She could see the house now, the big William and Mary mansion with its dark blue door. Lengthening her stride, she willed herself to keep going. Every step jarred her body, and he had closed the gap still further, his hand was snatching at her shoulder. Sobbing with panic, she was almost at the bottom of the steps, but he was snatching at her, she could feel his fingers on her shoulder, trying to get a grip.
Layla knew that she would never make it up the steps, would never get the key in the door.
She was finished.
Except…
She stopped dead. Dropped to her knees, curled into a tight ball. Felt a huge impact on her back, heard a loud ‘Feck!’ and then her pursuer went flying over the top of her.
Irish?
She couldn’t even pause to consider that. Scrambling to get her trainer off, trembling fingers fumbling to fasten on the key, she saw him hit the pavement hard. There was a dull thud and she heard all the breath go out of him in one almighty whoosh.
Gripping the key tightly, she dropped the trainer. He was getting to his knees, cursing with a steady monotony that unnerved her. She stumbled to her feet. He was glaring at her with murderous eyes. There was blood around his mouth. He spat out a tooth, broken in the impact when he hit the pavement.
He lurched towards her, grabbed her ankle.
Layla shrieked and hit his face with the key. He let out a yell. Released his grip. She bolted up the steps, flung herself at the door. Tried to get the key in the lock. Her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t get the damned thing in.
And he was coming up the steps.
She could hear him, so close now, she had nowhere left to run.
Panting like a hunted animal, she found the keyhole at last, turned the key, pushed, shoved the door open and fell inside, then smashed the door back, hard as she could against his body.
He was too big for her, too strong…
He was pushing the door open, she was trying to get it shut, they were both heaving and swearing and straining.
Layla still had the key in her hand. She took a sobbing breath and reached round the door and stabbed him straight in the eye with it. He screamed and floundered back, losing his footing.
Layla slammed the door shut.
Locked it. Slapped on the chain.
She slid, quivering and panting, down the wall beside the door and sat there on the cold marble of the hall with one trainer on and the key in her fist. He hammered on the door once, hard.
Layla scuttled away from it with a shriek of fear.
Then there was silence.
What the hell was that?
Slowly she pushed herself to her feet. She wasn’t going out to collect her other trainer. No way. She limped up the stairs, shaking like an old woman, heading for the shower.