Legacy of Lies by Jane A. Adams

the dining room, wood splintered. What the hell was wrong with this man? It had dawned on her that he might have been watching the house and seen Alec leave. It had also occurred that there might be two of them. The footsteps on the terrace had sounded different, now she thought about it. Lighter, faster. She had gained the impression from the man at the front door that he was heavily built.
    Stumbling on the top step, Naomi reached out to find the wall, searching for the wood panel and the dado rail that separated the panelling from the paper above. She hauled herself up and then moved towards the study door, relieved to feel the solidity and reassuring weight as she swung it open and then slammed it closed. Alec had left the key in the door as, he’d told her, Rupert had always done. She turned it now, then stepped back from the door and stood, listening to the sounds coming from below – crashing and splintering and breaking glass.
    She fumbled in her pocket for the mobile phone and dialled the three nines.
    â€˜I need the police,’ she told the controller, horrified to hear the shake and sound of barely controlled terror in her own voice. ‘Someone’s broken into my house and I’m alone. Yes, they’re still here. I’ve locked myself into a room upstairs and it sounds like they’re wrecking the place.’
    She listened to the calm voice of the controller on the other end and a surge of impatience, driven by pure fear sharpened her tone as the panic rose. ‘Look, I need someone now. Please.’ And then she broke her own unwritten rule. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m blind. I can’t see.’
    The controller stayed on the line, her calm voice meant to reassure. She was playing a role that Naomi had played many times in her days as a police officer, before the blindness had taken her career and transformed her life beyond recognition. She spoke gently and firmly, telling Naomi that help was on its way, keeping her on the line and asking for reports of any sounds she could hear, any movement through the house.
    â€˜He’s coming up the stairs,’ Naomi whispered. ‘I can hear him on the stairs.’
    â€˜You’ve locked the door?’ the woman on the line confirmed.
    â€˜Yes, I’ve locked it and it’s a heavy door but …’ She could hear him now, standing at the top of the stairs, then two steps to the study door, rattling the knob.
    â€˜I’ve called the police,’ Naomi yelled at him. ‘I’ve called the police and they’re on their way.’
    She backed away from the door and bumped into the desk. The controller was still talking to her but Naomi could no longer hear. Napoleon whimpered, sensing her anxiety. He nuzzled at her hand and Naomi slid down beside the desk and gathered the big black dog close to her.
    â€˜Naomi, are you listening to me?’
    Naomi lifted the phone to her ear. ‘He’s outside the door.’ She tried to stay calm. She took long controlling breaths. Damn it, she told herself, she’d been in tight spots before and not panicked like this. She’d been trapped in a burning building, taken hostage in a bank siege, almost been thrown off the roof of a building, but she had never felt like this.
    The difference, she decided, was that at those other times there had been other people to think about. Other concerns. In the fire, Patrick had been with her and she had been more worried about getting him out than she had been scared for herself. In the siege too, she had taken control then, fallen back on her training and pushed her own fears aside in order to calm other people.
    This time, apart from Napoleon, she was truly alone.
    â€˜I’ve called the police,’ she shouted once more, then strained to listen. The door knob creaked again and weight thudded against the wood, then a muffled shout from down below.
    So, he wasn’t alone.
    She heard the footsteps