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Besides, maybe her experiences would add a new dimension to her thesis on existentialism. She giggled and shook her head.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” She waved a hand. “There’s nothing funny about any of this.”
Even so, she couldn’t stop smirking. How ludicrous was this? Her dead fiancé’s lab partner with whom she’d had a previous failed relationship was now whisking her away from some unidentified bad guys who were looking for research she knew nothing about. She snickered into her hand, in a desperate bid to stop herself.
“What?” Swede said.
“C’mon. Isn’t this just the slightest bit absurd? Don’t you feel the least bit . . . awkward?”
Swede’s eyes darted between the rearview mirror, the road, and Alexis. “I probably would. If I weren’t scared shitless.”
CHAPTER SIX
Jessica
I drained the last of my coffee, got up, and rinsed the cup. Am I stretching this bit out too long? At some point, Alexis has to insist on knowing what’s going on. Did I choose the right way to convince Swede to tell her? Maybe I’d find the answers while taking a walk. The sun was coming up, and it looked like another beautiful day in Boulder. A nice day to work outdoors even.
I backed up my files, grabbed my shoulder bag and laptop—a nice lightweight model my parents had bought for me—and headed out the door.
Before leaving, I stopped to retrieve the previous day’s mail. Probably nothing but bills, so I had put it off. Looked like nothing but junk—a blessing in its own small way.
As I sorted through the various flyers for stores where I wouldn’t shop, coupon booklets for things I didn’t need, catalogs for clothes I couldn’t afford, and notifications of qualifying for major credit cards I never wanted, I came across a plain white envelope with no return address.
When I opened it, a sheet of white paper, folded in half, slid out. I unfolded it and read the printed message:
Be careful. You may be in danger.
A concerned friend.
“And this person on the phone. You didn’t recognize the voice?”
I nearly wept with frustration. How many times was the cop going to ask that?
“No! I didn’t recognize the voice. Couldn’t even tell you if it was male or female. They mentioned a van. It was there, then it was gone. Now, I’ve got this creepy anonymous note.”
I paused, trying to calm down. The cop, a tall, skinny guy who looked about sixteen, gazed at me with eyes like blue glass, as devoid of expression as the rest of his face. A nameplate above his left breast pocket read “A.J. Montgomery.”
“I wish I could help you,” he said, waving the letter. “But this isn’t a threat.”
“But that phone call—”
“Yes, I understand. That is strange.” His eyebrows rose, and the side of his mouth turned up in seeming acknowledgment. “I’m afraid I don’t know what to tell you. Except keep a record of your calls and hang onto any other notes you get.”
“Could you dust for fingerprints or something? Figure out if this guy—gal—whatever—is in your system?”
“I’m sorry. We can’t ask the forensic lab to do that without some indication of a crime.” He looked solemn. “Unless there’s evidence of a genuine threat, we can’t do anything.”
My shoulders slumped. “So I’m right back where I started. Nowhere.”
“Not really,” Officer Montgomery said. “I’ll file a report. Maybe we can’t act on it now, but as I said, if you get more phone calls or notes like this, it might—and I want to emphasize might—establish a case for stalking.”
“So I have to wait for something else to happen.”
The cop nodded solemnly.
I sighed. “Goody.”
