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She’d furtively looked over her shoulder several times already, but never saw anyone. Besides, what did she know about being followed? Nothing. However, the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up straight and didn’t seem like they’d flatten anytime soon.
She headed down a long hallway devoid of people. The sound of her heels echoing as she walked only added strength to her unconfirmed disquiet. She’d been last in line, last to finish the breathtakingly long and exhausting journey to get her vehicle registered so she could at long last get official Montana tags for it.
Riding around with expired plates wasn’t cool, and she’d been fortunate not to get caught or ticketed. Especially since her tags were from another state and stood out.
So far she’d been lucky. Although if the sheriff, Duke Stanton, pulled her over, he might give her a break. But one of the other deputies pulling her over would be iffy at best.
Besides, Isabelle was a rule follower from the word go. She always did the right thing regardless of the cost or any stiff price on a personal level.
That was how she’d lived her life. It grated on her last nerve to be even only a few days late taking care of this matter. However, this had been a special case well out of her hands. But at least it was done now. The relief was palpable, even if a possible serial killer now dogged her last steps on this earth. She also had a ripe imagination apparently.
The department of motor vehicles employee had locked the doors behind her as Isabelle exited into this barren hallway where shadows already gathered in the corners.
The courthouse was about to close for the evening. She’d had to come in person to register her vehicle. She’d tried to do it online, but kept getting errors with each attempt. Putting it off too long as she acclimated to her new job had been unwise. Thinking it wouldn’t take long to get new tags on the Internet or later over the phone had been a colossal mistake.
The clerk she spoke to over the phone told her there was likely a computer glitch or something. Therefore, she had to come in person, making her late. Plus, the courthouse had been closed the last few days for some unexplained reason, making her even later than she’d planned.
Today’s irritating journey—on the way to her job at Old West Town—had been quite inconvenient, but completely necessary in a keeping herself out of traffic court jail sort of way.
Her friend Jessica, the day manager at the hotel in OWT where she also worked was staying late to cover for her. But Isabelle hated taking the time off. As a recent employee there, she hadn’t built up much paid leave—or, in fact, any, making this trip even more expensive.
Isabelle heard a quiet cough somewhere behind her, in one of those dark corners. Her heart rate sped up, thumping out an uncomfortable cadence in her chest. She’d heard the same cough several times earlier while waiting in the line for car registration, but never identified who was doing it.
No one had been behind her in line. The phantom cougher had managed to stay out of her view. Creepy. Currently, she walked a little faster, heels sounds now clicking at a quicker pace on the tile floor.
She likely shouldn’t be so concerned about the coughing of a strange someone, but her troubled gut feeling wouldn’t be calmed.
Anyone listening to the clack of her noisy heels could hear her speed increase, annoyingly enough. She tamped down the vibration of panic already rattling her.
Another cough sound, and she realized the person behind her was now gaining. Along either side of the hallway she traversed stood only closed locked doors with no light emanating beyond the fixtures high above in the cathedral ceiling of the central hall.
Panic rising now completely unconstrained in her body, Isabelle increased her speed, heading for the left side of the hallway ahead, ending in a T. The lights were off down the hallway to her right, filling the opening with shadows and darkness. Not going that direction.
Another closer cough from right behind her sent Isabelle into a faster I’m-not-fucking-around pace. Hard to do in the four inch heels she wore, but it was amazing how the sudden fear for one’s life made it easier to sprint even while sporting impractical footwear.
She glanced over her shoulder for the umpteenth time, seeing nothing in the limited field of view without coming to a complete stop to turn around. Nope. She wasn’t going to do that either.
Isabelle was unable to keep from checking to see how far the surely crazed serial killer was behind her as she launched around the corner planning to run flat out as fast as she could to get to her car. But she didn’t see a single soul. The person must be directly behind her. In her blind spot. And still gaining on her, if the closer sound of his cough was any indication.
