When Summer Comes. Brenda Novak
dog was shut in the mudroom. Should she slip out, free Rifle then call the police?
She had to have some way to defend herself until help could arrive. A pellet gun, even a high-powered one, wasn’t the best weapon with which to stop a man. Thanks to a deluge of adrenaline, her limbs felt like rubber. She doubted she’d have the strength to effectively use any weapon, especially a heavy one.
That said yes to the dog. But she wasn’t sure she could stomach what a struggle between Rifle and the intruder would entail. If she’d been told the truth, her visitor had already been attacked by two canines—and he’d beaten them off. She didn’t want to risk Rifle’s life, didn’t want anyone hurt if she could avoid it. Life had become too precious to her. Since her diagnosis, she considered every moment a gift, and she felt that way not just about her own life but everyone else’s.
At least now she understood why her dog had continued to strain at his leash and wouldn’t calm down when they were searching. She’d chalked his behavior up to youth and inexperience, but that wasn’t it at all. He was the only one who could smell, probably even hear, that they still had company.
Sneaking into the house while she and the police were searching the outbuildings was a bold move—so bold she’d never seen it coming. Why had the stranger taken such a risk? Was he so badly hurt he’d had no choice?
Could be.
Or he was determined to gain whatever he wanted from her.
The memory of his blood on the porch, on her bare foot when she stepped in it, weighed heavily on Callie’s mind. If he’d given her AIDS, there wouldn’t be much point in continuing to search for a liver donor....
Sweat poured down her body as she once again slid out of bed and pulled on her jeans. She’d simply vacate the room, take her phone and her gun and barricade herself in the mudroom with her dog while she called the police.
But then she heard a curse, a clatter and a crash that was so loud, her dog started jumping against the door clear on the other side of the house.
What had happened? If Callie had her guess, the man had fallen.
“Hello?” she called out, hesitating midway across the room. She was holding her phone as well as the gun, which made it difficult to use either one.
There was no answer. No sound or movement, either.
Had he hit his head and knocked himself out—or worse?
“Oh, no,” she murmured. In order to lift and aim the gun, she had to put down her phone. She hated to do that, but she was quickly growing more worried than scared, so she set it on her dresser close by. “I know you’re in there.”
“I pretty much...figured that...at this point.” He sounded tired. No, more than tired. Drained. That was hardly what she’d expect from someone who meant her harm. But she’d never encountered a psychopath before—not knowingly, anyway. She had no clue how one might act.
“I’ve got a gun!” she warned.
“Unless you plan...on shooting me for no reason...I don’t really care,” he said. “Just tell me the police are gone.”
Why would she admit she was alone? “They’re not. They’re right outside. I can call them in if necessary.”
There was another long silence.
“Did you hear me?”
“Let them go and I...I’ll leave. I just...needed some soap and water. That’s all. Some gauze would’ve been nice. But you don’t have that. What kind of woman doesn’t have a first-aid kit?”
“I have a first-aid kit. But I don’t keep it the medicine cabinet.”
“Too bad. It would sure...make a nice send-off present, if you...could...forgive my intrusion.”
What condition was he in? He was slurring his words. Talking at all seemed a struggle for him. “How’d you get inside my house?”
“Wasn’t hard. You and those...two officers...”
“Yes?”
He made an attempt to rally. “You were so intent on trying to use your dog to follow my trail I just...circled around behind you. I could tell where you were at all times. Until you brought him in.”
“How’d you keep from dripping blood all over?”
“I wrapped my sweatshirt around my arm...hoped that would help.”
It had done the trick. The trail of blood had disappeared completely. “Sneaking in here takes a lot of nerve,” she said.
“Lady, sometimes you...have to do...what you have to do. What else can I tell you.”
Lady? That made her sound old. She thought of her good friend Cheyenne marrying Dylan Amos just four months ago, right before the doctor had given her the bad news about her liver, and winced. She’d wanted a husband, a family. She’d never had a hint of health problems, no reason to believe she wouldn’t eventually have kids. Now chances were that she’d die before summer’s end.
There were more noises. These Callie couldn’t figure out. “What’s going on?” she asked, worried again.
“I’m trying to get...the hell out of...your bathtub.”
She was beginning to believe this whole night really had been about his injury. “What’s wrong? You can’t?”
“It’d be easier...if I wasn’t so...damn dizzy.”
What was she going to do now? She wasn’t sure she had the heart to call the police on him again. It wasn’t as if he’d waited in her bedroom and attacked her. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t let me get you some help,” she said. “I tried.”
“No, you called the police.”
“Same thing.”
“Not quite.”
She inched closer. She still held her gun at the ready but she was feeling more and more confident that she wouldn’t have to use it. “Why are you so afraid of the authorities?”
He didn’t respond for a few seconds. Judging by the noise, he was once again trying to get up. “Why do you think?”
“You’re wanted?”
“Not for anything serious.” He cursed as though he’d done something that hurt.
“Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reverted to the question she’d asked before. “I have a few...unpaid speeding tickets.”
That sounded far too innocuous to explain his reaction. Surely it couldn’t be the truth. “You’re lying,” she said. “Why would that make you afraid of the police?”
“We don’t get along.”
“Meaning...”
“I’ve had...a few run-ins with them. They don’t like vagrants. Besides, a warrant is a warrant. Whether it’s for a speeding ticket or...or whatever else, they’ll take you in. I can’t let that happen.”
He’d called himself a vagrant, but he didn’t sound like one. Although she could tell he was in considerable pain, he was mostly coherent. Articulate, too. “Where are you from?”
“Does it matter? Look, if you’ll...help me a minute, I’ll be...on my way.”
“Where?”
“Wherever the road takes me.”
She crept right up to the door. “I thought your motorcycle broke down.”
“I’ll fix it. Believe me...I want to leave as badly as you want me gone. I have to get to my...my ride before someone else comes across it.”
Including the police. No doubt