success goes to your head, check your voice mail. Your phone rang off the hook while you were in with Stu.”
Violet pulled the receiver to her ear and punched the message button.
He had her at hello.
No mistaking Clay West’s voice or the ripple of excitement that tingled down her neck. Something about the way he enunciated each syllable clearly and distinctly sent a mental five-by-seven glossy to hang in the recesses of her brain. Tall, dark and dangerous was the image that came to mind.
Now, here he was on her answering machine, saying they needed to talk. Not once, but three times. If the man had any fault, likely it was impatience.
Jimmy peeked over her shoulder at her computer screen. “Good grief, Violet, is that the same Web site from our college days?”
She minimized the page, but that didn’t stop Jimmy.
“After all this time, do you seriously think someone will come forward with information about your Aunt Lettie’s murder? Weren’t you six when she died?”
“I was seven,” Violet corrected. So young, yet she still felt responsible for her aunt’s death. If only she’d had the courage to run after her that night, Lettie might still be alive. Instead, fear had overpowered Violet. She’d returned to the security of her home and had never seen her aunt alive again.
“The cops couldn’t find the killer. Doubtful you’ll have better luck.” Tenacious to a fault, he did the math on his fingers. “It’s been what? Eighteen years?”
“Jimmy, let it go.”
He leaned close to her ear. “I will if you stop with the Mafia story. I heard what Stu said. You’re doing it again, Vi. Stepping on toes. Going against authority. It could cost you your job.”
“Would you please back off?” Even friendship had boundaries and recently Jimmy was stepping a little too close to the line.
Her phone rang. She pulled the receiver to her ear. “Kramer.”
“Violet, it’s Clay West. I was wondering if we could talk, perhaps this evening. I’m not sure you understood the urgency of what I told you the other night when you called. You’re getting involved in something you shouldn’t be. We could discuss it over—”
Violet looked up at Jimmy, who failed to get the message to back off. As much as she wanted to talk to Clay, she didn’t need to listen to a third lecture in one day. Especially with Jimmy hovering close by.
“I’m afraid this isn’t a good time.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ll call you back.”
Violet disconnected and glared up at the guy who refused to take a hint. “Goodbye, Jimmy.”
“Later.” Turning on his heel, he sauntered back to his desk that sat five rows closer to Stu’s office.
Violet groaned. Because of Jimmy, she’d hung up on the very person who could provide information about the Martino family.
She made a mental note to call Clay as soon as she got home from work. Maybe they could smooth out the rough edges of their rather tenuous relationship. She’d enjoy being on firmer footing with the handsome and mysterious cop.
Violet transferred data for the revised article Stu wanted on the local police department on to her flash drive, as well as the information she’d compiled on the murdered women in Witness Protection.
Pulling her coat tight, Violet left the Plaza Complex hours later and made her way to the now-empty parking deck, her breath hanging in the frosty February air. Her car sat in the last row, farthest from the door, another sign of her standing at the Daily News.
She slid behind the wheel of her Mini Cooper, exited on to the main thoroughfare and snaked her way across town to the older neighborhood where she lived.
A crescent moon hung in the night sky, casting a band of light over the mountains that wrapped around the city. The stark beauty of God’s creation wasn’t lost on her this night despite the lousy day she’d had at the paper. Violet loved Montana’s fertile valleys and snow-covered mountaintops. Perhaps God had known what she’d needed two years ago when she failed to land the job at the Gazette. Undoubtedly, He was guiding her path even now. Hopefully, something good would come from all her hard work.
Please, God, make it happen.
Turning on to her street, Violet angled into the alleyway and parked in the freestanding garage situated at the rear of her property.
Leaving the warmth of the car, she tugged the coat collar up around her neck and hastened along the cement walk to the mailbox out front.
Glancing up and down the empty street, Violet grabbed the stack of bills and shivered, not from the cold but from an immediate sense of foreboding. Usually she had nerves of steel. Tonight her steel had turned to rubber.
She clutched the mail tightly in her hand, mildly comforted by the rhythm of her footfalls along the sidewalk, as if the sound could spook away the unwelcome and unwanted sliver of concern that shimmied down her spine.
Moonlight spilled over the rear of the house, but the front remained cloaked in darkness. Stopping short at the bottom of the porch steps, Violet noticed for the first time how the windowpanes, huge squares of opaque blackness, stared back at her like faceless gargoyles, taunting her for her foolish fear.
She should have left on a light.
A stiff wind blew at Violet’s back, causing her hair to billow around her face. She yanked the flyaway strands into submission and climbed the stairs.
The sound of a car engine broke the silence. Headlights turned on to her street. Violet’s neck tingled a warning.
She jammed her key into the lock then glanced back as the car slowed. The driver’s face, hidden in shadow, stared in her direction.
Violet turned the key, seeking the protection of her home. The door inched open, and she slipped into the dark interior.
A floorboard creaked. She glanced toward the kitchen.
A hooded, bulky form stood backlit in moonlight.
Violet screamed.
The man opened the back door and disappeared into the night.
Heart pounding like a snare drum, Violet dug for the cell phone in her purse. Her fingers trembled as she clutched the cold metal. Before she tapped in 911, a rustling sounded on the porch behind her.
Warm breath fanned her neck and a hand touched her shoulder.
Violet pivoted, ready to strike, and screamed once again.
TWO
“Violet, it’s Clay West.”
She stared at him, her eyes wide, limbs shaking.
“What happened?” he asked.
She
