AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“If you say so.” Greta didn’t sound convinced, but Remmi managed to turn the conversation a
way from Didi’s lech of a boss.
“What’s been going on around here?”
“Nothing earth-shattering or even interesting.” Greta explained that the company she’d hired to string the Christmas lights would finish the task either tomorrow or, more probably, the next day. “Yeah, real exciting around here.” She frowned and asked Remmi if she wanted to have dinner with her. “It’s Mongolian beef.”
“I heard, and it smells great, but not tonight.” She was beat and didn’t want to answer any more of Greta’s endless questions. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Retracing her steps, she retrieved her battered sandwich from her coat pocket, then headed upstairs, nearly tripping on Ghost, who’d been hiding on one of the risers. “Oh—geez.”
The cat hissed, displaying his needle-sharp teeth, his ears pinned to his head, before he scurried down the steps to slink into the hallway and out of sight.
“Nice,” she muttered, then, more loudly, “Back at ya, Ghost,” before climbing the remaining stairs to the third floor and unwrapping her dinner, such as it was. Her stomach rumbled again, as it had been hours since the PowerBar. She took a bite of the sandwich before actually putting it onto a plate and uncorking a bottle of Chardonnay she found in her fridge. Romeo appeared and hopped up on the counter as if he owned the place. “You leave this alone,” she said as he looked with interest at the sandwich. She wasn’t about to share tonight. “Hear me?”
The big cat sat on the edge of the counter, his long tail draping over the cupboards and twitching slightly as he eyed her dinner.
She didn’t trust him. Not for one second.
She carried her plate and glass into the living area, plopped down in her favorite chair, then found her remote, clicked on the TV to turn on the news, and hoped for more information about Karen Upgarde, but she was disappointed as the anchors were already talking about the weather; a storm was predicted, and they were leading into sports. The Seahawks were favored in Sunday’s game against the 49ers here in the city at Levi’s Stadium.
Between bites of tuna, pickle, and rye bread, she channel-surfed but found nothing on the woman who’d leaped from the nineteenth story of the Montmort Tower.
Yesterday’s news.
She tried her iPad, as she had earlier this morning, but again discovered no more information than she’d had before leaving the house. After she washed the dishes, she put on her pajamas and spent another hour doing a little digging on the computer to see if she could uncover any information on the people Didi had listed in her little notebook, but she came up dry.
Muttering to herself, she watched Romeo curl into a ball at the end of the couch. She stretched. It was too early for bed, and she wasn’t interested in television. Maybe she’d pick up that book she’d started three or four times, a mystery that couldn’t quite grab her attention.
Getting to her feet, she glanced out the window. Her heart nosedived. Parked in the very spot as the night before was the dark SUV.
He was back?
The guy who she was certain had been following her?
She snapped off the light so she wasn’t visible, then squinted through the glass. Was there someone in the driver’s seat?
Maybe. But she couldn’t see. Heart in her throat, she decided she had to find out who owned the car and why it had suddenly taken a spot right in front of the house. She’d just go down and take a picture of the vehicle and license plate, that was all. If the vehicle belonged to anyone nearby, or a guest, no big deal. But at least her curiosity would be satisfied.
She threw on her clothes again, found her purse in the kitchen, grabbed the tactical flashlight she always carried, her phone, and her remote Subaru key, then grabbed her short jacket from the bedroom closet. Stuffing everything into the pockets, she started for the exterior staircase, steps that had been converted from the original ladder-type fire escape. The key could be used to hit a panic button on the car and cause the horn to blare and the lights to strobe to scare anyone intent on harming her or to alert the neighbors that she was in danger. The flashlight was powerful enough to temporarily blind an attacker if she pushed the right button as she shined the beam into his face, and the jagged, metal edges around the flashlight’s lens could cut deep and wound an attacker should she unexpectedly end up in close proximity to him.
She certainly hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She told herself again that she was overreacting, that, as Greta had suggested, a neighbor just had a different vehicle or rental car or guests or something. Kids home from college.
Fair enough, she thought, her pulse skyrocketing.
She’d take a picture of the SUV and license plate and find out who it belonged to.
And hopefully she could do it on the sly. There would be no confrontation.
As she headed through her small kitchen, she said a quick prayer under her breath.
* * *
The killer set up.
The rifle would do. He stroked the barrel with a caress, then eased along the path, careful not to make a sound. Lights were burning in the house, but he checked the road.
Quiet.
No traffic right now.
