She started to dial, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped the phone.But before she could hit the final digit, a sound made her freeze.
Breathing.
Someone was in her hallway.She couldn't see them—the hallway was dark, and the living room lamp was behind her, making her clearly visible while leaving them in shadow.But she could hear them breathing.
Fast, rapid breaths.Excited or nervous.Or both.
"I've called the police," Emma said, her voice coming out higher and thinner than she'd intended."They're on their way.You should leave."
It was a lie, and probably an obvious one, but it was all she had.For a moment, nothing happened.The breathing continued, that strange, rapid sound in the darkness.Then a figure moved into the light.
Emma's first coherent thought was that it wasn't who she'd expected.She'd been imagining some large, threatening man, someone obviously dangerous.But the figure in her hallway was medium-height, wearing dark clothing and a mask that covered most of their face.Only their eyes were visible.
"The files," the figure said.The voice was muffled by the mask."Where are Patricia's files?"
"I don't have them," Emma said automatically."They're encrypted.I can't access them."
"You're lying."The figure took a step closer."Patricia gave them to you.Everyone knows that.You have the backup files."
"I have files I can't open!They're password-protected.I don't know the password."Emma's hands tightened on her phone."Even if I wanted to give them to you, I couldn't."
Another step closer.The breathing was louder now, that rapid, wheezing quality more pronounced.Whoever this was, they were worked up, agitated.That made them more dangerous, more unpredictable.
"Then you're no use to me," the figure said.
Emma saw the knife then.It had been held low, hidden in the shadow of the intruder's body.Now it caught the light—a hunting knife with a blade that looked at least five inches long.
Time seemed to slow.Emma saw the figure shift their weight, preparing to lunge.She saw her own death in that movement, the inevitable conclusion of a pattern that had already claimed two lives.There was nowhere to run.Nothing between her and the attacker except empty air and her grandmother's old coffee table.
The coffee table.And on it, her abandoned cup of tea.
Emma didn't think.She just moved.Her hand shot out and grabbed the ceramic cup, still three-quarters full of hot liquid.As the figure lunged toward her, knife raised, Emma threw the contents directly at his face.
The attacker recoiled with a strangled cry, hands flying up to his face.The knife clattered to the floor.Emma didn't wait to see if the scalding tea had done real damage.She just ran.
She made it to the front door, her fingers fumbling with the deadbolt.Behind her, she could hear the attacker recovering, cursing, stumbling.
The lock wouldn't turn.Her hands were shaking too badly, sweat making her fingers slip on the metal.She could hear footsteps now, heavy and uneven, coming down the hallway toward her.
"No, no, no," Emma whispered, trying again.The deadbolt was stuck, or she was turning it the wrong way, or her panic was making her clumsy.She couldn't tell which.She just knew she had seconds at most before the attacker reached her.
The footsteps were closer now.She could hear that labored breathing right behind her, could almost feel the presence at her back.
Emma's fingers found the lock mechanism one more time.She twisted, pulled, desperate—
And heard the attacker's hand slam against the door beside her head.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The call came at ten-forty PM, just as Kari was finally considering going to bed.
She'd been sitting in her motel room reviewing case notes for the third time that evening, her laptop balanced on her knees, the television muted in the background.The council's refusal still burned in her chest, a frustration that wouldn't let her rest.Two people were dead, and the answers were locked behind encryption and political caution, and there was nothing she could do about it except to keep working the angles they had.
Her phone lit up with Chief Lomayesva's number.
"Blackhorse," she answered, already knowing from the late hour that it wouldn't be good news.
"There's been an incident."
