Excerpt of Christmas Vendetta

"Do not be deceived, God is not mocked;
For whatever a man sows, that will he also reap."
Galatians 6:7

CHAPTER ONE

Sandy Lynn Forrester woke abruptly. Why? She knuckled her eyelids, wiping away sleep. Had she been having a nightmare? Snow was building outside her bedroom window, piling in ridges where the panes met the sash. The faint scent of pine wafted from the live Christmas tree she and her roommate, Enid, had erected in the living room. Everything seemed normal.

About to relax and drift off again she heard scraping. A thud. Her breath caught. Throwing aside the blankets she sat up and swung her feet to the cold floor. The sounds were close, yet not inside her room. That left only the living areas or Enid's bedroom. Maybe her friend was sick and needed help.

Sandy Lynn grabbed her robe and finished pulling it on over her fleecy sweat shirt and pants as she reached the short hallway. "Enid? Enid, are you okay?"

The only reply was a muffled cry. Muffled? The hair on her arms prickled. Stop? Turn? Run? No way. Instinct urged action. Friendship gave it legs.

Padding barefoot to the second bedroom door she called again. "Hey! Is everything all right in there? I thought I heard you holler."

Nothing. Silence except for her own breathing and the cadence of her rapid heartbeats.

She grasped the doorknob and began to turn it.

Movement jerked it out of her hand but not before momentum had catapulted her into the room. She staggered, got her balance, peered into the dimness and froze. Enid lay doubled up on the floor, eyes squeezed shut, face contorted in pain.

A shadowy figure in a ski mask stepped out from behind the door, one gloved hand brandishing a knife, the other reaching for her.

Sandy Lynn ducked, dodged, tripped and fell, landing close enough to her friend to see the unspoken plea in her wide, glistening eyes. "Enid! What's going on?"

Looming over them both, the shadow cursed. Sandy Lynn's blood iced in her veins and her muscles knotted. That voice. It couldn't be Charles Hood. It just couldn't be. He was in prison. She had gotten their marriage annulled and built a whole new life for herself. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her.

Sandy Lynn watched as the attacker took a tentative step backward, then hesitated. It didn't matter who this man was. He had obviously hurt Enid and would likely do the same to her if she gave him the chance.

There had to be something at hand to use as a defense weapon, but what? The bedside lamp was light and fragile. Slippers on the floor were too soft. The desk chair was too heavy. Remembering that Enid had played golf in the summer, Sandy Lynn's gaze darted to the closet. The assailant was blocking her way.

Survival instinct erased all traces of fear. One hand reached for the quilt that had been half pulled from the bed and she gave it a mighty yank as she leaped to her feet. It furled between her and the man, obscuring his face, his vision.

He began to swing both arms, batting and slashing at the fabric. Sandy Lynn scrambled toward the closet. She was opening that door when he grabbed a fistful of her robe's collar, also catching hold of her long brown hair.

Pain should have stopped her. Adrenaline overrode it. She twisted and tugged, managing to reach the edge of the golf bag. It crashed to the floor. So did she.

Screaming, "No, no, no!" she pulled out a random club and started swinging.

"Hey!" He faltered. Stepped back.

"Get out of here!" Again she swung, this time aiming higher than his ankles, and heard the metal shaft of the club connect with shin bone.

The attacker shouted wordlessly.

Battling the urge to shut her eyes and blot everything out, Sandy Lynn stood and continued defending herself. Again and again the club connected with loud thwacks. He'd dropped his knife and raised both arms to protect his face and head. She knew she was hurting him. How long could she continue before her strength gave out?

Could she last long enough to drive him off or was he going to eventually pick up his knife and come for her?
*

Sounds of a scuffle woke Clay Danforth. He stared up at the ceiling and saw the light fixture vibrate. Whatever was happening on the floor above him was violent. That did not bode well for the residents of that apartment.

He listened carefully, seeking confirmation of his initial conclusion. It came in the form of a woman's scream. It didn't matter that he hadn't yet met his neighbors. Somebody up there needed him and although his authority had ended when he'd left the police force, his concern for fellow citizens had not. He pulled on jeans and boots, palmed his phone long enough to call 911, then slipped a gun into the waistband at the small of his back and headed for the stairway.

Taking the steps two at a time he rounded the corner and saw a partially open door. Raised voices identified that apartment as the source of the conflict. A woman's screeching demand to be left alone spurred him into a run.

Slamming his shoulder against the outer wall next to the doorjamb he drew the gun. "Police! Come out with your hands up."

In moments a black clad figure raced past him and pounded down the stairs. Without knowing any details Clay didn't dare shoot, nor was it prudent to give chase.

Anticipating a second criminal, or more, Clay whipped around the corner and took a shooter's stance in the doorway. Something whizzed past his ear and clipped the edge of his shoulder. If he had not been a seasoned veteran the blow might have caused him to accidentally fire. "Stop! I'm a police officer." Which was sort of still true.

He diverted his aim. His free hand shot out to grab the metal shaft of the club. When he focused on the person holding the leather grip the effect was mind-blowing. Looking into those familiar, hazel eyes he croaked, "Sandy?"

The impossibility that he would have chosen an apartment directly beneath that of the one woman who had shattered his heart into a million pieces was not only astounding, it made him furious with the friend who had talked him into the lease. He would never have listened to Abe and signed the contract if he'd dreamed she lived in the same building. Never in a million years.

Lips parted and trembling, Sandy Lynn pointed to the hallway. "He's getting away!"

Clay snapped back into professional mode. "Was he alone?"

"I think so." She was nodding as the grumbling roar from an accelerating motorcycle broke the peace of the night.

Clay wrested the golf club from her and closed the door behind him with his foot, never relaxing vigilance. "Are you sure?"

"I - I only saw one man." She left him and hurried back to her injured roommate, dropping to her knees. "Enid? Honey, talk to me."

Clay made a cursory search of the tiny apartment, then joined her. "What happened?"

Sandy Lynn's tear-streaked face lifted. "He had a knife. We have to call an ambulance."

"It's done," Clay said. "Move so I can check her over." Because she gave little ground he shouldered past.

"What are you doing here?"

Took her long enough. "Sounds like you're not very glad to see me." He huffed. "Big surprise." While his hands checked Enid's pulse his thoughts raced. Of all the people to encounter after all this time, Sandy Lynn was the absolute worst.

Clay's jaw clenched. The buddy who had told him about the vacant apartment had kept urging him to take advantage of it. If Abe was actually aware of what he'd done, Clay was going to tell him off, and then some.

"Never mind me," Sandy Lynn said with a quaking voice. "Is Enid going to be all right?"

Clay chose to avoid answering as he noticed the wounded victim's clenched teeth and the barely perceptible shake of her head. She had pulled the corner of a blanket into her arms and was pressing it tightly to her abdomen as the visible edges began to turn crimson.

He redialed the emergency number. "This is Clay Danforth again. There's a seriously wounded victim at the address I gave you for the disturbance. I've secured the immediate scene. Send medics to the second floor. ASAP.

"Affirmative."

"And have responding units keep an eye out for a man on a heavy motorcycle. We think that's how the assailant escaped."

"Copy."

Clay would have suggested that Sandy Lynn add shoes to the sweats beneath her robe and go stand in the street to wave down the ambulance if he hadn't been worried about her safety. Just because an attacker had fled didn't mean he wouldn't return.

"Go to your front door and watch for the paramedics," he ordered, trying to keep his voice from reflecting his true concern.

"No. Enid needs me."

The darker haired young woman on the floor finally spoke. "Do as he says, Sandy."

"But..."

Clay could tell she was undecided so he reinforced the command. "It's the best thing you can do for her right now, okay? Make sure they come to the right place."

"Should I go downstairs then?"

Both Clay and Enid said, "No," and he sensed the effort it took the victim to speak so forcefully. She turned her head aside and coughed, then wiped her lips on the blanket.

He laid a hand of comfort on Enid's shoulder. "Save your strength. Try to slow your pulse. Help should be here in a couple more minutes."

She nodded, then glanced past him toward the doorway and spoke quietly aside. "Look after Sandy, will you?"

"She'll be fine. She's just in shock."

"No." Another cough. "Not now. Later. She needs protection."

"From what?"

Struggling to gather enough breath, Enid whispered, "The guy who did this to me."

Clay saw her eyelids flutter. Her lips were tinged blue. Clay placed his hand over her folded arms to keep pressure on the wound in case she fainted.

Although she winced and gave a little gasp, she continued. "He made a mistake in the dark."

"He thought he was stabbing your roommate?"

Enid nodded once. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she escaped from the pain.