Page 41 of Serve ’N’ Protect

Running upstairs and locking the bedroom door so she could call 911 would be the best option. If only she could run. Fat chance of that.

Her other options were to remain perfectly still and hope the burglar took what he came for and left, or flip on the lights and beat him over the head with her cane.

What if he has a gun? What was with all the gun action lately?

Speaking of deadly weapons, a quick glance through the window to the house next door told her Markus was still awake. Lamplight glowed faintly through the upstairs window she knew was his bedroom.

She could scream to get his attention, but he might not hear her. Then again, she could scream pretty damn loudly when she wanted to. Her experience with the bat had proven that. But what if the burglar shot her first? There was no way she could get past him.

Her heart beat louder, faster, and she could no longer breathe through her nose. The best option was a hasty retreat.

She began turning when the step creaked. Oh, crap. That big shadow bolted toward her. Cassidy spun and did her best, such as it was, to run back up the stairs. She’d gone three steps when he grabbed her ankles, yanking her down.

The cane slipped from her hand, then she was falling. Her chest hit the stairs first, followed by her chin whacking against one of the steps. She grabbed for the handrail, trying desperately to haul herself upright, when he began pulling her down the steps on her belly.

Oh, Jesus. He’s going to kill me, or rape me, or both.

No. Way. After what she’d survived, giving in to some random burglar wasn’t how she planned on ending her life.

By the time he’d yanked her down to the living room floor, her camisole was all the way up to her breasts. When he flipped her onto her back, she kicked him, getting in one solid strike to what might have been his groin. She couldn’t be sure. Either way, score one for the chick with the cane.

“Fuck!” he hissed, and released her legs.

Cassidy reached up and flipped on the light switch. The man glared down at her, his eyes and bared teeth visible through a black ski mask. She took a deep breath and screamed.

She lunged for her cane, which had slid down the stairs and sat not a foot away, but he beat her to it and kicked it away. Closing her eyes, she screamed again. When she opened them, the last thing she saw was a gloved fist aimed directly at her face.

Chapter Fifteen

Markus ran a hand through his hair, which seemed to be growing at light speed. It had grown out over the last two weeks, bordering on hippie-length by his own standards, and had begun itching the tops of his ears.

For the last hour, he’d been lying in bed on top of the covers, still dressed as he reviewed Cassidy’s medical file again, making notes on his phone. She’d dug into the workout routines he’d outlined and was making fast progress, but he wanted to make sure he didn’t push too hard and unintentionally cause muscle strain that would set her back.

Both her legs had been crushed pretty badly, and she hadn’t been exaggerating when she said one had nearly been severed. Severe damage to all the major muscles, tendons, and ligaments. The pain she must’ve been in made what he’d gone through seem like a stubbed toe.

He tossed the folder on the bedside table and picked up his worn copy of The Art of War. Flipping it open, he tried reading, but his concentration was shot to shit. The only things he kept seeing were Cassidy’s lush, raspberry-pink lips. He couldn’t stop replaying how soft they would feel, or how sweet she would taste if he ever did kiss her. But he wouldn’t. Ever.

Long ago, he’d learned that he didn’t do relationships. In fact, he sucked at them. Knowing that hadn’t prevented him from looking out the window every morning, watching her front door like a lovesick puppy, wondering what she was doing and when she’d be over to either cook him one of her phenomenal home-cooked meals or hit the gym with him. Shit, he needed to get his head out of his—

Someone screamed.

Cassidy.

Ghost leaped to his feet, snorting.

Markus grabbed his gun and stuffed his phone into the rear pocket of his pants. Not bothering with shoes, he bolted for the stairs, Ghost two steps behind him. Every jarring footfall was like a kick to his gut.

He punched in the alarm code, flung open the door, then raced off the porch and across the grass to Cassidy’s house.

The downstairs light was on. He ran up the stairs and yanked on the door handle. Of course it was locked, and the damned Craftsman door was made of solid oak, just as John’s front door was.

Ghost growled, racing back and forth along the porch, also searching for a way in. Even his dog knew Cassidy was in trouble.

“Cassidy!” He pounded on the door then stopped to listen. Nothing but dead silence came to his ears.

Markus peered through one of the windows, unable to see clearly through the curtain but enough to make his heart stop.

Cassidy lay at the bottom of the stairs, unmoving. “Cassidy!” This time, he pounded on the glass. Still, she didn’t budge.