Here With Me (Adair Family 1)

Something in his tone made me think he’d have no qualms manhandling a woman into her car, and I bristled in outrage. However, facts were facts. This was his land, and I was trespassing.

“I think you have something to do with what happened to my father,” I stated, expression hard. There was no way I’d let this man think he scared me. Once upon a time, he’d had my sympathy, but not now. “And you can try to mess with me and my trailer, but you should know I’ve faced bigger and badder things in this world than a troubled old man who can’t let go of the past.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. “Get the hell off my farm.”

Anger simmered in my gut as I got into the SUV. Driving away from the farm, my fingers curled tightly around the wheel with impatience.

Because there was no one else who fit the profile of the stalker and attacker better than McCulloch and his grandchildren.

Like I said: Occam’s razor.

The simplest explanation is usually the right one.

Now I just had to prove it.

25

Robyn

The noise broke into my dreams.

My eyes flew open, and I saw nothing but dark. Heart pounding, I struggled to hear over the rush of blood in my ears.

Something had woken me.

A crash.

My pulse leapt in my throat as realization dawned.

The suitcase. The suitcase I had stacked against the door of the trailer had been knocked over.

My ears pricked. It might have just been part of my dream. My subconscious—

Footsteps tapped softly across the trailer floor.

Blood whooshed in my ears.

Someone was here.

For a moment, fear paralyzed me as I heard the gentle creak of the floor moving.

Someone who didn’t want me to know they were here.

Move, Robbie, I hissed inwardly. Robyn, MOVE!

Escaping the cage of terror that imprisoned my limbs, I thrust off the bed covers, got onto my haunches, and waited as I listened through the thundering beats of my heart to the intruder’s movements.

They’d stopped outside the bedroom door.

The edge of the bed was less than a foot from the door.

The door was made of cheap wood, but more importantly, it swung outward into the trailer, not into the bedroom.

Balanced on the bed, hands holding the walls at either side of the doorway for support, I took a deep breath, pumped myself up, and then swung my knees up with force so I could drive my legs out into the door.

I threw my whole weight behind it and the door blasted open, hitting the resistance of the body behind it. A muffled but masculine curse preceded a clatter and then a thud.

Pushing out through the door, I almost tripped over his feet.

I’d knocked the fucker on his ass.

Slamming my palm into the light switch on the wall, I lit up the trailer and stared down at my would-be attacker as he stared up at me, gaze stunned.

Dressed all in black, black pants, black hood, black gloves, black ski mask, I could see nothing but his dark eyes. A gleam of metal on the floor caught my eye.

A push dagger.

My stomach somersaulted. First Mac, now me.

He’d obviously lost hold of it when I’d kicked out the door.

I instinctively lunged for the weapon, but the bastard grabbed my ankle and I lost my balance. My head whacked against the kitchen counter, momentarily dazing me.

There was a male grunt before I felt the heat of his body, trying to force me to my stomach on the trailer floor. Panic would finish me. If I let him pin me there, I’d have a hard time getting out of it.

My training cleared my mind and before he could grab my right arm, I twisted backward, elbow out, and smashed it into his face. It missed, but he flinched backward to avoid it and loosened his grip. I lunged forward and snatched up the dagger. He climbed over me, grappling me for it.

I needed to get him off me or this was over.

I slammed my head back and felt the pain of it connecting to his chin.

He fell off to the side, and I slid out from under him, swiping the dagger as I got to my feet.

The attacker scrambled to his feet to face me, his hands up defensively as I held the dagger expertly in my hand, body in fighting position.

If the attacker knew me, and I was pretty sure he did, then he’d know I could defend myself. Maybe he’d underestimated me because I was a woman.

Moron.

I had to hope the idiot hadn’t clocked the block of kitchen knives on the counter behind him.

“Who are you? Huh?” I yelled. “Is that you, Jared? Huh? Coward!” I swiped the dagger at him, showing my intention to maim, not kill. A push dagger was called a push dagger for a reason. It had a T handle designed to be grasped in the hand so the blade protruded from your fist. People also referred to it as a punch dagger.