Randy:You just need to dress up tomorrow. You know, you’re not a bad-looking girl.
Randy:Wear a pretty dress, go get your hair done. The other side’s lawyers will appreciate if you put some effort in, give them something nice to look at.
Seriously? This is the worst three thousand dollars I ever spent.
Randy:And maybe you can put a bow or something on your doggie? You two will be a pretty little picture.
Mandy:I’ll be at the Clarke & Turner office early.
Mandy:Glad we’re making progress!
I’m trying notto let the residual panic ruin my night as I head to my car late that evening.
It’s almost over,I remind myself.After tomorrow’s meeting, everything will be fine.
The parking deck is chilly and damp. And empty.
It was another late night with Salinger. Since I hadn’t had any Jaxon sightings in the past several days, I thought it would be safe to leave before my boss for once. I need to be sharp for the meeting tomorrow.
But I wish I hadn’t parked so far away from the exit.
Then I remember—Jaxon mentioned something about the parking deck, right? He’s been watching it. What if he’s just been biding his time, lulling me into a false sense of security, and he’s here now, hiding behind my car like he did the last time?
I freeze for a moment, feeling like a rabbit in an open field just waiting for a hawk to come and swoop me up. All I want is to run back upstairs to the safety of Salinger’s arms.
“You’re being paranoid, crazy, and frankly delusional,” I tell myself, forcing my legs to move. “Salinger had a lapse of judgment on Friday. He drank a lot of whisky. You’re going to your car, and you’re going home.”
Heart pounding, I force myself to jog the rest of the way.
“See?” I tell Pepper when we’re safely inside the locked car. “I’m being irrational. No one is even out here.” I put the key in the ignition, fasten my seat belt, and turn the key.
Turn the key…
Pray to god, then turn the key…
“Crap.”
The terror is overwhelming. I look down at my hands. They’re shaking.
What do I do?
Is the battery dead? Maybe Jaxon sabotaged my car. Maybe he’s about to come over and finish what he started on Friday.
“You have an old car.” I grip the steering wheel, willing my hands to stop trembling. “This is normal. Everything is fine.”
I feel like I’m going to puke.
Do I get out of the car and investigate? Stay in the car like a sitting duck? I’m paralyzed.
Pepper, picking up on my anxiety, fidgets and whines in the passenger seat.
“Pepper, it’s okay.” The reassurance is more for myself than her. “Everything’s going to be—”
The dog growls.
“What the—”
Bang! Bang!
