Leah bolted for the phone on the kitchen counter. The answering machine had kicked on, but the caller would still be able to hear her if she could only get to the phone. She could scream. She could yell to call 911.

Houston grabbed hold of her ponytail with his left hand and jerked her backward off her feet. She fell back into him, arms swinging, flailing. She hit him in the mouth. She hit him in the chest with her elbow.

“Stop it!” he snapped at her.

Leah scrambled to get her feet back under her. Tears spilled from her eyes as he pulled her hair.

“Let me go!” she screamed. She kicked him in the shin as hard as she could, the heavy toe of her clog hitting like a baseball bat against the bone.

“Fuck!” he yelled. “You fucking little bitch!”

He slapped her hard across the face, then a second time and a third.

Leah felt like her head would explode. The ringing in her ear was as loud as a gong. Her field of vision turned to black lace. The coppery taste of blood burst into her mouth.

She was sobbing now, though she could barely hear herself. The sound seemed to be coming from someone else. She felt dizzy and weak. And then she was falling, backward and down. He had let go of her hair and shoved her away from him.

She hit the floor and the back of her head banged hard against a thick table leg. She struggled to sit up, her fingernails digging for purchase against the floor. Her hand brushed against the steel hoof pick that hung from the belt loop of her breeches. Instinctively she pulled the tail of her polo shirt down over it to hide it.

Houston’s big hand grabbed her by the shoulder, fingers digging in as he hauled her to her feet. He backhanded her across the other side of her face, then grabbed one small breast and squeezed as hard as he could.

Leah cried out at the pain. “Stop it! Stop it!”

He let go of her then and shoved her roughly down onto a chair.

Hysterical with fear, with shock, with pain, she doubled over and wrapped her arms around herself, sobbing.

“Sit there!” he shouted. He was bent over her, his mouth not a foot away from her ear. “Sit there or I will fucking rape you!”

Leah choked on her tears and on her terror, and wished with all her heart someone would come and save her.

Chapter 54

54

Tanner’s eyes narrowed as she stared hard at something on the page in front of her.

“What was the name of the guy we thought might be a private dick?” she asked.

“Gregory Hewitt,” Hicks said.

“Michael Craig Houston,” Tanner read. “Aka: Michael House, Craig Michaels, Gregory Hewitt.”