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She almost cried.
Now the light was useless. Worse than useless. The beam was pointed straight up, illuminating her, not the man, but the door was open. He had to know she was there, meaning it was too late to change tactics.
The best way to deal with fear is to face it.
“Step forward,” she said. “Whoever you are.” Amazing. She sounded strong. Authoritative. If only she felt that way. “Do you hear me? Step forward and identify yourself. I’m going to count to five and then—”
Blink.
The overhead lights blazed on.
Bianca stared into the corner. Then her knees gave out and she sank to the floor.
She’d been talking to a janitor’s mop and pail.
Laughter erupted from her throat. “A mop,” she said shakily. “And a pail.”
She laughed until she was breathless, until the wild laughter became sobs of relief. At last, she swiped her hands over her eyes, picked up her phone, rose to her feet and almost ran to the front door. She could hardly wait to get the hell out of this building, leave what had moments ago felt like a prison or maybe the set for an old Hitchcock movie.
Was it still raining?
Yes. Standing on this side of the door that led to the street, she could hear it beating down.
She’d be soaked by the time she got to Cuppa Joe’s, and what she needed was a drink, not a latte, but the latte was going to have to do unless the man she was supposed to meet tonight had given up and gone home. She’d have to check. That was the courteous, the professional thing to do, but if she was lucky, Noah had built himself an ark and left.
She really didn’t want to interview anybody tonight, and she certainly didn’t want to interview a man who might have the wrong idea of what the meeting was all about.
The only man she’d want to see tonight was the one who had just given her the courage to deal with reality and not only was he thousands of miles away, there wasn’t the slightest possibility he’d want to see her.
Which was all for the best. Nothing about her was right for him, nothing about him was right for her, and it was time to get moving.
She pulled open the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
The rain was coming down as if some gigantic hand had turned on a celestial faucet. She was soaked in a heartbeat, but the downpour felt wonderful, a magical, mystical cleansing after the nightmare of the last half hour.
Bianca lifted her face to the rain, opened her arms and whirled in a little circle. There were people on the street and they probably thought she’d lost her mind, but for the first time in her life she didn’t give a damn what strangers …
“Baby?”
Her heart leaped into her throat. She stood still, then swung towards the sound of that low, familiar voice.
The lieutenant, her lieutenant, was running towards her.
“Chay,” she said, and flew straight into his arms.
CHAPTER SEVEN
She was wet.
A brilliant assessment, Olivieri.
Of course she was wet. She was soaked, but why wouldn’t she be?
The rain was as heavy as anything he’d seen during a monsoon-season stint in Pakistan. The unlucky pedestrians caught in the storm were keeping close to the side of the building in a mostly useless effort to avoid the worst of the downpour.
Not Bianca.
The lady who was self-conscious on a dance floor had been dancing in the middle of the sidewalk.
