Captive in Crete: The First Jet Wilson Cozy Mystery (Jet Wilson Cozy Mysteries Book 1) by Lyssa Stanson (phonics story books .txt) 📗

my tense and relax sequence again. I had no idea of what time it was or how long I had been lying there. I had left my phone in the house specifically so I wouldn’t be tempted to use it to check the time and thereby destroy my night vision. Or, worse, alert any passing murderers to my presence.

Where was Matt? It was as dark as it could get, he should have been here well before now. If he turned up now, he could easily bump into the killer. Or, perhaps worse, the killer could spot him heading down the track and decide it wasn’t worth the risk. Or, even worse, the killer could follow him down and attack him from behind.

But no, Matt would be careful. He would make sure no-one was around before he came down the track. And he would make sure he wouldn’t make a noise, or be visible walking down the track, in case the killer was already here.

But then, how would I know he was here? And how would he know where I was hiding? Not that there was room here for both of us to hide. But it wasn’t like he could just go shouting my name until I jumped up and waved him over.

We should have agreed a signal. Something that would sound natural in the night. Some sort of animal or bird call. Wait, the screech owl. It had seemed so close, much closer than ever before. It was Matt, I was sure of it. He was here, hiding somewhere. Waiting and watching with me. I felt relief wash over me. I could handle this on my own, I had no doubt of it, but it was so reassuring to know I had back-up, just in case.

I should let him know I was here and had understood his signal. I couldn’t do a screech owl, though. I couldn’t think how and when he might have learnt that, much less why. I would just sound like a strangled cat. Now that I could do. Not strangled, of course, but a cat’s meow, I could manage.

I mentally prepared myself and then let out a low yowl. There was no response, so I repeated it. Still no owl, but that would be weird – an owl answering a cat. I decided to just hope that Matt had heard and understood. I couldn’t realistically do any more.

I was just settling down to wait again when I felt a thump of weight landing on my lower back. I almost panicked but managed to contain my scream as I realised it was the cat back again. She must have been attracted by my yowling. I tried to wriggle enough to toss her off, but she just rode me out like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. Not that I was bucking exactly. I didn’t want to give myself away. Eventually I just gave up and she settled down on my backside. I guess that was my most comfortable part.

I tried to ignore her, but she started clawing me through the denim of my jeans, the way cats do to get a cushion more comfortable to sleep on. I wasn’t a cushion though and it hurt. I tried bouncing up and down again but still to no avail. Eventually I just stifled my moans by biting on a fist and waited for her to get comfy.

Time dragged on and I went through my tense and relax routine once again. It didn’t seem to disturb the cat, but I felt slightly better.

Then I heard it. A stone kicked up somewhere along the track. It was showtime. I made sure the camera was in position and looked through the viewfinder to check my range of vision. I focussed on the entrance to the garden and waited. Sure enough, a figure came into view – clearly a man from the build. He looked left and right and then walked into the garden and started down the path. I followed his progress until he was about half-way down and then pressed the shutter.

Chapter Fifteen – Friday night (still)

Blinding light illuminated the garden in all its glory and then disappeared, plunging everything back into blackness. The image of Hans’ startled face was seared onto my retina. The cat yowled and leapt off of my backside and ran down my legs, claws raking the backs of my thighs and calves as she went. She could move fast considering she was pregnant.

There was a clattering noise and a second yowl before I could even start to move. I hauled myself to my feet, turned and ran. The wall to my left continued on and then turned to meet with the back of the house, effectively blocking my way.

My night vision was ruined by the camera’s flash but only in one eye. I had the other closed to peer through the viewfinder, so it was not quite so blind.

I ran headlong into the wall and started to climb. It was only about four feet tall, so I was looking over the top in a second. And straight down the other side. About fifty feet down. The house was at the edge of the village and on the edge of the hill.

My acrophobia kicked in with a vengeance. I screamed a pitifully quiet whimper as all my muscles tensed and my stomach sank to my knees. Without conscious thought, I pushed myself backwards and off the wall. Straight into Hans.

We both went down but I was still mindlessly scrabbling backwards as we fell and just steamrollered over him. When the wall regained a more natural appearance I flipped over, got to my feet and ran.

I had almost made it back to the jasmine pot when Hans caught me from behind and we went down again. I fell on my stomach, the wind whooshing out of me. But my adrenalin