control over his emotions must have slipped. When he looked up from the table, he found Newcomb staring at him, that strange triumphant glow in his eyes. “So you’ll do it?”
Say no.
The words came automatically.
“I’ll do it.”
Ross didn’t know who he’d been trying to convince otherwise. Deep down, though part of him never would admit it, he wanted to do this. He hadn’t been able to do anything for Jed when it mattered, hadn’t been able to save his life, hadn’t been able to see to it that the man responsible paid. But he could do this. This was what he was good at, what Jed had taught him to do. It only seemed right that his specialty be put to use to capture the man who’d killed Jed.
If he was completely honest with himself, he might admit he was looking forward to getting back into the game. Peace could be damned boring.
“You know, Newcomb, you didn’t say anything about bringing him back in one piece.”
Newcomb grinned slowly. “As long as there’s enough of him to stand trial, he’s all yours.”
Chapter Two
“Good night, Connie,” Mr. Mortimer said, holding the door of the pharmacy open to let her pass. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good night,” the woman he knew as Connie Baker echoed softly. She stepped past him onto the rain-slicked street, but try as she might, she couldn’t force herself to repeat the latter sentiment.
She wouldn’t be in to work tomorrow or ever again. By morning, she would be far from Chicago, leaving no trace of her short time here and Mr. Mortimer to wonder what had happened to his young cashier. Connie Baker would cease to exist, just another name to be discarded and never used again, like all the others. Beth Roberts. Lisa Greene. Allie Freeman. Just another woman who disappeared, never to be seen again, while another woman appeared out of nowhere in another place.
She didn’t know why it was so hard to tell one more lie to a man she’d been dishonest with from the beginning. He didn’t know her real name; he didn’t know her past. He knew nothing about her but the carefully crafted story she’d chosen to tell him, and not one bit of it the truth.
Still, there was something about having her final words to him be yet another lie, even if she was the only one who would know. He’d been exceptionally good to her when she’d thought herself hardened against even the slightest human kindness. Louis Mortimer had owned his pharmacy in this neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago for forty years while raising three children here with his late wife, Marie. He’d given her a chance and asked few questions, sensing she was running from something.
It didn’t seem right to leave without saying something. Nothing to tip him off now of course, but something he could consider later and know she hadn’t meant to deceive him.
She started to turn back. “Mr. Mortimer—”
A rumble of thunder, either a remnant of the storm that had passed through that afternoon or a harbinger of a new one moving in, drowned out her words. By the time it passed, he’d already closed the door. One by one the interior lights flickered off, leaving her alone outside in the dark.
A wave of sadness crashed over her. She didn’t know why. He wasn’t the first person she hadn’t had a chance to say a proper goodbye to. She knew better than to think he would be the last.
The thunder came again, far too quickly after the last rumble for comfort’s sake. She lifted her face up to the sky in time to see a jagged bolt of lightning streak across the velvet darkness. There was no mistaking it. Another storm was moving in. Another reason for her to hurry, and she already had enough of those. Pushing her melancholy thoughts to the back of her mind, she began to walk.
Fog rolled across the street, obscuring the other businesses closed for the night. Perfect weather for Halloween, she thought, with the holiday two weeks away. It was less than perfect for her already frayed nerves.
She moved quickly, chased by a cold wind that bit into her too-thin coat and chilled her to the bone. She didn’t worry about bumping into anyone. There were few people on the street at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night. Other than the bar halfway down the block, none of the businesses on the strip were open this late.
Mr. Mortimer had often worried about her walking alone at night and had offered to walk her home. She’d done her best to convince him she’d be fine. She wasn’t worried about being out by herself. With the sheer number of people who were looking for her, the idea that she would fall victim to a simple mugging defied belief.
Tonight, though, she couldn’t help the feeling of unease that clawed up her spine and had her peering through the murky grayness and searching the shadows more thoroughly than usual for any sign of harm. She was more aware of the danger than ever before. It seemed to surround her, closing in like the fog with each passing moment.
She’d been following Chastain’s trial, reading the New York papers at the nearest branch of the Chicago Public Library every couple of days. Just that morning she’d learned that Roy Taylor had skipped town two weeks before the trial was set to begin, and she knew why.
He was coming after her. She doubted he would have taken such a drastic step if he hadn’t picked up her trail. And that meant she had to get out of Chicago ASAP.
She passed the bar, too lost in her thoughts to notice the noise and the lights coming from inside. She should have left as soon as she read the story, which had already been a few days old. She knew that now. At the time the risk of staying one more day had seemed worth it. She needed her last week’s pay. The amount she had tucked away in her apartment would get her out of town, but not far enough that he wouldn’t be able to find her again—and soon. So she’d made the decision to linger just one more night.
She just had to hope it wasn’t a decision she ended up paying for.
She didn’t know exactly what warned her. It could have been a shadow shifting where there should have been nothing, or the soft scrape of shoes against pavement on what should have been a deserted street. All that mattered was that she suddenly knew she wasn’t alone.
Someone was following her.
Her heart lurched in her chest. She forced herself to keep her steps even, as steady as they’d been before that moment of intuition. There was no way to tell how far away he was or where exactly he was lurking. Still, she struggled to listen over the pounding of her heart. Even the slightest sound offered a vital clue to her pursuer’s location.
He was behind her.
How far?
Five feet?
Ten?
It was impossible to tell. He could be on her back in an instant.
The only advantage she had was that he didn’t know she was aware of his presence. He planned to catch her off guard. Her only chance was to do the same to him first.
Her mind raced through every option. Then she remembered. There was an alley up ahead, maybe only fifteen steps away. She couldn’t see it now, hidden in the gloom. But she knew it was there. He didn’t. That would make all the difference.
In
