Nothing Sacred

“Let’s go, sweetie,” he interrupted her. “I don’t have a lot of time before my wife’ll expect me back—”

He broke off abruptly, frowning as though he’d said too much, letting go of her wrist.

Ellen didn’t even think. She wrenched open the car door, intending to run as fast as she could out to the road.

With one foot out of the car, she propelled herself forward, trying to figure out which direction would be the safest bet. She had the sick feeling she might only get one chance.

As she hesitated, her other foot tangled with her ankle and she started to fall.

Except that the man was there, catching her. “So you like it rough, huh?” he asked, sounding excited in a way she’d never heard before but recognized, anyway. “They didn’t tell me that.”

“No!” She tried to pull away from his grasp, unable to feel anything but the urgent need to escape. His words made no sense to her.

His grip made no sense to her.

Aaron! She screamed inside, even as her mind refused to work. Something terrible was happening and she didn’t know why.

She had to get away. For Aaron. For Mom. For herself. She had to do something.

The man held her body in an iron clutch, carrying her to the door just a few feet away. She kicked him. Hard. On the shins. Over and over. She tried to reach higher.

“You little bitch,” he said, but he didn’t sound mad. Somehow she seemed to be pleasing him.

Oh God.

Ellen screamed, so long and hard the sound ripped at her throat. There was no one around to hear. He covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her cries.

She had to vomit. And bit him to make him let her go.

He bit her back, sliding her down to hold her body between his legs while, with one hand on her swollen mouth, he unlocked the door with the other.

Then, his hands on her breasts, he pushed her ahead of him into the room and kicked the door shut behind them.

CHAPTER FOUR

AT EIGHT O’CLOCK ON Thursday night, David Marks was trying to convince himself that he was interested in the National Geographic show on television. He found the plight of pandas interesting, but he’d already seen the program twice.

And he couldn’t stand another sitcom, another half hour of laugh tracks. Or news that was a repeat of what he’d heard that morning.

He’d read for an hour. Chores were done. This week’s sermon finished. Bills paid.

Never since he’d joined the ministry had he had downtime like this. Exactly the opposite, in fact. In his experience, there were always people who’d take advantage of an extended hand—usually too many of them to help. His challenge, and concern, had always been what to do with those he didn’t reach, those he couldn’t help. He’d always had to spread himself thin—so thin he’d had no time for television or extra reading or boredom or discontent. Living in this town, which didn’t trust him, didn’t need him, was an experience unlike any he’d encountered before.

“The panda is…”

What more could he do to convince the people of Shelter Valley to use his services? To do more than just show up at church and nod thoughtfully at his sermons? To ask more of him?

“Watch how playfully…”

How much longer could he hang around where he

wasn’t needed?

As long as it takes.

Great. Just what he wanted to hear.

His sarcasm got no response.