Sharon Sala - KingS Ransom (Silhouette Promo)

ONE

A fetid smell, anodor of liquor, rough ugly words, and promises of what he was going to dofiltered through Jesse's exhausted sleep. She heard a deep, rasping breath andknew it was not her own. Her heart stopped.

He knew the momentshe awoke, because he clamped his hand loosely over her face, pinching hermouth and cheeks, pushed the knife point against her throat, and told her notto scream.

It was the wrongthing to say to Jesse LeBeau. She had never liked being told what to do. Herterrified scream erupted into the menacing silence of the room and later Jessewould remember thinking, tonight I'm going to die!

His anger wasevident as he growled an ugly threat and began to face what he had unwittinglyunleashed. This wasn't the way it was meant to happen.

Jesse fought likea woman possessed as her constant screams and fierce struggle for possession ofthe knife threw the intruder into a frenzy. He felt the girl's fingernailscatch deep into the flesh of his cheekbone and rake the entire length of hisjaw. He lost control of his emotions and the situation entirely, forgetting, inhis fury, why he'd ever entered her house.

"Bitch!"he yelled, and thrust downward over and over with the knife, only to connectwith air or bedclothes. He struggled, trying to gain control of her flailingfists, and blanched as her knee connected with a tender part of his anatomy.That was all she was going to do to him. He would have no more of thiscat-woman. He raised the knife upward once again and suddenly his hand comeaway empty.

There was no timefor surprise as he felt the first thrust of the knife right above his shoulderblade. His wild shriek of pain only added to the confusion going on in hishead. This wasn't the way he'd planned any of this. Now he was on the defensiveand fear overrode all his other emotions. He struck out wildly with doubledfists, trying to connect with the source of those damnable screams, but theear-splitting sound of the woman's fear and rage, and the constant pain in hischest and back were more than he could bear. He moaned softly and slumpedforward heavily.

Unaware of hisnear unconscious condition, Jesse continued to stab blindly at his dead weightas it forced her deeper and deeper into her mattress.

Suddenly she wasfree! Somehow she'd managed to roll his still body aside. She crawled from thebed on hands and knees, still clutching the knife, still screaming. She ran onfear, unaware her attacker was not moving, imagining she could feel his hand onher shoulder as she dashed from her home in St. Louis and into the street. Her screamshad alerted the entire block of her neighborhood, and she was vaguely aware oflights coming on in one house and then another. But no one came out to helpher.

It was the screamof the siren from the police car flying around the street corner that silencedJesse. The psychedelic whirl of red and blue lights momentarily disoriented herand she staggered as it came to a screeching halt only inches from where shestood.

"Lady, drop theknife," the policeman ordered, as he stood with gun drawn behind the opendoor of his cruiser, uncertain about what kind of situation he was facing. Allhe could see was a very bloody woman with an oversized butcher knife.

"Please,"Jesse begged, and started forward, unaware of the picture she presented withblood-covered night clothes and a knife in her hand.

The policemantook a deep breath and ordered again, in a much louder voice.

"I said,drop the knife!"

Jesse lookedstunned. What had happened to her world? She looked at the policeman's face,the gun in his hand, and slumped to her knees on the pavement.

"Here,"she whispered, and laid the knife on the ground in front of her. "Now willyou help me?"

"Jesus,Captain!" the officer said, as they carefully walked through the housewhere the attack had taken place. "Look at all this blood. Looks likesomeone was butcherin' a hog. And here," he continued, as he pointedtoward Jesse's bedroom window, careful not to touch anything as the crime labcrew continued their sweep of the premises. "The bastard crawled out ofthe bedroom window, probably when the girl ran for help."

The streaks andsmeared blood on the wall and window-sill made the man's exit point easy toread.

Captain Shockeywas four years shy of retirement, short and overweight, a nondescriptindividual with a mind like a NASA computer. He could read a crime scene like atrucker reads a map. And it had been a long time since he'd seen anything likethis disaster. This was a decent, family-oriented neighborhood, a comfortable,but unpretentious house. The victim was an elementary school teacher, andobviously meticulously neat. The bedroom looked like what he'd seen in Vietnam. Bloodwas on the walls near the window in an obvious spray pattern. He was guessingthe girl had nicked one of the attacker's veins. The bedclothes were torn fromthe bed, slash marks and pools of blood had seeped into the mattress. Bloodyfootprints went in two directions. The larger ones, wearing shoes, hadstaggered toward the window, the smaller, bare footprints were widely spaced,and led toward the hallway the girl had used to get out of the house.

Shockey couldtell by the distance between the little bare prints that the girl had been movingvery fast. Hell, he would have been, too. How she had survived anything likethis was beyond his comprehension. He knew his next stop would have to be thehospital to question the victim. He hated that part of the job because all itdid was make them relive the terror. But it was necessary if he was going tocatch the nut who'd done this.

"Is she inany shape to talk?" he asked the officer.

"Yes;sir," he answered, as he stepped aside to let the photographer get abetter shot of the bed and window. "I never saw anything like her. She'snot very big, can't be more than three or four inches over five feet, but she'sall fire, and until we catch this guy, I don't think her fire's goin' out. WhenI was talkin' to her earlier, I felt like I was the one being questioned."He grinned slightly at the captain's raised eyebrows and sardonic expression."Also, I didn't see too many deep cuts on her, except for her hands. Theylooked bad. I think most of the blood on her belonged to the perpetrator.Hell," he said, then swallowed hard as he looked away from the sharp gazeof Captain Shockey. "She took that knife away with her bare hands. I don'tknow if I'd have had the guts to do something like that."

Shockey pattedthe young officer on the backa rough, locker room patand answered.

"You neverknow what you're capable of, boy, until you face the wall. Check and see ifthere're any family or next-of-kin to notify. She's going to need all the moralsupport she can get. Come on, get cracking," he urged. "We've got usa real bad one to catch this time. Maybe we'll get lucky and find him dead.From the looks of this place, it's possible."

"Yes,sir," the officer answered, and watched Shockey rumble between the labcrew, side-stepping them like he was dodging fresh cow patties. If anyone couldfind the perpetrator, Shockey was the man for the job.

The sharp,persistent ring finally penetrated King McCandless's deep sleep, and he rolledover in bed, taking a wad of bedclothes with him, as he fumbled for the clock.Then he realized it wasn't the alarm after all; it was the phone. A deep,pulling sensation in the pit of his stomach brought him fully awake as heturned on the lamp and saw the green digital numbers on his clock. Nearly fourin the morning. Not the time for good news. Rolling over to a sitting position,he let his long, pajama-clad legs brace him as he grabbed the phone in themiddle of another ring. Taking a long, slow breath, he let his deep, raspyvoice break the silence.

"Hello?"As he heard the male voice and the authority behind it, he shudderedunconsciously. It reminded him of the call he'd received when his father,Andrew McCandless, had died. "Yes, this is King McCandless."