Or maybe it’s just that Kristina herself has been around here a lot more than usual, and she keeps running into him.
“Doesn’t he give you the creeps?” Kristina asked her neighbor Allison, when they were chatting in the laundry room yesterday afternoon. Jerry had come in and out several times, ostensibly to fix a washing machine that seemed to be working just fine.
“I don’t know—he’s just kind of simple-minded, I think.”
“What about the stuff that’s been stolen around the building lately?” Kristina pointed out. A few tenants have reported thefts over the past couple of months. Not major heists—just loose cash, some jewelry, and—oddly—women’s clothing.
“Including their underwear,” Kristina added with a shudder.
“How do you know that?”
“They told me—you know, the people who got robbed. Whoever did it is a pervert, and it seems like he must have had keys, too. I mean, it’s not like the doors were broken down.”
“Yeah, but the windows were open. Someone could have easily crawled in from the fire escapes. Look, I really doubt it was Jerry. He’s really just a kid—”
“ He’s twenty-four.”
“That’s how old I am, exactly. He seems younger. How do you know his age?”
“He told me once. Like I care.”
“Well, in any case…” Allison shrugged. “I can’t imagine him hurting a fly. He seems harmless.”
“Okay, maybe he’s not a thief. But harmless? The way he was looking at us…” Kristina shuddered again.
“Not us—you.”
True. For some reason, Jerry didn’t appear to be the least bit interested in Allison, who happens to be a drop-dead-gorgeous blue-eyed blonde.
No, he seemed fixated on Kristina—continually sneaking glances at her as he crouched in front of the washing machine, then falling all over himself to retrieve a rolling quarter she dropped.
Yes, he always acts utterly smitten when she sees him around the building—which is much more often than she’d like. It’s almost as if he’s lying in wait for her…
The way you lie in wait for Mack?
She weighs the risk of running into Jerry if she goes downstairs right now against the risk of not seeing Mack for another twenty-four hours.
Easy decision.
Kristina hurries over to the full-length mirror.
Checking her refection, she tosses aside the tweed suit jacket she wore to her temp job and unbuttons the second button of the white blouse beneath. After a moment’s hesitation, she also daringly unbuttons the third, for optimum cleavage.
Hmm—still a little frumpy. She makes a mental note to take her knee-length skirt to a tailor to be shortened after this wearing. The suit is a couple of seasons old, but it’s still decent, and Allison mentioned yesterday that miniskirts are back in style. Kristina has great legs, a dancer’s legs. Why not show them off?
She does a quick makeup touch-up and dabs perfume behind each ear. Then she spreads her fingers and rakes them from her scalp to the ends of her curly, shoulder-length dark hair, tousling it just enough to look bedroom sexy, but not bed-head messy.
There. Good to go.
She slips her feet into a pair of pumps and hurries for the door, glancing at her watch. Perfect timing.
She hurriedly descends four fights of steps to the first floor, opens the door from the stairwell…
And literally crashes into the bulky, imposing figure of Jerry.
Kristina wobbles on her feet. Jerry puts his hands on her upper arms to steady her. Her nostrils twitch at the ripe scent of his sweat.
“Sorry!” he says.
“It’s okay.”
She’s no longer wobbling, but he doesn’t move his hands. She looks pointedly down at them. His finger-nails are dirty. His grip is unpleasantly strong.
She finches.
He gets the hint.
Removing his hands, he shoves them into the pockets of his jeans. A lot of young guys are wearing their pants baggy, ragged, and low lately—a trendy nod to gangsta rap—but Kristina knows Jerry isn’t making a fashion statement.
No, with him, it’s classic, clueless-handyman butt crack.
Between that and his breath—which is bad, no surprise there—it’s all she can do to hold back a shudder. Especially when she sees him take in her deliberately displayed décolletage.
That’s not for you! That’s for Mack!
Beneath his blond crew cut, Jerry’s plump face is flushed. “Kristina…”
He knows her first name?
Maybe that shouldn’t be surprising, but somehow, it is. Or at least, the sound of it on his lips. Surprising, and repulsive.
“Are you busy?”
“Busy?”
“Yeah. I thought…” His hands push deeper into his pockets, his shoulders hunching toward his jowls. He licks his lips and a strand of saliva stretches between them until he speaks again. “I thought—I mean if you aren’t busy—then maybe I thought—I mean, I did think—that you could … that maybe we…”
Dear God, no. No, no, no.
She’s shaking her head, but he doesn’t seem to get it; he keeps right on fumbling his way through an invitation of some sort.
“If you like cake, I thought … Do you like cake? I do. I love it. And we could … I could—”
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she blurts. “Sorry.”
He stares at her, eyes wide, jaw hanging.
“Look.” She tries to brush past him. “I’m really busy and—”
“If you’re busy,” he blurts, stepping into her path, “we can—”
We? This time, she doesn’t even try to hold back the shudder.
“Thanks, but I can’t. No. No.”
She waits for him to retreat, perhaps hanging his head in defeat.
But he stands there in front of her, looking at her, his gray eyes shadowed.
Kristina shrugs and starts to step around him.
Jerry holds his ground.
Unsure whether to be infuriated or frightened, she casts her gaze at the ceiling and says, “Excuse me. I need to get my mail.”
Still, he doesn’t move.
How dare he? He’s just standing here, blocking her way.
“If you don’t move,” she says levelly, “I’m going to call the cops and have you arrested.”
Without another word, Jerry steps aside.
Shaken, Kristina walks down the corridor toward the vestibule, eyes focused straight ahead.
But she can feel him standing there staring after her, and it’s giving her the creeps.
Just before she enters the vestibule, she impulsively lifts her right arm and raises her middle finger.
“Jerk,” she mutters, flipping him off without looking back to see if he’s still watching.
Something tells her that he is.
About the Author
New York Times bestseller WENDY CORSI STAUB is the award-winning author of more than seventy novels. Wendy now lives in the New York City suburbs with her husband and their two children.
www.wendycorsistaub.com
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By Wendy Corsi Staub
Shadowkiller
Sleepwalker
Nightwatcher
Hell to Pay
Scared to Death
Live to Tell
Dearly Beloved
Coming Soon
The Good Sister
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A print edition of Fade to Black was originally published in 1998 by Pinnacle Books, an imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.
Excerpt from Nightwatcher copyright © 2012 by Wendy Corsi Staub.
FADE TO BLACK. Copyright © 1998 by Wendy Corsi Staub. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition DECEMBER 2012 ISBN: 9780062230102
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