Chapter Seven

Quitting “Project Aron” turned out to be harder than Prue ever imagined, taking nearly as much willpower as the crash diet she’d attempted in the ninth grade. Back then, she only lasted a day before she caved to the hunger. Now, well into day two with zero work given to her research, the hunger was all-consuming.

Maybe Faith was right. Maybe it was so difficult to walk away because, deep down, a part of her wanted to get back at Aron for what he’d done. The part of her that still felt humiliated by his betrayal. The part that never wanted to get close to another man for fear she’d put her trust in him and have her faith destroyed, once and for all. Or maybe she wanted revenge for the teeny-tiny part of her that would forever doubt herself.

When she returned home from work at the Institute, she settled on the sofa with her laptop. The craving to go to her files nearly overwhelmed until she recalled the panic on Leo’s face when he thought they were in danger. The fear rioting in his eyes. The helpless, hopeless expression contorting his beautiful features. Then her regret was manageable, and her hunger worth the payoff.

Her kitten, Arlo, perched on the sofa back and Prue scratched his head. Then she opened her email and typed a short message to Paul Cook, a journalist she’d met online who had also been digging into the merry band of mobsters surrounding the controversial politician from Eastern Europe.

Over the past few weeks, she and Paul had attacked the research together, sharing notes and documents as they tried to piece together the vast web of connections. As Paul had experienced a rash of hacking attempts, they were extremely careful when sharing files, and they never uploaded anything anywhere online that they didn’t want others to see, which meant she held most of her work locally on her laptop and backed up to an external hard drive. He was a sharp, thorough researcher, an incredible writer, and she’d loved working with him. But, as she explained in her email to him, she needed to step away from the work for a while. Then she offered to send him all her notes and the trove of records she’d gathered.

The moment she hit Send on that email, she had to blink away a sudden upwelling of tears, but a knock on her apartment door cut short any pity party she might’ve thrown.

She dumped her laptop on the coffee table and shuffled to the door. Pulling it open, she recoiled to find her parents standing in the hallway.

Scowls of disapproval marred their faces, and for the next several hours, she defended herself against their twisted logic which centered on the bizarre notion that she had a stalker. Thank you, Faith.

After she finally shooed them away, she collapsed on the sofa, wired and exhausted at the same time. Her laptop beckoned like a piece of moist chocolate cake, so she distracted herself with junk food and mind-numbing television. It was no use.

Frustration spurring her on, she shoved the computer to the back of her closet, beneath a pile of shoes and hand-me-downs from Faith, and slammed the door closed. Then she retreated to her bed and flipped off the lights.

If there were any justice in the world, she’d be rewarded for her strength of will with a few hours’ reprieve from the torment.

But it was not to be.

A sound pulled her from sleep.

Her eyes blinked open, but the room was shrouded in darkness.

Arlo’s silhouette sat primly at the end of the bed, watching the bedroom door with raised ears. He tilted his head and her heart lurched when another muffled noise sounded, this one closer.

She reached for her cell phone on the nightstand, but her fingers brushed over the smooth wood surface. The device wasn’t there. She must’ve left it in the living room when she came to bed.

The figure of a man appeared in the doorway.

Fear arrowed to her heart. He was short, but broad, and he wore a ski mask. Too terrified to move, she froze while desperate prayers began running through her mind. She prayed he didn’t know she was there, and that if she remained still in the darkness, he wouldn’t see her. Arlo slunk to the edge of the mattress and dropped silently to the floor.

Then the man stepped into the bedroom and her breathing stopped. Her heart thundered beneath her breastbone, but she didn’t move. She didn’t twitch or even blink.

From the doorway, he scanned the room, then strode toward her desk.

But at the foot of the bed, he pulled up abruptly. Slowly, he turned his head in her direction.

She’d been detected.

A force overcame her, whether instinct or adrenaline or simply the will to survive, and she charged. When she crashed into him, his curse shattered the quiet, and he stumbled back. In that split second when she knocked him off-balance, she spotted an opening between him and the bedroom door, and she shot through it.

Behind her, he burst into the hallway. Footsteps hounded her, and she erupted into the living room as his meaty hands clamped onto her shoulders. With a brutal shove, he slammed her into the wall. She twisted around, and his hand crushed her throat in a vicious grip.

Oxygen squeezed through her constricted airway when he leaned close.

“Where is it?” His breath smelled stale.

Pale light from the bathroom filtered across his face, and shock jolted through her when she peered into his eyes. Though she wouldn’t recall the color of his irises, she’d never forget the remarkable absence of emotion in his dead eyes. They held none of the panic she’d expect of a desperate thief, or the mania of a deranged killer.

Indeed, there wasn’t a single shred of fear or insanity in him. This man possessed all his faculties, and nothing desperate or crazed drove him. He was in complete control and knew exactly what he was doing. He knew that he was hurting her and that she was terrified. He knew, and he didn’t care.

When she didn’t supply him with an answer, his hand shot out and cracked into her cheekbone. Pain exploded inside her skull and white noise filled her head with the force of the blow.

Terror fueling her, she mustered all her strength and jammed her knee to his balls. He yelped and his grip loosened.

Then fresh rage contorted his face. “Fucking bitch.”

Before he struck her again, she pressed her palms to his barrel chest and shoved. He rocked back and she stumbled from his grasp on weak legs.

But she only made it a few steps before he tackled her, landing on top of her when they hit the ground with a jarring collision. A piercing agony sliced into her side and tore a cry from her. Her body contorted and her elbow connected with some part of his face. Pain shot up her arm even as the sound of something clattering across the hardwood floor drew him toward it.

On her hands and knees, she scrambled away, but with a grunt, he lunged and his large hand clamped around her ankle. With a hard jerk, he dragged her toward him. The skin on her knees and thighs scraped across the wood floor and she twisted onto her back.

Her body worked without her conscious choice. She kicked and punched, screaming until her vocal cords burned. When her heel caught his chin, his arm came up to cover his head.

She kept kicking, fighting through pain and exhaustion. More grunts and curses sputtered from him. Suddenly, he lifted his head and turned. Then he was retreating.

Darkness hovered at the edges of her vision when she touched the searing pain in her side. Wetness seeped through her T-shirt to drench her hand, and she pressed her palm over the wound.

When she rolled to her stomach, the pain wrenched another cry from her. The room spun as she raised up on her haunches. On the coffee table, she spotted her cell phone. Her fingers fumbled with the device, dropping it once before she managed to bring up the number pad to make an outgoing call.

Blackness invaded the edges of her vision, and she stabbed blindly at the screen where she hoped the digits 911 would be located. But before she’d punched the last number, ringing sounded on the other end.

The tunnel around her line of sight closed tighter, and the device slipped from her trembling hands.

One more ring reverberated in the dark silence before she collapsed to the floor.