A Dangerous Woman (A Fay Cunningham Mystery-Book 1)

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Eight

It took another hour before the invasion on my home ended. Everyone had gone, including Mitch. He planned to join forces with the troops who planned to comb the surrounding area outside for Angel.

The house was sealed up as tight as a drum before Mitch departed, though. And he had done so with the promise to call me the minute Angel was captured.

Because I was more or less ordered to remain behind locked doors, I didn't drive to the hospital to check on Joe. But I did call. I was told his condition had stabilized. He'd probably sleep the night away. I was told not to bother driving over; he wouldn't know I was there anyway. Best to wait until morning when, I was assured, he'd be awake and alert.

I put down the receiver and turned to face my daughter, who was sitting at the kitchen table spooning the marshmallows off the top of her cup of hot chocolate. She looked up long enough for our eyes to have a brief meeting.

Then, "Can't it wait till morning, Mom? I'm exhausted."

"Do you have any idea what you put your father and I through this weekend, young lady?"

"My God, I forgot to call your father."

"He already knows I'm home. I called him before you got here. And if it will make you feel better too, I didn't go through with it," she tacked on at the end.

I pulled a chair out from the table and dropped into it.

"You okay?"

A heavy sigh was followed with, "I will be."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yeah. But not right now." Allen's eyes looked over at me, but the face was mine. "You don't mind if I crash here tonight and head back to school in the morning, do you?"

"It will be nice having you here. Especially after the kind of day I had."

"Pretty crazy, huh?"

"I could think of a few other words, but I guess I'll settle for crazy." We smiled together.

Then we went up to bed together. Alicia headed straight to her room and bed after saying goodnight at the top of the stairs.

I wasn't ready for sleep. I did have that super long nap earlier, after all. And I also had this uneasy feeling floating around inside of me. I knew it would remain with me until Angel was apprehended by the police.

Hopefully, that would happen before the night was over. If not, I just may have to consider what Mitch had said as a real possibility. There is a truck stop nearby. The place had the works-restaurant, shower, movie and video areas and fuel station. A hop, skip and jump from the place was the interstate. If Angel knew the police were after her, she may just have decided to hitch a ride with one of the truckers, and be in another state by daybreak.

I kicked off my sneakers and stretched out on the bed on my back. I decided I'd close my eyes and try to at least rest for a little while. Try to clear some of the clutter from the head in the process.

That's what I did, too. I concentrated deeply on cleansing the head. Moving to a place of tranquility. I was almost there, drifting into this calm, peaceful cloud of fluff.

Then the black curtain came down. On top of me. I couldn't breathe. I threw open the eyelids to see total darkness and feel the powerful pressure on my face. On top of me. My arms and legs thrashed about, smacking into the stiff form bearing down on my chest. I was losing the struggle with the bed pillow that was smothering me, and the form atop me.

In my struggle, I managed to turn my head slightly to the side, so I breathed in enough air to last me a few seconds longer. I used those seconds to go limp. Play dead. And I was headed in that direction, about to lose consciousness when the pressure on my face began to ease.

In no way did I believe I had the strength to get up, much less throw the weight from my chest. But that inner voice ordered me to do it. And the adrenaline gushed from the brain to parts of the body where needed, because when I reached up and latched onto bony arms, superwoman took over.

I rolled to my side, throwing Angel off me and onto the floor. As I sprang off the bed and headed for the door, she jumped on my back, her fingers pulling hair and digging into neck flesh. But I didn't give into the scratches and hair pulls from the wild creature riding me. I swung around and smashed her into a dresser.

She howled in pain when the dresser's pointed knobs poked into her spine. But she held on. And held on some more until I started to weaken. I dropped to my knees. But when I tucked my right shoulder under and rolled, I brought my knee up and clipped her a direct shot to the nose.

That got her to let go of me and pull back. And gave me enough time to make it out into the hall. Just in time to see a sleepy-eyed Alicia open her bedroom door and groan, "What's all the commotion?" I saw Alicia's eyes and mouth open wide as she looked over my shoulder.

"Lock your door and call the police," I screamed at her as I took a look over my shoulder.

Angel was coming for me again. Blood ran from her nose. There was some crusted blood against the blonde hair near her temple that gaped open from the wound she received in our earlier tussle.

Alicia never was one to be ordered around, and was coming to assist me, instead of locking herself in her room.

But it wasn't Alicia who saved me from another brutal attack. Angel's feet got tangled up in Kitty near the top of the stairs. Kitty hissed and swatted at Angel's legs to free herself. In the brief exchange, I watched Angel lose her balance and dive over the banister.

I squeezed my eyes shut with the sound of the hard thud from below. Alicia's hands held in her scream of horror. My daughter finally listened to my order for her not to look. And to the next one for her to go call the police.

After I watched her disappear into her bedroom, I peeked over the banister.

Angel had landed face up. Her right leg was bent back under her left knee joint. Inner arms were stretched out facing me. And doll-eyes glared straight up at me.

I knew she was dead.

Kitty beat me to the bottom of the stairs. She made one cocky prance around Angel. Then she hissed and growled before flying back up the stairs.

I didn't prance around the dead body. I did not feel proud. My own body was still experiencing after shock tremors. When I slowly bent down and reached over to close Angel's eyes, I saw her blonde hair had shifted backward on the top of her head. In front, short dark hair was flattened to her scalp. The blonde hair was a wig. Angel was a brunette.

Sirens began surrounding the house and I straightened back up. As I did so, I reminded myself there was a lesson to be learned here. My blonde-bashing days were over. A brunette can be a dangerous woman too.

Or how about a redhead?