Angels Fall

each other like animals. Fabulous.
    Most likely she'd find bruises in some very interesting places—but then, so would he. The idea made her stop and do a little happy dance. Then rolling up the sleeves of Brody's shirt, she walked toward the kitchen.
    She switched on the light and went for the water first. Standing with one hand braced on the refrigerator, she gulped it down straight from the bottle like a camel refueling at a desert oasis. When she lowered it, a faint tapping had her glancing toward the window over the sink. She saw the shape of him. Shoulders covered in a black coat, head covered with an orange cap. Sunglasses black as the night hiding most of his face.
    On a hitching gasp, she stumbled back as the bottle dropped out of her hand. The plastic thudded on the floor, and water glugged out on the tiles, over her bare teet.
    There was a scream in her, trapped by shock and terror and disbelief, clawing madly at her throat. Then the image was gone. She stood frozen in place, trying to gather her breath, her senses. 
    And saw the doorknob move right, move left.
    Now she screamed, leaping forward to grab the chef's knite from the block on the counter. She kept screaming, gripping the knife with both hands even as she backed up. When the door flew open, she ran.
    Brody had his head under the spray when he heard the door slam open. Idly, he pulled back the curtain, then stared at Reece. She held a big knife in her hands and had her back pressed to the door.
    "What the hell?"
    "He's in the house. He's in the house. In the back door, in the kitchen." Moving fast, Brody shut off the water, grabbed a towel. "Stay here."
    "He's in the house."
    With one snap, Brody wrapped the towel around his waist. "Give me the knife, Reece."
    "I saw him."
    "Okay. Give me the knife." He had to pry it out of her hands. "Get behind me," he said, already rethinking having her lock herself in the bathroom. "We're going to the bedroom first, where there's a phone. When I'm sure it's clear, you're going to lock yourself in. You're going to call nine-one-one. Understand me?"
    "Yes. Don't go." Gripping his arm, she darted glances at the door. "Stay in there with me. Don't go down there. Don't go down."
    "You'll be fine."
    "You. You."
    He shook his head, nudged her behind him. He shifted the knife to combat grip, shoved the door open quickly. He saw nothing to the right, nothing to the left. Heard nothing but Reece's labored breathing.
    "Did he come after you?" Brody demanded.
    "No. I don't know. No. He was just there, and I grabbed the knitc and ran."
    "Stay close."
    He moved to the bedroom, calculated the odds, then shut and locked the door first. He searched under the bed, in the closet—the only two places he deemed conceivable for anyone to hide. Satisfied, he set down the knife to grab his jeans, yanked them on. "Call the cops, Reece."
    "Please don't go out there. He could have a gun. He could… Please don't leave me behind." 
    He turned to her briefly, stifling his own need to move. "I'm not leaving you behind. I'll be back in a few minutes."
    He left the knife where it was, took his baseball bat out of the closet. Lock the door behind me. Make the call.
    He didn't like leaving her, not when she was afraid, when he couldn't be sure she'd keep her head. But a man had to defend what was his.
    Probably long gone by now, Brody thought as he checked his office. Probably. Still, it was his job to make certain, to secure the house, to make it safe.
    To keep her safe.
    He moved to the bathroom next. An intruder could have slipped in to hide when they went into the bedroom. Keeping the bat cocked on his shoulder, he took a quick scan. He felt foolish even as his stomach jittered.
    Assured the second level was clear, he started down the stairs.

    ALONE, Reece stared at the door. She leaped onto the bed, crawling over it to the phone.
    "Nine-one-one. What's the nature of your emergency?"
    "Help. We need help. He's here."
    "What kind of— Reece? Is this Reece Gilmore? It's Hank. What's going on? Are you hurt?"
    "Brody's. Brody's cabin. He killed her. He's here. Hurry."
    "Stay on the line. I want you to stay on the line. I'm sending someone. Just hang on." A crash from downstairs had her choking out a scream, dropping the phone. Gunfire? Was that gunfire?
    Was it real or in her head?
    Breath sobbing, she clawed across the bed and picked up the knife.
    She hadn't locked the door. But if she locked it, Brody would be trapped on one side,