that a frown creasing his forehead? Sheridan squinted to clear the blurriness in her vision. But he was too close—and only leaned closer, his breath smelling of stale coffee as it fanned her cheek. “Do you have any idea who did?”
The dark form with the ski mask emerged in her memory as if suddenly stepping out of a fog.
“What do you want?” she cried. “What have I done?”
He wouldn’t respond. He was afraid she’d recognize his voice. That had to be it. She could tell he wanted to speak. The way he jerked her around, used any excuse to inflict pain, showed his contempt, his derision.
“Why are you doing this? Who are you?” she asked.
Filled with a hatred that was palpable, his eyes gleamed at her through the holes in the mask. But, again, he didn’t answer. His hands closed around her throat for the second time, cutting off her air. She was going to die. She…couldn’t…get…free. He was…too…strong. Again. No…air… NO…AIR!—and then he let go.
Gasping, she stumbled, and he kicked her, knocking her to the ground. That was when she came up fighting. It was her only choice. She used her feet, mostly, and her teeth, when she could. She even used her head as a battering ram—knocking him off balance once.
That was her only victory. Besides getting loose, of course. She’d been pulling and twisting on the rope that bound her hands behind her back ever since she’d regained consciousness. He thought he could do this to her and get away with it? No! She fought for the rights of victims every day; she was determined to fight for her own, to resist each blow.
And then, by some miracle, the ropes came loose and fell away. She dragged in one gulp of air—that was all she had time for—hit him in the face as hard as she could and lunged toward the trees.
But she didn’t escape. He caught her by the hair and dragged her back. And then he spoke, but it was such a low growl she still couldn’t identify the voice. “Stupid bitch! Now you’re going to pay.”
She did pay, but not the way she thought she would. He didn’t try to rape her. He just kept striking and striking—
“Do you?” Ned pulled her back into the present. “Are you going to answer me?”
Sheridan had begun to shake. She didn’t want to face any more. But she had to. If she wanted to catch the man who’d hurt her, she had to give Ned more.
God, she longed to remember some detail about her attacker’s body or movements. But the whole episode became one terrifying blur. He was simply a man of medium height dressed in black. “N-no.”
“Then how do you know it wasn’t Cain?” he asked.
The heart monitor revealed how fast her heart was beating. Beep…beep…beep, beep, beep…
Cain was still on the phone. I’ll come by tonight and say hello, see what you need on that alternator. Might be late…
“I’ll figure it out,” she promised. She wished the noise would stop. That she could catch her breath. That Ned would leave. Her throat ached as if her attacker’s hands had just been there….
“When?” Ned pressed. “ When will you figure it out?”
“Soon.”
He tightened his grip on her arm. “Listen to me,” he said, but at that point someone else entered the room. A nurse.
“Is everything okay?”
He released her. “Fine. I was just trying to learn a few things about the incident that put her here.”
“I think it’s too soon for that. She really shouldn’t be bothered right now.”
“She was the one who wanted to talk,” he said as Cain hung up.
Sheridan didn’t bother trying to contradict him. Physically and emotionally spent, she couldn’t even open her eyes.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to step out of the room,” the nurse said.
“I’ll check in with you this afternoon,” Cain muttered.
A moment later Sheridan sensed that both men had withdrawn. The nurse’s shoes squished as she walked around the bed, tucking in the blankets.
Relieved by the