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“Oh, God,” Her voice shook from the force of her sobs. “Daniel. Oh . . . shit.”
She swatted the tears away, swiping a backhand across her runny nose, and glared at Swede. “What the hell do you want?” she muttered through clenched teeth.
Swede gulped. “The research. I thought he might have . . . told you . . . .”
“Goddamn it, Swede!” Alexis paused, hunting for the words. “So what are you saying? You think Daniel went back on his word and spilled his guts during pillow talk? Well, surprise! He didn’t, okay? He never told me a thing. All the secrecy was no joy to live with, let me tell you. I knew something was troubling him, but if I tried to discuss it--whoops!--we couldn’t because it had to do with his research. There were nights not long before the accident when he couldn’t sleep. He’d get up and pace, so I’d ask if he was okay. And he was like, ‘Sure, sure. I’m fine.’ But he wasn’t fine and he wasn’t telling me about it because it was all connected to that research, wasn’t it?”
She paused, her ragged breathing matched only by Swede’s, and said, “Now you have the fucking gall to come here and act like I’m supposed to know something about this goddamned mystery research that was wrecking our lives, when you know Daniel wouldn’t have told me and you know I know nothing about it.” She paused again and swallowed, trying to regain self-control. “So why don’t you just get the hell out of here?”
“You may not know what Daniel was doing,” Swede stammered, “but they don’t know that.”
“Who the hell is--”
Then someone pounded on the door.
Jessica
After spending the better part of an hour going over Swede’s introduction to the story, I stopped and considered the result. Getting there, I thought. But how can I really know if it’s there?
As I went about fixing my scrambled-egg dinner, my cell phone rang. I flipped it open. (I won’t buy a “smart” phone. Too pricey.) Private caller. For the third time that week. I don’t like to take calls unless I recognize the number. I sighed and ignored it. I was melting butter in the pan when it rang again. Private caller. Hmm . . . could it be that editor I met at the symposium two weeks ago? But why didn’t she leave a message? I took the call to find out.
“Jessica Evans?” I couldn’t place the voice—deep and androgynous—although it had a familiar ring.
“Yes?”
“Look out your window but don’t move the blinds or make it obvious.” A brief pause. “Someone is watching you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jessica
“Who is this?” I said. My chest tightened and my pulse raced.
“Look for a dark van. Down a few spaces to your right. Remember, don’t—”
I snapped the phone shut. What the fuck? My pulse was pounding now. I thought of the story. The dark van in the parking lot that morning. And Alexis being followed by a dark van. Too weird. But it had to be a coincidence. Just some wacko.
The phone rang again. I jumped at the sound. Private caller again. I set the phone on the counter and moved back, staring at it as if it were about to explode.
The phone stopped ringing but started again within seconds. A burning odor filled the air. For a crazy moment, I thought it was the phone. Then I saw smoke billowing from the pan.
“Goddamn it!”
I turned off the burner and set the pan aside, surveying the wreckage within it, the butter singed on its surface in shades of mottled black and brown.
“Great,” I said. “Just great.”
The phone stopped ringing, then started again almost immediately.
I snatched it up, checked the number. Private caller. Well, Private Caller was about to get a piece of my mind.
“Jessica?” It was the voice. “Have you looked out the window?”
“No. No, I haven’t looked out the damn window. I’ve been too busy trying to burn my place down.”
Silence. “Jessica—”
“No, listen up. I’m trying to make dinner and just ruined my best pan—thanks to you. So why don’t you leave me alone. Quit fucking with my head.”
