Finally I got myself turned around. As I approached the townhouse, a flash of black fur zipped across the sidewalk.Bruno?He never went outside. He couldn’t get outside. I made sure of that. Traffic flew by on our street at speeds that would mow down a sweet, unsuspecting feline. My heart climbed into my throat as he disappeared down our driveway.
“Bruno! Sweetheart!” I stopped long enough to glance up and see the front door ajar.Aunt Penny must’ve left it open.But that was strange. She knew Bruno liked to slink his way toward freedom. I stopped, uncertain. Maybe I should poke my head inside and make sure she was okay. Then I heard a plaintive meow from the backyard, and I trotted down the driveway instead. “Bruno? Baby, where are you?”
My feet slipped on the loose gravel as I looked left and right.There you are.My fat, fluffy cat sat on the back step, looking up at the kitchen window. “Got outside and scared yourself, huh?”
My thoughts flashed back to the night I’d done the same thing, not too long ago. The night I thought a stranger had cornered me here, when it turned out to be Rafe. My eyes closed in painful longing. What I wouldn’t give to hear his heavy footsteps coming down the walk right now, to see his massive shadow fall over me, to know if I reached out a hand, he’d be there to catch me.
I miss you.
Give me another chance.
Please come back.
Then, without warning, he did.
I heard his footsteps first, then saw his shadow out of the corner of my eye. I turned from where I was petting Bruno, ready to launch myself into his arms with an apology to end all apologies.
“I’m so glad you –”
I didn’t finish.
It wasn’t Rafe.
Instead, the man from the art gallery stood in my driveway, the one who’d been talking to Angela.
The one I’d taken pictures of.
“There you are.” His voice was flat, quiet, certain. Threatening.
“Can I...ah – can I help you?” The words squeaked in my throat.
“Victoria Dare, right?”
My mind whirled. We hadn’t been introduced. If he knew my name, he’d asked Angela or Dani. Or he’d found out some other way.
“I saw you the other night at the gallery. Why were you taking pictures of me?” He paused. “Youweretaking pictures of me, right?”
I put on a confused frown and tried to play it cool. “Ah, no? Don’t think so. Maybe you have me mistaken for someone else.” Without thinking, I reached for my back pocket.
“I’ll take that.” He held out one hand, palm up.
For a second I thought about refusing, or pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about, but that seemed foolish. My heart pounded unevenly, the blood thick in my ears. I pulled my phone from my pocket and gave it to him. He turned it over in his giant palm a couple of times, then dropped it on the ground and stepped on it. Hard enough to make it crunch.
“Just in case you didn’t delete them.”
Fear slid through me. Who was this guy? Maybe he and Angela really were involved, and I’d stumbled upon another illicit affair. Maybe he was a raving lunatic who didn’t like being caught on camera. He took one step toward me, then another, until I was backed against the outside wall of the townhouse.
“I usually require permission when people take my picture.” I caught a faint accent in his voice. Russian? Polish? He ran his fingers along my jaw, gripped my chin, and pulled me close. “But maybe I’ll make an exception in your case.” His thumb rubbed my skin in a grotesque caress. “Did you like what you saw?”
My heart jack-hammered. Was he going to rape me? Kill me? I opened my mouth to scream, but quick as lightning he took my wrist and twisted it at my side. Just enough to send a flare of pain up my arm. Just enough to let me know he was in control. I shut my mouth again.
“Why were you taking my picture?” he repeated. His voice was calm, as if we were having a casual conversation.
Paralyzing fear swept over me now. I was so stupid, thinking I could do this job alone, rolling my eyes at the thought of a bodyguard, badly underestimating the evil of people around me. My new career was over. Quite possibly my life, too, the way this guy was manhandling me. My body would wind up in a dumpster on the seedy side of town, where they’d have to use fragments of my teeth to identify me.
He wiped his mouth and straightened his shirt, and as his jacket moved to one side I saw the gun at his hip. “You should mind your own business,” he said, his voice low and angry.
I stopped breathing. He was going to kill me. Right here in broad daylight.
