around the front of the building. A couple of patients hurried across the crosswalk that led from the main entrance to the public lot, causing her to slow.
As she waited for them to clear the street, her eyes considered the line of cars they were heading toward. Almost in the center of it, directly in front of the crosswalk, was a black SUV, with someone sitting in the driver’s seat.
Although it was too dark to determine the man’s coloring, there was something eerily familiar about the shape of his head. Something that created a trickle of alarm.
She strained to see through the twilight gloom. As the people who’d been crossing the street passed by the SUV, the man inside turned to look at them. His profile was backlit by the halogen lamp on the main road.
Not only was that close-cropped head familiar, she realized, so was the outline of his nose. She’d noticed it when he’d been in her office. Almost aquiline, it was marred by a slight ridge, indicating that at some time in the past, it had been broken.
A horn sounded behind her, one short tap. She looked into the rearview mirror, recognizing the distinct headlights of the Porsche. Caught up in the realization that the man who’d warned her about being a target of the killer was parked in front of the building, she hadn’t even been aware of the Paul’s approach.
With a last glance at the SUV, she pressed the gas, driving through the crosswalk and on toward the highway. As she did, she tried to decide whether that information tipped the scales in favor of calling the police.
To tell them what? That a man who believed she might be a target of the killer had come to warn her? That he’d been parked outside her building more than an hour after he’d issued that warning?
Neither fact made him a murderer. With all the tips and prank calls she knew would be flooding the hotline the cops had set up, that information would only peg her as another kook coming out of the woodwork.
She glanced in the mirror again, trying to decide if the SUV had pulled out behind her. There was definitely another car behind Paul’s, but the Porsche’s lights were too bright for her to be able to tell anything about its size, much less the make. Maybe when she made the turn out of the office park, she would be able to see the vehicle more clearly.
With that thought, she looked up at the traffic light, which had already turned green. Trying to avoid having Paul blow at her again, she accelerated rapidly, directing the Honda out onto 280.
Merging into the heavy afternoon traffic took a few seconds of complete concentration. By the time she was able to check her mirror again, the Porsche’s headlights were right behind her. The reflection of the crowded intersection beyond them appeared as simply a mass of lights and cars. It was impossible to determine if the one that had followed Paul around the office building had already made the turn.
The line of traffic ahead began to move. Forced to focus on the normal rush hour stop-and-go of the busy thoroughfare, a major artery on this side of town, Jenna was unable to check behind her very frequently. In none of those quick surveys was she able to identify a black SUV.
She took a breath, again trying to put things into perspective. Although she was sure Sean Murphy had been sitting in that SUV, she couldn’t prove he’d been waiting for her. And she couldn’t be sure he’d followed her away from the office park.
All she was sure of right now was that she was becoming paranoid. She’d let some stranger rattle her so badly that she was looking over her shoulder, imagining that someone was stalking her.
She’d bought into the hysteria that had been growing in this town since the suggestion was first made that the three local murders might be connected. Now that they had been officially, the nutcases were starting to surface.
Including the one who’d shown up at your door today.
She often told patients that their fears had only the power they gave them. Right now she was giving far too much credence to one man’s opinion. Even if the killer had heard what she’d said, the idea that it would cause him to target her was so far-fetched she should refuse to spend another second worrying about it.
She was approaching the intersection where she would exit onto the road that would eventually take her up the crest of the mountain to her apartment. She concentrated on the promise of a long, hot bath, followed by a stiff drink and some mindless television.
She wouldn’t watch the news. She would put this negative merry-go-round out of her mind and get on with her life. She was no more likely to be a target than any other dark-haired woman in Birmingham. And she couldn’t even venture a guess how many of those there might be.
Jenna slowed for the red light, glancing to her left to check for oncoming traffic before she made her turn. As she waited for a couple of cars to clear the intersection, she unthinkingly allowed her gaze to drift to a car pulling up beside hers.
Her recognition of its driver was instantaneous. Although she couldn’t see their color, she could feel the intensity of those blue eyes. Fear jolted through her chest, as powerful as if Sean Murphy had pointed a gun at her.
He nodded before he turned to look out his windshield. Apparently the light had changed in the seconds he’d held her gaze because he put the SUV into motion immediately, moving past her car and on through the intersection. Paralyzed by a combination of disbelief and dismay, she watched until his taillights became indistinguishable in the string of red that stretched out in front of her.
At some point she became aware of the blare of horns behind her, their cacophony not nearly so patient as Paul’s quick honk had been. Hurriedly she made the turn, hands trembling on the wheel.
Only when she had reached the peace of the narrow street that led to the apartment complex overlooking the city did she begin to calm down. As the noise of traffic faded behind her, so did the burst of terror she’d felt when the SUV had eased up beside her.
Coincidence, she told herself. Even if it weren’t, it would have been easy enough for him to find out her home address. She was listed in the phone book as J. Kincaid, not exactly a reach for anyone of normal intelligence. And obviously not the smartest decision she’d ever made.
That listing had been done before she’d finished her Ph.D. and gone into practice. Although it could be rectified—and it would—it was too late to do anything about it in this case.
Too late. The words had a finality to them she didn’t like. Or want to accept. She would call in the morning and get her number unlisted in the next book. Right now…
Right now she was home. And there had been no headlights coming up the street behind her.
She pulled into one of the vacant parking places in front of her unit and turned off the engine. Music drifted out into the night from inside one of the apartments. Mannheim Steamroller. One of their Christmas albums.
Peace on Earth.
Except not tonight. Despite the Jack Daniel’s and the long, hot bath she’d promised herself, Jenna knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Everything would run through her head like a videotape on high speed. All she’d read or heard about the murders. The descriptions of the victims. What Sean Murphy had said.
Those were the things that would reverberate over and over again. The accusation that she’d fed the killer’s fantasy of his own importance. That she’d been sympathetic. The
