She poured some hot water into a mug with a tea bag and stared out the wet window into the impenetrable darkness. She’d called Andy earlier and told him what had happened. He’d been concerned for Thomas’s safety in his emotional turmoil, but he’d tried to assure her she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Maybe it’s best that he’s not there with you, Sophie. He needs time to pull himself together . . . regroup. He has to work this out—”
“At his own pace. I know, Andy,” Sophie had finished for him. But she couldn’t help but thinking then, just as she thought it now, that Thomas’s “pace” for recovery might not be fast enough for an encroaching threat.
She saw the great, round bloom of fire in her mind’s eye and imagined the boom of the warehouse explosion. She shivered and stepped away from the sink.
For a few seconds, she considered trying to call the Dolan house again. But Sherm had assured her he would tell Thomas to call her. If he had done so, it must mean Thomas wasn’t willing to talk to her at the moment.
Sophie took her tea and curled up at the end of the sofa with a knitted afghan drawn over her legs. She flipped on the television to the all-news network.
Her anxiety only amplified when the anchorman reported that the FBI and the U.S. Attorney’s office were preparing to announce a formal indictment on a host of federal charges against Joseph Carlisle within the next few days.
A loud cracking noise made her startle, causing a few drops of tea to splatter on the afghan. She hopped up off the couch and peered out the picture window—the noise had issued from the direction of the lake. She jumped when she heard it again, a sound like wood knocking against wood forcefully. What was it? Something hitting her dock?
She considered going out to check, but thought better of it. There was nothing she could do about it in the pitch blackness and heavy downpour.
Again, she heard the loud cracking noise and shivered. She’d never felt isolated here at the lake house, but she felt very alone at the moment, like she existed on an island with an ocean surrounding her on all sides. She hurried into the kitchen and locked the back door, then traversed the long, dark hallway to secure the door that led to the screened-in porch. Since she never used the front door, it was already locked up tight.
When she returned to the kitchen, she picked up her cell phone to call the Dolans’ house, but their residential phone line was dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sophie started into wakefulness and glanced around the living room cautiously, using only her eyes instead of moving her head. She’d fallen asleep with the television on. It cast the room in dim, flickering light, but the kitchen was swathed in dark shadow.
She held her breath in her lungs, listening.
The sound of the churning sump pump and the patter of rain on the roof told her the rain hadn’t abated. But the rain or the sump pump hadn’t been what had awakened her . . .
Her eyes went wide and a scream tickled her throat when a shadow separated from the thick blackness and the form of a tall man began to move toward her.
“Shhhh, it’s just me.”
She realized she’d sat up and was tensed to spring up off the couch.
“Thomas?” she gasped.
“Yeah.”
He stepped into the living room and she saw that he was completely naked except for a pair of white boxer briefs.
“I was . . . am . . . soaking wet. I stripped in the kitchen.”
Sophie just gaped at him, knocked off balance by his sudden appearance.
“How did you get in the house?”
“Picked the lock,” he replied levelly. Perhaps he noticed her stunned expression as she stared up at him. “It wasn’t that hard. I used the deadbolt to lock it once I got inside.”
“Oh” was all she could think of to say for a moment. “How . . . how did you get here? You didn’t drive, did you? The rain hasn’t stopped—”
“I walked. Well, swam during one part. There’s nearly four feet of standing water in one dip in the road.”
She stood. “Thomas, that was dangerous. Some of those currents can be strong, especially if the lake is meeting the floodwaters.” She noticed how erect his small, brown nipples were. “You must be freezing. Do you want something hot to drink? Or a shower to warm up?”
“No.”
His hair hung wet on his brow. Even though he’d removed his clothing, his naked skin gleamed with moisture. She tried to study his face, but his expression was unreadable in the dim, flickering light. It suddenly struck her with force that he was there in the house with her. She’d been hoping to speak with him—to see him—for hours, and now he’d suddenly appeared.