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“What’s a fight going to cost you?”
She held up the glass, turning it, watching the water weep down the sides of the glass. “More than I have.”
“Freedom is a good thing, Deidre, and not to be taken lightly. As much as my first reaction is to fight, I know that surviving is best. Maybe it’s better to walk away.”
Deidre sipped her water, wondering how much it would take to wash down the bitterness. “Yeah. I suppose.” Walking away wasn’t her style.
“How about dinner tomorrow? We can meet at that burger place that serves those million-calorie burgers. Maybe we can even split a milkshake.”
Laughing, Deidre rolled her neck from side to side. She didn’t want to like Leah, but she did. “I’d like that.”
“Are you okay for now?”
“I’m fine. I’m always fine. And touching base with you helped.”
“My ear is here for the bending. Always.”
Deidre heard the conviction underscoring Leah’s words. “Thanks, Leah. Text you a time and place tomorrow?”
“Perfect.”
She ended the call and strolled across the living room toward the overstuffed couch in her den. She’d moved into the place a couple of weeks before, finally deciding to give up the rented hotel suite for a more permanent address. Walking away from a marriage with no possessions and no money made furnishing the place tough, so she’d opted for a partially furnished place. Already she looked forward to the day when she could decorate the place with her own stuff. Other than her clothes, computer, and a few kitchen necessities, nothing here belonged to her.
She took another big sip of water. The price of freedom.
A clang of the trash cans outside had her turning back to the French doors that led out onto a patio. The heavy sheers over the windowpanes blocked out most of the backyard view of the woods. She rose, set down her glass, and removed her gun from her purse. She edged toward the doors, checking her watch. As she reached for the door handle, she spotted the note taped to the outside windowpane. Written in a thick magic marker, the note simply read, I see you.
As she glared at the note, a quick test of the door handle found it locked. Quickly, she unlocked the door, snatched the note, and relocked it. She studied the lined yellow paper. I see you.
“Where?” Her first thought was Tyler. This felt like more of his bullshit. “Damn you.”
She crumpled the note in her hand and turned away from the door, moving back toward her purse. She set her sidearm down, grabbed her cell phone again, and dialed his number. It rang once. Twice. On the third ring, the call went to his voice mail. “This is Deputy Tyler Radcliff. Leave a message.”
A litany of oaths crossed her mind as she looked at the crumpled note. There’d be no proving he left it there, but she recognized his handwriting. She could run fingerprints. His might appear. But he was clever and would argue she’d stolen the legal pad he always kept on his desk. A frame-up, he’d say.
She swallowed the oaths and ended the call, tossing the phone onto the table as she shoved the note in her pants pocket. They were scheduled to meet with the judge on Tuesday, and she didn’t need to hear her voice ranting to his voice mail on the phone. And in two days all her troubles would be gone.
“I’ll put the screws to you in court.” A second phone in her purse dinged, signaling a text. It was the burn phone she’d purchased with cash a few weeks before.
I’M HERE.
Tyler quickly forgotten, she put down her personal cell. Her heart rate jumped. All this time and planning and he was here. This time, if he wanted his money or more information, he’d have to face her. So close to taking the bait. So close to ending this nightmare.
WHERE?
OUTSIDE.
NOW? WE MEET TOMORROW.
I WANT TO MEET NOW. IMPORTANT.
Sliding her shoes on and with gun in hand, she moved toward the back door. This wasn’t the endgame she’d imagined, but it would work. She’d dealt with her share of bad guys in her ten years with the Nashville Police Department. An expert shot, she wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger.
The heating system hummed as it blew a fresh burst of warm air from the floorboards. Deidre paused in the hallway, steady, listening and waiting. Adrenaline raced through her. “We’re a little old for games, don’t you think?”
Again, her answer was the steady hum of the furnace. Slowly, she lowered her weapon and released the breath she’d been holding.
In the kitchen, she flipped on all the lights and searched the nearly bare space. No kitchen table, no canisters on the polished granite countertops, no pictures on the walls. The two glasses and bowls she’d left in the sink last night remained.
Her fingers hesitated over the dead bolt as she thought through what she was going to say. She’d made promises of more money. More information. Just get in my car.
Out the back door, the cold stung her face and hands and cut through her silk blouse. Shivering, she looked to the small patch of grass that ringed the back row of town houses. Her small yard backed up to thick dark woods that stood silent. Moonlight caught the bare branches and remnants of snow still clustered on the frozen ground. Her breath froze into white puffs as she searched for any sign of movement. One minute. Two. Three. Nothing.
He wasn’t here. He was screwing with her. Typical.
She retreated back inside to the warmth and closed the door behind her. She clicked the dead bolt in place. Safe. Secure.
And still her nerves hummed with worry.
The burn phone buzzed in her pocket, signaling a text. She hurried toward the phone and saw the message from the unknown caller.
I’M HERE!
Eyes narrowing, she held her gun as she reread the message. Had he taken the bait? Had he returned?
She typed back, WHERE?
OUTSIDE. NEAR THE WOODS.
Frowning, she typed, I DIDN’T SEE YOU.
LOOK AGAIN.
She held her gun, eyes on the back door, confident she had the upper hand. Come to me, baby, come to me.
Her phone buzzed. EMERGENCY!
As she lowered her head to text back, quick, determined footsteps moved across the carpeted hallway behind her and into the kitchen. The first knife slashed into her back shoulder blade. She’d been playing chess and her opponent had mated her with one swift blow. As she whirled, he stabbed her again in the shoulder, and she dropped her gun and the burn phone. A man stood in the center of her kitchen dressed in a lightweight hazmat suit. Protective goggles covered his eyes. The fingers of his right hand gripped the handle of a seven-inch knife. She didn’t need to see his face to make an ID.
Staggering, she clutched her arm close to her body. “You planned this.”
“For weeks.”
“Why?”
“You started it. I’m finishing it.”
For a big man, he lunged fast, slicing the knife across her neck, destroying her vocal cords and spraying blood on the white walls. Falling to her knees, her hands went to her neck. Warm blood oozed between her fingers. She searched for the burn phone and spotted it by the stove.
She collapsed, her shoulder hitting the floor, and rolled on her back. Her killer’s eyes danced with satisfaction.
Deidre struggled to keep her mind clear, knowing she had only seconds. If she could just reach the gun . . .
As if reading her thoughts, her killer shook his head and kicked the gun across the floor. “You’ll never reach it. Too bad.”
Her vision blurred.
“Windows, Deidre. You should always check your windows.”
As the blade sliced at her arms, she raised her hands. Grab the knife. Grab the knife. The blade cut across her palm.
The next strike hit her torso. Adrenaline faded, giving free rein to the pain, which pinched and burned every fiber and sinew in her body. The knife blade kept jabbing, cutting, slicing.
Finally, the cutting stopped. Liquid life drained as quickly as an open tap, while her blurred gaze focused
