by Lori Gordon
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or not?”
He ignored her. The hell with him. Sierra reached down and grabbed her clothes off the floor. His hand clamped down around her wrist before she could reach them. “Go to the kitchen. Now.
“What for?”
“Fix us a snack. I need something to eat.”
That wasn’t like him. In all the years she’d known him, he never once ordered her to do something. She studied his face. He looked tense, haggard, his face drawn, and lines of worry creased his brow. A chill ran up her spine. Something wasn’t right.
“Please,” he begged, “You know what I like. Fix us something to eat.”
She was too tired to argue, but she was damned sure going to let him know she wasn’t happy. She wasn’t his servant. Her voice was cold and tight. “Fine.”
His hand loosened on her wrist. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, “Thank you, Sweetheart. Wait for me in the kitchen, okay. Please?”
“Why?”
He ran his hand through his hair, “Will you stop with the questions already?” He snapped. “I’ll be there in a bit.”
Sierra pursed her lips and yanked on her bathrobe. He could be a real sonofabitch at times. When she reached the bedroom door, she stopped to glare at him.
“Please, don’t be like that,” he begged. “I love you.”
Tension snaked through her. Something was definitely wrong. But what? One minute he’d be fine, the next he was on edge, cranky. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she reached the refrigerator door. Hunger could put anyone in a foul mood, herself included. She exhaled in an effort to calm down. They’d missed dinner. Maybe the evening — and the mood — could be salvaged if they ate.
It was a hot night and she opted to fix a cool snack. She grabbed a plate from the cabinet and loaded it with goodies from the fridge. Melon, prosciutto, swiss, and cheddar. A bit of salami to add some bite. At the last minute, she reached for the bottle of pinot grigio chilling in the fridge. Maybe the wine would help settle him down.
She rummaged through a drawer to find the corkscrew. He never put it back in the right place. Things would have to change after they were married. She reached for the wine glasses, and they clinked together as she removed them from the cabinet.
Click. Boom.
Something exploded.
Sierra jumped. The edge of kitchen counter dug into the small of her back as she slammed against it. The wine glasses slipped from her fingertips, tumbling down to the carpet. An ungodly shriek split the air, sending tremors of terror through her. She raced towards the hallway, heart slamming inside her chest. A thought stopped her cold. Neil’s odd behavior, the way he sent her to the kitchen, telling her to wait there for him. He’d known something was wrong, and had been trying to protect her.
She forced herself to slow her pace. Running straight into danger wouldn’t help anyone. It might even get her killed. Instinct kicked in. She flattened her back against the wall and crept towards the doorway, then offered up a silent prayer and peered around the corner.
The stench of burning flesh assailed her nostrils, hitting her hard. Bile splashed the back of her throat. She gagged, struggling to make sense of the horror in front of her. Disbelief chugged through her mind. Neil’s body, engulfed in flames. She could hear the hiss of fire licking the flesh from his bones.
He fell to the floor, screaming in agony. Her hands flew to her face. It was already too late; there was nothing she could do to help him. No way he could survive. He rolled, an angry ball of fire, hurtling towards the front door.
Someone set him on fire. She looked up. A stranger stood framed in the doorway, face impassive, watching her fiancé burn. He had cold, dead eyes. Their black depths seared into her mind, and she knew she’d remember them forever.
Sierra stumbled back in shock, braking out in a cold, clammy sweat. I have to get out of here. Her stomach cramped. She clutched her belly, fighting the urge to vomit. Her mind splintered in a thousand directions. If he sees me, he’ll kill me too. Panic washed over her, rooting her in place. If she ran, she could wind up a suspect. If she stayed, she could end up dead.
Get. Out. Now.
She peaked around the corner one last time. A sob welled up in her throat, almost choking her. Neil, or what was left of him, was melting into the floorboards. The very last thing she had done was glare at him. Oh God! Would she ever be able to forgive herself?
No time for that now. She had to pull herself together.
The stranger’s eyes remained fixed on Neil. This might be her only chance. She hugged the wall, moving towards the back of the house, darting into the bedroom to grab her purse. Neil’s laptop sat beside it. All her contact information was stored in his computer. Under the circumstances, she didn’t want to leave it behind. She shoved the laptop inside her bag, praying she wouldn’t get caught.
A quick glance down the hall told her it was safe. She hugged the purse against her body and dashed into the kitchen. Her hands were shaking so hard the doorknob rattled when she eased open the back door. One step closer to safety. She slid through the crack into the stuffy night air. Fear pumped inside her; she started to hyperventilate the moment she shut the door behind her. Fighting back tears, she stumbled, falling headlong into the grass. She knew she was going to be sick and scrambled behind a bush, terrified the killer might hear her retching. Her body heaved; the contents of her stomach splattering the ground. She couldn’t stop shaking.
Her mind clicked away at warp speed. Her first instinct was to flee, to run to her car, and tear through the night. What if the killer chose that exact moment to leave? She’d be setting herself up as bait. She should call 911, but she knew enough to realize she was an automatic suspect. Her face would be plastered all over the news, alerting the killer to her identity. She couldn’t run, not dressed in a bathrobe. She’d stick out like a sore thumb on the deserted streets. Best to sit tight. With any luck, the killer had no idea anyone else had been in the house.
A chill prickled the back of her neck. He would know. Her clothes lay scattered in the bedroom; two wine glasses were on the kitchen floor. He was going to come looking for her any minute now. Oh God, she had to get away. Her eyes darted around the yard, desperation reared up inside her. There had to be a place to hide. The garage. She had a set of Neil’s keys. Her legs went weak with relief. She dug inside her purse, crying when her fingers closed over them. She stayed in the shadows until she reached the garage, and then made a quick run for it.
She could see the house through the small garage window. Lights blazed inside. The killer was on the hunt, turning on light in every room. He’s looking for me. Her palms were sweaty. The key slipped twice when she tried to fit it in the ignition.
The minute the garage door opened, she gunned the engine. Her heart skipped a beat. She was safe. For now.
With the immediate danger behind her, a combination of shock and grief exploded inside her. Who would want to kill Neil? And why?
It made no sense. He was an average guy. There was nothing in his past that would make him a target. At least nothing she knew of.
The image of him rolling on the floor, unable to escape the flames torching his body, sent a fresh wave of pain ripping through her. The scent of burning flesh lingered in her nostrils. She would never forget the smell. It would be with her forever. The horror of what she witnessed churned inside her. She was shaking so hard, she had to pull over. There was no way she could drive in her current state.
She found a side street, far enough away from Neil’s house that she felt safe, and gave into the sobs racking her body. Her nerves tingled, and her head pounded with questions.
Neil had been afraid. Even making love, he was attuned to danger. He’d been listening for it, damn it. It took a moment before the implication set in. He knew he was at risk, and he hadn’t told her. Worse yet, he’d exposed her to danger. He had gambled with her life by having her with him. What ki
nd of man would do such a thing to the woman he loved and planned to marry?
Sierra slumped back against the seat. Her life had blown apart in an instant, but at least she was still alive. She needed time to process everything. When she got home, she’d pour herself a stiff drink and try to put the pieces together.
Home. Dear God, she thought, I can’t go home. The police will want to question me. Whenever there’s a murder investigation, they look at the loved ones first. She’d fled the scene, which meant she already had one strike against her. She had to give herself a fighting chance and calling the police wasn’t an option. There was no way in hell she’d give the killer a roadmap to find her.
She felt better for half a second and then her stomach sank. Neil’s killer knew someone else had been in the house. Her clothes were a dead giveaway. Once he found them, It wouldn’t be too hard for him to connect the dots. They’d been finalizing their wedding plans. Taking the computer had been useless. Her name was everywhere. So was her address. He’d been doing a sweep of the house when she drove away. If she went home, she was a dead woman.
A car turned onto the street where she’d parked. Headlights glared in her review mirror. Sierra shrank down into her seat, terrified the killer was on her trail. She held her breath until the car passed.
She plunged into a state of panic, finding it impossible to separate logic from raging paranoia. Nothing had ever prepared her for this type of life or death situation. There had to be somewhere she could hide, someone she could call for help.
Grace was the logical choice. Which, she realized, meant she had to stay as far away from her best friend as possible. Sierra knew in her gut that Neil’s death hadn’t been random. The monster that’d killed him wouldn’t leave loose ends. There was a fifty-fifty chance the killer was lying in wait for her at her house. When she didn’t come home, he would look through her contacts. She couldn’t risk putting her friends in danger.
There was only one person she could call, one person who could help her.
Chapter Two
Considering the way things ended between them, would he even take her call? There was a good chance he wouldn’t. It had been years since they last spoke.
He still kept in touch with Grace; her friend had inherited him after the break-up. Following in his father’s footsteps, he’d joined the FBI straight out of college. He was a rising star in the bureau, quickly climbing the ranks. According to Grace he lived in Washington now, was something of a big deal. There was even talk of him running for political office in the not too distant future.
Their relationship had been messy, the break up complicated. He’d never forgiven her for choosing Neil over him. Now Neil was dead and he was the only one she could turn to. It was an ugly twist of fate.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, blowing out a long stream of air. Her heart was doing crazy little palpitations in her chest, her palms slick with sweat. She wiped them on her robe and grabbed her cell phone before she lost her nerve. It was insane to be this nervous. They were all adults and she was in trouble. He wouldn’t turn his back on her once he heard her story.
No one could be that unforgiving.
Just make the call and get it over with. Deciding she’d have a better chance of reaching him if she blocked her number, she swallowed her pride and dialed.
A woman answered. Shit. She hadn’t expected that.
“I’m looking for Donovan St. James.”
“Van isn’t here right now. May I ask whose calling?”
Van? The implied intimacy rattled her. The cool, cultured voice set her teeth on edge. Sierra couldn’t possibly rattle her problems off to this woman.
“Hello? Are you there?” the woman asked, haughty and impatient.
She scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make her sound like a complete idiot, “I have information on one of his cases. Do you know how I can reach him?”
“He’s out of town until tomorrow. If you’d care to leave your number, I’ll be sure to give him a message when he checks in.”
A rock formed in Sierra’s stomach. Waiting for a call back wasn’t an option. She hung up and tossed the phone in her purse.
There was no choice. She had to run.
She’d been driving for hours. It would be dawn soon and she needed a plan. It was hell not knowing how much of a head start she had on the killer. The police might already be swarming over Neil’s property. They would find her things, notice his missing car, put out an APB.
Or not.
She thought about the last thing she’d witnessed. Neil melting into the floor. The flames from his body should have ignited a blaze. But they hadn’t. The house wasn’t on fire when she escaped. Then again, she hadn’t hung around long to watch. A fire took time to smolder. The house could have turned into an inferno after she drove away. It was possible evidence of her presence went up in flames. If the killer were smart, he’d torch the place to cover up the murder. Wouldn’t he?
Then again, given the coldness in the stranger’s eyes, he might have simply walked away from the crime scene. Maybe Neil’s death was meant to send a message. But to whom? She ran her hand through her hair. There were too many questions. Trying to guess at the answers would make her crazy. If she had any chance of remaining sane, she had to focus on what she did know.
It was Friday night. Neil didn’t have any weekend plans, so no one would report him missing. Neil’s remains could conceivably lie undiscovered until Monday when he didn’t show up for work.
Unless the house caught fire and they’d already discovered what was left of his body.
“Damn it.” She banged the steering wheel with the palm of her hand, reminding herself that speculation was pointless. Going back and forth over every possible scenario wasn’t going to do her any good. It was impossible to know whether she had hours or days to vanish.
The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach leapt into her throat, leaving her with a sour taste in her mouth. Not too many hours ago, she’d been in bed with her fiancée, pissed off at his inattentiveness. Now she was thinking of him in terms of his remains.
Sierra pulled over and threw up again on the side of the road.
Cars whizzed past her, people going about their business, like it was an ordinary night. There was nothing ordinary about it. Her life was falling apart, her mind frayed. She slammed shut the car door, collapsing in her seat. If she didn’t get a grip soon on her situation soon, Neil wouldn’t be the only casualty tonight. Her life was on the line too.
Back to square one. She frowned, fingers tapping the steering wheel. She needed a plan…getting rid of Neil’s car and finding a rental would be a good place to start. She had credit cards and cash. Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. How the hell was she going to rent a car clad only in a bathrobe?
Holy shit. A new set of worries blindsided her making her head spin. Rent a car? Why not go ahead and paint a bull’s-eye on her back? Even if she paid in cash, she’d have to provide the rental company with identification. Tracking her would be easy. Heart thundering, she checked Neil’s GPS. It was off. Thank God she hadn’t turned it on without thinking. Her cell phone was a dead giveaway to her location too, wasn’t it? She shoved her hand inside her purse, searching for it. The phone slipped between her trembling fingers three times before she managed to fish it out it. The last call she made was to Donavan, which could work to her advantage. If she were guilty, would she seriously be calling an FBI agent?
Sierra glanced down at her phone. She couldn’t bring herself to toss it out the window. Her life was on it. She pressed the off key praying that was good enough.
Her mind raced as she retraced her steps. She’d taken the skyway out of Chicago. Toll booths were equipped with cameras; there was a record of her crossing the state line into Indiana. If she used an ATM or a credit card anywhere along the way, she was screwed.
How the hell did people vanish?
A horrid gasp echoed in her ears. At first, sh
e didn’t realize it came from her. For a terrifying moment, she couldn’t breathe. She could feel her chest tightening. In a corner of her mind, she realized she was hyperventilating again. Clutching the wheel for support, she warded off the anxiety attack.
The dark road stretched out before her. She’d been driving blind through the night, desperate to put as many miles as she could between her and the killer. She couldn’t think straight and it was getting harder and harder to focus. No surprise since she was operating on fumes and adrenaline. She needed food and sleep, but rest wasn’t an option — not until she was certain the imminent danger was behind her.
The gas gauge veered towards empty. She couldn’t stop for gas in a bathrobe and bare feet. Even out here in the middle of nowhere, her appearance would raise eyebrows. It would also make her easy to remember.
What the hell am I going to do? She had to get off the highway. Even in the pre-dawn hours, rest stops and main exists would be crowded with tourists and truckers. Too much of a risk. Elwood, Indiana was two miles ahead. She would take her chances there.
It was a ghost town. All the gas stations had shut down tight for the night. She banged her head against the steering wheel, tears trailing down her face. Something had to be open. She was about to give up when a distinct shape caught her eye. At the back of a gas station was a dark green charity bin, where people dropped off used clothes. It was overflowing.
“Thank you, God,” she whispered, pulling up alongside it. There was no time to be fussy. Anything would be better than a bathrobe. Luck was on her side. She found a couple pair of worn out jeans that looked close to her size, a few t-shirts, two plaid shirts, and an oversized denim blouse. She changed in the car. The pants had to be rolled up at the waist and the shirts were a few sizes too big for her small frame; she wanted to hug the person who had dropped them off. Now she could blend in.