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This was the point where he'd veer right, to go to the bus stop, but he didn't. He stood, hesitating.
"I know you're not really in the mood for conversation, but I - I was wondering if I should walk with you, just until you're back home?"
She stared at him incredulously. He continued, now sounding even more anxious.
"There has been - well, I heard in the online groups I'm on that there was a murder last night, near here. They're hushing it up because it was linked to someone high-profile. But all the same, it might not be safe to walk alone."
Now, she lost her temper. It was like this guy was trying every single angle with her when all she wanted was not to be with him. Was it that difficult to make out what she meant?
Angrily now, she turned to him.
"Did you not understand what I was saying? I don't want company and I don't want to talk to you. Yes, thank you for offering, etcetera, etcetera, but the answer is no!"
The words came out much harsher than she'd intended and she saw him flinch, as if they'd really hurt him. She felt bad for a moment, but then hardened her heart. He was just a creepy guy wanting to get into her pants. That was most likely his reason, and she was going to put him in his place.
"Okay," he said quickly. "Take care."
He turned away and began walking swiftly toward the bus stop.
Sighing, hitching her laptop bag up onto her shoulders again, Katarina plodded on toward home. She couldn't help feeling a bitter triumph that she'd hurt him. That was wrong, she knew. Perhaps she wasn't really a nice person at heart. Perhaps he was, a little voice inside her head started suggesting. Perhaps he was being a good guy and she was acting like a spoiled brat.
She shrugged as she stomped down the road. Who cared, seriously? Perhaps she should quit this entire farce of an effort to better herself and instead, do something totally different. Take up acting, perhaps. Or modeling, or go in that direction. It couldn't be harder than computer programming.
And then, as she glanced to her right, she saw something that intrigued her.
A gold statue was just visible down a narrow side road, posed just as if it was one of the Oscar awards.
Was the statue beckoning to her? For a moment it seemed as if it was. Then, when she looked again, she thought she must have been wrong, because it was completely still.
Fascinated, she stopped and stared. Then, with her curiosity surging, she made her way toward it. Was it real? She'd thought for a moment it was a discarded prop, something that had been left there because it was no longer used. But it was beautiful - if it was a statue and not real. Perhaps it was real, like some kind of street art? If so, why was the performer here, in this deserted alleyway?
Maybe that was something she could do. She'd always been interested in stage make-up. Perhaps that was what she could go into, and this statue had been placed here as a sign, to show her that she needed to change direction?
It didn't seem to be moving at all. She could see no sign that it was breathing. It or him, she wasn't sure. If it was a guy, he'd sure had a good make-up job done. The hands were encased in black gloves so she couldn't see them, and he was wearing gold shorts that looked a part of the whole ensemble, but everything else looked perfect, down to the last bulge of muscle and fold of skin.
But if it was discarded, what on earth was it doing here?
Suddenly, she wondered if she should hurry away, simply walk on by, and ignore it. The warning from Torsten echoed in her mind.
Torsten? What did he know, she thought scornfully. Maybe it was defiance at his words and his unwanted kindness that made her stop, stare, and finally, step closer and reach out a hand.
She was sure the statue was fake. But she wanted to be certain.
It was the last move she made. She didn't even comprehend how fast those hands moved. One minute the statue was staring ahead, immobile.
And the next, two strong, gloved hands were wrapped around her throat and squeezing, squeezing hard, so hard that she knew her moments were numbered, and she couldn't struggle; he'd caught her with no air in her lungs.
She tried to claw at him, desperately. He was alive and real. But as hard and unyielding as if he was made from stone.
That was the last thought Katarina had.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Another murder?" Scrambling out of bed, her heart now racing, Juliette echoed Lucien's words, feeling appalled.
"Yes. Your American peacekeeping force has done nothing so far!" Lucien sounded livid. Juliette drew in a furious breath; her tiredness vanished, ready to argue this unfair accusation.
“Look, I thought we resolved this yesterday,” she snapped.
