungs escaped.
Her chest cinched and her body convulsed.
Water ran into her nose, stinging her sinuses. The soapy bathwater bitter on her tongue.
Behind her assailant, a bright light teased her—either it was heaven calling her home or merely the bathroom lightbulb. Either way, sadness struck her like a bolt of lightning.
She didn’t want to die like this.
Alone. Drowned.
Gray fog blotted out her vision. She had seconds left. One last attempt at survival. Using all her strength, she swung her leg toward her attacker’s head. She landed a kick to his face and hooked her knee over his elbow.
His hold broke, and she surged past the surface, a sharp inhale rattling her chest.
“Bitch!” He went for her again but she dodged and grabbed the nearby shampoo bottle. She smashed it against his nose.
He cursed and covered his face.
She leapt into the air and had one foot on the bathroom floor when he snaked his arm around her waist and attempted to wrestle her back into the tub.
His clothed hands on her naked body spiked new terror.
A scream caught in her throat. Her gaze landed on the phone charging inches away. His rough grasp pulled at her. She kicked and squirmed, but he was too strong.
His face came close to hers, and what little skin was visible through the holes of the mask was red with anger. She drew back her head, then threw her forehead into his face. A sickening crunch sounded as she collided with his nose.
He dropped his hold.
Stars filled her vision as she barreled backward. His screams filled the bathroom. Her sight cleared enough for her to locate the cell phone. Ripping the device from the cord, she shoved her attacker.
He careened back, landing in the tub of water. She threw the cord, which was still plugged in. The end of the charger landed in the water. A sizzling sound filled the air.
She shrieked and staggered back as the bathroom light flickered simultaneously with every jolt of the man’s body. He spasmed and shook, his eyes wide and vacant, unable to do a thing as the voltage assaulted his body.
With the phone in hand, she grabbed her towel and ran into the hall.