“Do you have that copy for me?” John asked, stopping at her desk with cup of goop in hand.
“Give me twenty minutes.”
“Make it ten. You write too much filler, anyway. Cut to the chase. It makes what you have to say more powerful.”
She went back to her typing, but it dawned on her that perhaps Sam should have been a reporter. If fewer words translated to powerful, he’d have won a Pulitzer.
CAROLINE BREATHED a sigh of relief as she pulled the car into her garage and killed the engine. It had been a long day and she was ready to slip out of the black pumps that were starting to squeeze her toes, pour a nice cold glass of chardonnay and watch a rerun of Will and Grace.
The garage, a fairly recent addition, sat a few yards behind the two-story house in the spot where a carriage house had been. The walk from the car to her back door was a pain when the weather was cold or rainy, but tonight it was clear and the brisk air felt good.
Only, tonight the area next to the garage was darker than usual. Much darker. For some reason, neither of her outdoor lights were burning, though they were on a timer and should have switched on at dusk. Probably a temporary power outage had them off schedule. Fortunately, she’d left the outdoor light over the back door on so she’d at least be able to see well enough to fit the key into the lock.
Something moved in the bushes behind her. Her heart slammed against her chest, but when she turned, it was only a cat that she’d startled from the bushes. Constant talk of murder had her spooked.
As she neared the house, she noticed a small package propped against the back door. She stopped in her tracks. The package was probably perfectly harmless, but no one had ever left one there before.
What if it had been delivered by the same man who’d left the note on her windshield? He knew what kind of car she drove. Maybe he also knew where she lived. He could be here now, lurking somewhere in the shadows and watching her the way he’d obviously watched her that night in the park. She couldn’t see him, but it was almost as if she could feel his presence.
Her heart pounded so loudly that if he was anywhere near, he could surely hear it. Probably even smell her fear. A killer. And her only defense against him and his knife were the keys in her shaking hand.
And there was nowhere to run.
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