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The warmth of the sun peeks through the curtain on the window behind my bed, splashing onto my face. I sit up and stretch my arms beside me. I didn’t think I would ever sleep last night, but somehow, I managed to get in a couple of hours. For a split second I forget about last night’s events. However, like the blood flowing to my restless limbs, they all come rushing back to me.
I leap from my bed with my heart racing and run to my front door, checking to make sure every lock is still in place. Once I’m satisfied the crazy man from last night can’t get in, I maneuver into my kitchen.
I fill the back of my stained, yet functioning, coffeepot with cold water before splashing some onto my face. I then scoop in my ground coffee, adding an extra scoop for good measure, before closing the lid and hitting Brew. I’m too anxious to sit, so I pace the length of my floor instead.
Who is this Theodore Hale? How does he know me? Will he retaliate for what I did last night?
Questions bombard my half-asleep brain, demanding answers, but I come up with nothing. The only thing I can focus on at this point is survival.
My coffeepot dings, letting me know it’s done, dragging me from my thoughts. I reach for a mug out of my top cabinet, then pour myself a cup. I spoon in three scoops of sugar, then stir it lightly before taking a sip.
I let out a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves that still seem to be on high alert, but it doesn’t help. Setting my cup down, I pace again. I know I’ve seen him, but where? I’ve met so many people in my life, people I love and care about, but I’ve also met ones I can’t even remember their names. With my dad being a cop, I was in and out of the station my whole life. Druggies, criminals, domestic violence victims, and even kids have crossed my path there.
A loud knock on my door halts my exploding thoughts and drags my focus to who could be standing on the other side. Is it him? Has he somehow tracked me down to finish what he started, whatever it is?
Slowly I move across my floor, begging the wooden planks beneath my feet not to creak. I grab my Glock from the table that houses my keys and purse before leaning my ear against the door. Listening closely, I try to hear talking, breathing—hell, anything, but there is nothing other than eerie silence.
Kicking myself for not installing a peephole, I slowly unlock the knob and dead bolt but leave the chain in place. I crack the door and peek out, expecting the man in the red tie. My eyes scan the hallway as much as they can and find nothing other than a bouquet of potted flowers on my welcome mat.
Immediately, I recognize the flowers. Standing tall, blue/purplish petals spill down the stems. They’re gorgeous, but deadly. They go by aconite, wolfsbane, devil’s helmet, and a few other names, but I know them as monkshood.
It’s a nickname my dad gave me in my teens. When we would train together, he always told me I would be the best. With my quick thinking and precision, he called me Monkshood. Beautiful but deadly.
My jaw falls open, and my lungs forget how to function. It’s a small detail about me that only my father knew, or so I thought. Tears form in my eyes as my gun slips from my hand and hits the floor. I let my instincts take over. I try to hurry and close the door, but I’m too late.
A big black booted foot wedges itself between my door and the jamb, preventing me from closing it. I push as hard as I can, but it’s no use. Trying to be quick, I lean over to grab my gun. Before my fingers can wrap around the cool metal, my door is thrown open, breaking the chain lock, and I’m pushed to the ground by its impact.
“Well, well,” a husky voice booms, grabbing me by my long brown hair as I try to crawl away.
I jerk my head trying to get free. “I swear I will fucking kill you!” I scream, but it doesn’t deter my assailant.
“Calm down now, Flower. We aren’t here to hurt you.”
We?
I halt my movements and turn my head enough to see the person behind me. Standing tall are the twins I saw last night. Both dressed in matching suits, they stare down on me.
“Who are you?” My lip quivers.
“We work for the man you carved up last night,” one says as he drops my hair, then leans to pick up my gun. “But don’t fret. We aren’t here to hurt you.” His words are laced with venom, telling me that’s far from the truth.
Confusion paints my face like the flow of watercolors on a canvas. The second one steps outside of my door, then grabs the flowers before coming back in and setting them on my table.
“Tell me,” the one says, grabbing my attention. “Do you always attack people who are doing nothing more than trying to talk to you?” He sits down at my dining room table, flipping his well-tailored suit jacket back, allowing a glimpse of his gun tucked neatly into a holster on his side.
“Only a psychopath grabs a woman at night. He wasn’t trying to just talk,” I spit back.
“He was,” he deadpans.
I look to the other twin, who is standing static beside the other, still staring down on me. “What do you want from me?”
“Our boss has an offer for you,” the one seated says. “We are here to bring you to him so he can present it himself.”
I let out a manic laugh. “Oh, you want me to just go with you both? Walk straight into my own death?”
“No. If we wanted you dead, you would have died last night. You know—” He holds up his hand, looking at his nails in a bored manner. “—of natural causes.”
My eyes practically bulge from my head as my stomach turns, and vomit threatens the lining of my esophagus. “No. You’re insane.”
