The Gingerbread Man by MAGGIE SHAYNE Read Free Book Online Page B

come, or if he were even real. So she froze there, questioning her mind, her senses, with her breaths rushing in and out of her lungs uncontrollably. She crouched and waited.
    Something creaked.
    It could have been a tall tree, bending in the wind.
    Or it could have been the creak of a screen door opening and softly closing again.
    Oh, God, he was coming, he was coming! Her heart hammered her chest mercilessly. She was gulping each breath. He would hear her if she didn’t quiet down.
    Something moved, off to the left. A twig broke, and she launched herself around the house to the right, running full tilt, pushing her legs as hard as she could manage.
    She slammed into something hard. Heavy arms dropped what they’d been carrying, came around her and held her. “Red? What the hell?”
    She lifted her head, and saw the damned Syracuse cop frowning down at her as she sucked in breath after gasping breath. This was all his fault. She was going to die. Her heart was going to explode and she was going to die.
    “Someone,” she gasped. “There.” She pointed.
    He looked where she pointed, and she jabbed her finger insistently when he looked back at her. So he let go of her shoulders, and ran to the rear of the house. Seconds later, he was back. “There’s nothing there, Red. Okay?”
    “No.” She was still panting, her heart still hammering like a runaway train.
    He knelt down, and she saw what he’d been carrying. A paper bag of groceries. He dumped out what remained in the bag, though most had already spilled, and then he squeezed the bag shut around its neck, and held it over her mouth. “Breathe slower,” he told her. “Come on, slow down. Easy.”
    Her lungs expanded the paper bag and deflated it, over and over, and the dizziness eased. Too much oxygen would put you on your back fast, she knew it from experience. It had been a long time, but not long enough that she had forgotten.
    He was talking. Saying the things her mom used to say to talk her through the panic attacks. “You’re perfectly safe. I’m right here. Nothing can hurt you. You’re safe, and everything’s all right.”
    She fought to control her breathing, tried to consciously slow it down. He led her toward a tree, and she put one hand flat against its rough bark. Her breathing finally slowed. Her heartbeat eased. She sat down, leaned against the strong tree trunk. It helped, for some reason.
    “There was a man ... in your cabin.”
    He nodded, looking around them. “If there was, he’s long gone now. Did you get a look at him?”
    “Not really.” She took another breath, and another.
    He was still standing, but no longer examining the area quite as intensely. “You didn’t see him?”
    “No.”
    “Then how do you know he was there?”
    “I ...” She averted her eyes. “There was something ... a shadow. And then the door creaked.”
    He remained silent, studying her face.
    “And a twig snapped,” she added for good measure, refusing to back down. “I didn’t imagine it.”
    “Okay. All right. You didn’t imagine it.” Again he looked around, and she noticed he’d unbuttoned his denim jacket. Better to reach his gun, she thought.
    “And I’m not crazy.”
    He looked at her sharply. “Did I say you were crazy?”
    “I’m not.”
    “Are you all right now?”
    “Yes.” She reached a hand up, and he took it and pulled her easily to her feet. “You ... should call Chief Mallory.”
    He nodded as if considering her words. “Do you have panic attacks often, Holly?”
    She looked at the ground. “Not in years.”
    Taking her by the hand, without even bothering to see whether she objected, he led her to the cabin and up the three steps to the front door. He tried to be casual about it as he searched the place to be sure it was safe. It was a small cabin, so it wasn’t a major job. Bedroom, closet, bathroom, kitchen, that was it. But she got the distinct impression he was only doing it to humor her.
    She sank onto the plaid