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"I know there are skeptics," he went on, still oblivious to her urgency, "but if you just gave them the chance to see you in action..."
Constance stopped listening. She felt like the walls were closing in, and her breathing was becoming more labored. Her mind raced with violent thoughts, her fingers itching to grip something sharp, anything that could help her break free from this suffocating conversation.
"Are you alright?" Blake asked at last, his brow furrowing with concern as he took in her pale complexion and trembling hands. "You look a little...off."
"Um, yes," Constance stammered, seizing the opportunity to fabricate an emergency. "I just remembered that I have a very important appointment. A...a client needs me right away. I'm so sorry, but I really must go."
"Sure, no problem," the officer said, stepping aside and allowing her to pass. "Take care of yourself!"
Constance wasted no time in bolting toward the exit, her legs carrying her as fast as they could without drawing attention. As soon as she burst through the doors and into the crisp early afternoon air, she took a deep breath, her lungs greedily drinking in the newfound freedom. Relief washed over her like a wave crashing onto shore, giving her the strength to continue her pursuit.
Finally, she thought, scanning the area for any sign of Sheila. Now, I just need to find her before it's too late.
The parking lot stretched out before her like an ocean of cold, unforgiving concrete. Her eyes darted around frantically, seeking any sign of the elusive Officer Sheila Stone. The area was a chaotic swirl of uniformed officers and civilians alike, coming and going with a purpose that Constance couldn't afford to share. She had to find Sheila, and every passing second felt like an eternity.
"Where are you?" she muttered under her breath as she scanned the rows of parked cars, trying to discern which one might belong to the object of her fixation.
Just then, a sleek sedan pulled out from between two vehicles, the driver's face illuminated by the sun's piercing rays. Constance's heart leaped into her throat as she recognized Sheila behind the wheel, utterly oblivious to the woman who'd been tailing her like a shadow.
"Damn it," Constance hissed, breaking into a sprint toward her own car—a battered, blue hatchback that had seen better days. She fumbled with the keys, cursing her trembling hands as she jammed them into the ignition. "Come on, come on," she whispered urgently, willing the engine to roar to life.
But instead of the familiar purr of the motor, all she received in return was a series of weak, pitiful sputters. Panic clawed at her insides as she tried again and again, desperation mounting with each unsuccessful turn of the key.
"Please, not now," she murmured bitterly, her frustration edging dangerously close to hysteria.
As she desperately tried to start her car, she spotted a pair of police officers approaching from the corner of her eye. One was tall and pot-bellied, with salt-and-pepper hair, while the other was shorter and wiry, his face dominated by a bushy red mustache. The tension in Constance's chest tightened as she watched them walk closer, their dark blue uniforms crisp and unmistakable.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, feeling like a cornered animal. Her thoughts raced, searching for an excuse for her hasty flight if they questioned her. "I just need to get out of here."
"Come on, you piece of junk," she whispered, turning the key once more. The engine sputtered uselessly, mirroring her growing panic. She could feel the officers' eyes on her, their curiosity piqued by her fumbling attempts to start the car.
"Hey there," called the taller officer, his voice friendly but firm. "Need some help?"
"Think she's having car trouble?" asked his red-mustached partner, a bemused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Damn right I do, Constance thought, biting back a snarl. But not the kind you can help me with.
"Uh, no, I'm fine," she stammered, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "Just a little...battery issue, I think. I'll have it sorted out in a minute."
"Are you sure?" asked the first officer, pausing just a few feet from her car. "We could give you a hand if you need it."
"Really, I'm okay!" Constance insisted, her heart pounding in her ears. Please, just let me go, she silently pleaded.
As the policemen exchanged skeptical glances, Constance gave the key one more desperate twist. This time, miraculously, the engine caught, and her car roared to life.
"Thank you!" she called breathlessly, flashing the officers a hasty grin as she slammed the car into gear. "I've got it now!"
She peeled out of the parking lot, leaving the bewildered policemen in her wake. Their expressions of confusion were quickly replaced by concern as they watched her race down the street, tires screeching and engine roaring like a wounded beast.
All that mattered now was finding Sheila. She needed to get closer to her, to understand that aura of death that surrounded her. And if her suspicions were correct…
Then she might have no choice but to add Sheila Stone to her kill list.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sheila's heart sank as she stared at the squad car parked haphazardly at the curb, its engine still running.
Oh, Star, she thought. What happened?
