Wounded (a mystery and a sweet romance)

Wounded: Chapter 13

She was on her way back down when a crunch reached her ears. At first, she thought she had made it somehow, but it sounded like it had come from inside the house. She lunged off the steps and squeezed behind one of the bushes framing the pathway. She crouched down, hoping the shadows hid her. Sam didn’t have an alarm system of some kind inside, did she? Surely, nobody out here was worried about one of their own stealing from the community...

Another sound came, this time the snapping of a twig. The noises weren’t coming from inside the cottage but from behind it. All the more reason to stay in the bush, Tara decided.

Unless it was Malcolm. Could he have already climbed up and collected his sample? Maybe he had finished and had come to pick her up.

She decided to wait for a friendly, “Pssst.”

It didn’t come. She didn’t hear any more sounds either. Maybe she had imagined the other ones.

It was more the coldness of the dew seeping through her blouse than a feeling of safety that convinced her to abandon her hiding spot. The damp clothing reminded her that she should have grabbed a jacket while she had been penning that note. She would have to get it on the way out. She wanted to link up with Malcolm again—and make sure nobody else was creeping around outside—before detouring.

The ground grew rougher as Tara left the cottages and jogged past the greenhouse toward the old trees. She forgot about the beehives and almost crashed into one in the dark. That would have been a rude awakening for the bees—and might have resulted in a swarm of stings for herself.

She reached the edge of the trees and paused, trying to guess where Malcolm would have gone. She had yet to observe these elevated fungi for herself.

A flash came from deep within the copse. That must be him—he would have had to risk a light to find the right spots. She felt her way from trunk to trunk, stepping carefully lest roots entangle her feet. Even though she believed Malcolm was the only one out there, it would be a good idea to stay quiet. Just in case.

The light disappeared. Tara paused, her hand on the coarse bark of one of the trees. She waited for a moment, hoping it would reappear. It didn’t. She listened for snapping twigs or rustling leaves, but didn’t hear a sound. Even the nocturnal forest creatures remained silent, if they were out there.

An arm outstretched, she started forward again, heading for where the light had been. The trees loomed up on all sides, their canopy blotting out the night sky.

A shadow flickered at the edge of her vision. Instincts took over, and Tara lunged in the opposite direction, putting her back to a tree. She could hear her own breathing, fast and harsh in her ears. She forced herself to slow it down as she scanned the darkness on all sides. Nothing moved.

“This is nuts,” she breathed. “I’m going back to the house. He can knock on the door when he’s done.”

Tara took two steps and something slammed into her back. The force sent her stumbling, arms flailing. She might have caught her balance, but her toe jammed against a root. She pitched forward, tumbling to the ground.

She rolled to the side, fearing her assailant would follow her to the ground and pin her. A thud sounded inches from her arm, and fir needles sprayed everywhere, pelting her cheek. Tara scrambled to her feet and ran for the nearest trunk. If she could put it between her and her attacker, and use it as a shield, maybe she could defend herself somehow. She was envisioning kicking some bastard in the nuts when a hand clamped onto her shoulder.

She stepped into her attacker, hurling her elbow back with all her strength. It connected with something hard but with fleshy give—a man’s chest?