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My bed was opposite the bedroom door. If I could trick whoever it was into thinking I was still in the bed, I might be able to run past them and out of the house.
As quietly as possible—though it was difficult to know if I was being quiet because the rushing in my ears was so loud—I moved across to the bed and stuffed pillows under my duvet to make it look like it was me under the covers. Then I crawled toward the end of the bed and placed a tentative foot on the floor as a loud creak squawked outside the door.
I swear my heart leapt into my throat at the sight of the doorknob turning in the dim light and as it squeaked open, I lunged as stealthily as possible at the wall to hide behind the door. Sucking in a breath, I was stiff as a board, my back pinned against the wall as the door came toward my face. Limbs trembling with fear, unbelievably my heart rate sped up even faster as the darkly dressed figure moved slowly into my room.
It was difficult to tell in the dim light anything of significance about them, but I could make out that they were perhaps a few inches shorter than me and had a slight build.
They wore a balaclava.
I stifled a cry at the sight of the large hunting knife in their hand.
Even though every nerve in my body screamed at me to run, I waited until they stood over the lump in the bed. And just as they reached for the duvet, I bolted around my bedroom door and out into the hall.
I heard what sounded like a grunt and then the thud of footsteps and the terror propelled me forward. Hearing their weight on the floorboards behind me was the most frightening sound I’d ever experienced, but I kept going, even when I tripped on the last stair. I caught myself against the wall and pushed off, launching at speed into my dark living room. My front door was ajar.
Pain flared up my foot as I reached it and threw it open, but I ignored it, running out of the house and letting out a bloodcurdling scream as I raced across the slickened cobbled road to my neighbor’s, PC William Shearing. The rain from earlier had calmed into a drizzle, but it was enough to stream into my eyes as I pounded on his door. I dared to look over my shoulder, and I cried out again as I saw the darkly dressed figure of the person who had broken in look at me through their balaclava. I think it was a male, but I couldn’t be sure. Light flared in my periphery as PC William’s house woke up and my would-be attacker jolted and took off at a run. I pounded harder on the door, sobbing hysterically now.
It flew open and I whirled on the island’s police officer. “Will!”
Concern etched into his features as he reached for me, but I pointed in the direction of my attacker. “They went that way!”
“Who? Cammie, who went that way?”
“A man, I think. A man broke in! He had a knife! He went that way!”
But PC William didn’t race off after the man like I needed him to. Instead, he gathered me into his arms and brought me inside, passing me over to his concerned wife, Paula, while he called for a paramedic and back up.
22. Forde
I’d barely even closed my eyes when the call came in.
Isla didn’t bother to suggest she take it in my stead.
Even though rationally I knew it couldn’t be all that bad if they’d only requested one paramedic, I wasn’t thinking rationally. I was exhausted from lack of sleep but fueled by utter anxiety.
Cameron had been attacked in her home.
A low-level rage thrummed through me, mixing with my panic as I drove with my first aid equipment a few streets from my place to Cameron’s.
Except when I pulled onto her street, neighbors were gathered and watching the police who had arrived to help support our small force during the Highland Games. They moved in and out of Cameron’s home. Heart in my throat, I parked, searching for her. Then I saw PC William Shearing waving to me from his front door. I hurried out and over.
“She’s in here.” William offered without any preamble, his face a tight mask of concern. “She cut her foot.”
“What the fuck happened?” I bit out.
“She says a man in a balaclava broke into her house. He made it up to her room, but she woke up before he got there so she hid behind her bedroom door and managed to escape when he came inside. He chased her out and ran off when she screamed to wake us all up. He smashed her front door to get in, and she cut her foot on the glass.”
He’d barely finished the last word as I strode past him into their small living room. An unfamiliar police officer sat on a chair opposite Cameron while Paula, William’s wife, held a blood-soaked towel around Cameron’s foot.
“Baby,” I said hoarsely without thinking as I lowered to my haunches in front of her.
Cameron’s eyes were wide and glazed, her cheeks tear streaked.
I put my fear aside and went straight into paramedic mode. “Babe, does your neck or head hurt? Can I check?”
She nodded dazedly but murmured, “Nothing hurts except my foot.”
Checking her neck and head over anyway, I was satisfied, but I could feel how badly she was shaking.
