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“He didn’t announce himself as a cop. And I pepper-sprayed him before I realized who it was. And what was he doing at Stormfield in the middle of the night?”
“It’s a crime scene.”
“He was by himself. And haven’t they long since released the property as a crime scene? And what was so important that he showed up at this time of night?”
“I…he…where are you?”
“I can be there in twenty minutes. And Mickey?”
“Yes?”
“I can’t tell you everything, maybe not much at all.”
“Can you at least tell me your real name?”
“I’ve developed the habit of not trusting anyone.”
“Then why are you coming to see me?”
“Because of all the people I know you’re by far the closest to the person I believe I can trust.”
“Your sudden change of heart is perplexing.”
“I would say the same if the positions were reversed.”
“I’m not doing anything illegal to help you.”
“I wouldn’t ask it.”
“Do you prefer tea or coffee? Or something stronger?”
“Coffee will be fine.”
“See you in twenty.”
CHAPTER62
GIBSON STARED AT HER FRONTdoor and then her gaze shifted to the upstairs where her kids were sleeping. Part of her couldn’t believe she was inviting a stranger—no, not exactly a stranger, but perhaps apsychopath—into her home in the middle of the night. The only thing standing between this visitor and her kids?
Me. Should I call the police and have them waiting to arrest her? But for what, exactly?
And Gibson figured the woman would be savvy enough to thoroughly check out the neighborhood for signs of police before exposing herself.
She fingered her pistol inher waistband. Whatever happened tonight, she was not going down without a fight. Hell, she was not going down at all.
Gibson went to the window and peered out. She had turned no light on in the house, so her presence at the window would not be visible to anyone on the street watching her place. She flinched when the figure came into sight. She was walking. Gibson looked up and down the street and saw no strange car parked at the curb. And she had not heard a car, either.
She watched her all the way up the drive. Tall, thin, her gaze pointed down, hands stuffed in pockets.
Gibson was waiting at the door when the person tapped lightly. She opened it and, finally, the two women came face-to-face after knowing each other only as voices.
Gibson looked her up and down, while Clarisse did the same right back.
The latter’s hair was blond and cut short. Her cheeks were flushed, perhaps from the walk in the rainy, chilly air. Gibson looked her over for weapons. She would prefer doing a strip search after going through the women’s bag, but opted to keep her hand on the butt of her gun instead as she stepped back and motioned her visitor in.
Clarisse noted the gun but said nothing.
Gibson closed the door behind them and locked it. Keeping her gaze on the woman, she pointed toward the kitchen. “Let’s keep it down. My kids are asleep.”
