Cover of Night Read online

  “It’s okay,” Cal murmured against her hair. “I’ve got you.”

  She heard the words, but they didn’t make sense because he was part of the whole unreality. This man was not the man she’d known for three years. Mr. Harris wouldn’t hold her this way, wouldn’t have broken in her door and come charging across the floor like some avenging warrior badass dude, holding a shotgun in one hand—

  Except he had.

  The body she was clinging to so tightly was hard and muscled, almost steaming with heat. He was breathing fast, as if he’d been running, and his head was bent down to press against hers. And the way he was holding her was—She hadn’t been held this way in so long that she was stunned, disbelieving. Mr. Harris? Cal?

  Her body whispered, yes. That was even more disconcerting, tipping her further and further off balance. What kind of pervert was she, to have some sort of weird sexual response to the handyman when the entire community was evidently under some sort of attack? It still sounded like a war out there, but she felt as if the two of them were contained in a small private cone of existence where reality didn’t intrude. For a moment his arm tightened, arching her even closer, so that she felt the bulge of his genitals pushing, seeking…then he released her and eased away, bending to pick up the flashlight.

  Cate stood unmoving, desperately trying to put herself back in time to the way things had been just half an hour before, before explosions and shooting and the upheaval of all she knew or had thought she knew.

  Hooking the strap of the shotgun over his shoulder, Cal also picked up the chef’s knife she’d dropped, studying the wide blade with a sort of grim approval. He held the flashlight pointed at the floor, the powerful beam reflecting enough for her to see him, and her senses reeled again.

  She had never seen him wearing anything other than baggy coveralls, stained with grease, paint, dirt, or whatever else he’d been working with that particular day. She’d had him firmly fixed in her mind as a skinny shy handyman, backward but useful. That view had taken a hit when she’d seen the expression in his eyes as he looked down his shotgun barrel at Mellor, and now it was shattered forever.

  He was wearing his usual work boots, but nothing else was the same. The khaki cargo pants were belted at his waist, and despite the chilly weather, he was wearing only a dark T-shirt that clung to wide shoulders and a lean, rock-hard body. Even with just the light from the flashlight she saw the gleam of sweat on his bare arms, arms that were sinewy and powerful. His shaggy hair was still shaggy, but there was no hint of shyness in his grim, set expression.

  Cate could barely breathe. She was standing on the edge of some internal cliff and she was afraid to move, afraid she would…would what? She didn’t know, but the sense of instability frightened her almost as much as all those guns shooting outside.

  Someone appeared in the broken doorway, and to Cate’s amazement he, too, was carrying either a shotgun or a rifle. “Is Cate all right?” he asked, and Cate recognized Walter Earl’s voice.

  “I’m fine, Walter,” she said, moving toward the door. “Is Milly okay? Is anyone hurt?”

  “Milly’s sitting on your back lawn. Staying low seemed smart to me, so that’s where she is. People are pulling back. Someone said that’s what you said to do, so that’s what they’re doing. Are we out of range here?”

  “No,” Cal said. “Not of the rifles, anyway.”

  “The window in the boys’ bedroom was shot out,” Cate said softly, and the horror of it hit her all over again. What if they’d been here? They’d have been terrified, possibly hurt…possibly dead. Her heart squeezed in anguish at just the thought.

  “Then what are we doing here?” Walter asked.

  “Putting as many walls as possible between us and them, plus I’m pretty sure they have either night-vision or infrared spotters. Infrared is limited to about four hundred yards, so we need to get beyond that. Won’t stop the bullets, but at least they’ll be shooting blind—and they may not want to waste the ammunition.”

  Cal had placed his hand on Cate’s back as he answered Walter’s question, urging her outside. As soon as she stepped onto the porch, she stopped. Some twenty or thirty people were in her backyard, most of them sitting on the chilly ground. Almost all the men and some of the women carried some sort of weapon. The darkness enveloped them, making her sharply aware that seeing lights shining in nearby windows at night had made her feel comfortable and secure.

  Cal urged her off the porch; then his hand on her shoulder forced her to the ground. “The foundation is sturdier than walls,” he said quietly. “Better protection.” Raising his voice, he said, “Everyone, we need to save the batteries in the flashlights. Turn most of them off. We only need one or two.”

  Obediently the people around her clicked off their flashlights, and the darkness almost swallowed them. Cal left his powerful light on. She began to shiver as the cold air seeped through her flannel pajamas, and she wished she’d thought to get a coat. From somewhere in the darkness she heard someone mutter “I’m cold,” but without any real complaint.

  “Right now, we need to determine two things,” Cal said. “Who’s missing, and is anyone hurt?”

  “I’d like to know just who is shooting at us,” Milly said angrily.

  “First things first. Who isn’t here? Look for your neighbors. Creed went down to Neenah’s house; has anyone seen either of them?”

  There was silence for a moment, then a voice behind Cate said, “Lanora was right behind me when we were running, but I don’t see her now.”

  Lanora Corbett lived in the second house from the bridge, on the left.

  “Anyone else?” Cal asked.

  There was murmuring as they looked around and took stock, and names began to surface: the elderly Starkeys, Roy Edward and his wife, Judith; the Contreras family, Mario, Gena, and Angelina; Norman Box; and others. A cold hand squeezed Cate’s heart as the horrible possibility began to creep in: Would she ever see these people again? And Neenah. Neenah! No. She couldn’t lose her friend. She absolutely refused to think it even possible.

  “All right,” Cal finally said when no more names were forthcoming. “Let me get a head count, and we’ll know where we stand.” He shone the light around, briefly touching on each face, and in every one Cate saw the same raw mixture of horror, disbelief, and anger that must be on hers. She saw people clinging to each other, huddling together for comfort and warmth, and dimly she began to think of practical matters: blankets, coats, other things she could get from the house. Coffee would be nice, but the electricity was off. On the other hand, she did have a gas stove…. The thoughts were laborious, emerging from her brain with effort, but at least the daze was beginning to wear off.

  “Is anyone hurt?” Cal asked one more time, after he had an accurate count of those grouped in Cate’s yard. “I’m not talking sprained ankles, or a scraped knee. Has anyone been shot? Is anyone bleeding?”

  “You are,” Sherry Bishop said with some tartness.

  Cate’s head whipped around. Cal was hurt? Shocked, she looked hard at him as he held his arms out and looked down to examine himself, as if he didn’t know what Sherry was talking about. “Where?” he asked.

  Cate spotted the black-red streaks on his arms. “Your arms,” Cate said as she began to climb to her feet.

  In a flash he was beside her, his hand on her shoulder, pressing her down. “Stay down,” he said in a low voice intended just for her. “I’m fine, it’s just a couple of glass cuts.”

  To her way of thinking, cuts should be taken care of no matter what caused them. And if sitting was safer than standing, why wasn’t he sitting? “If you don’t sit,” she said in the same tone of voice she used with the boys, “then I’m standing. Your choice.”

  “I can’t sit, I have a few things to do first—”

  “Sit.”

  He sat.

  Cate got to her knees and moved behind him. “Sherry, can you help me here? Hold the light and let’s see how bad these c