trembling started deep inside. She hugged herself, her fingers digging into her arms. Images slammed through her. She was afraid to close her eyes, afraid if she did, she’d hear his voice again, calling her Katydid. Telling her that she was going to die.
Her knees weakened beneath her. She was shaking her head slowly, as if in denial. She should have listened! Why hadn’t she listened? As she turned to run, Alec caught her. Intent on escape, she shoved at his chest with her forearms, but he held on.
“Get out of my way!”
Instead of doing as she asked, he tightened his hold.
“I can’t,” he said softly, his voice raw with regret.
Not I won’t, but I can’t.
Suddenly she was holding on to him as she had in the kitchen, her fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, and then releasing their hold. Over and over and over again. As they had earlier, after several seconds, his arms tightened around her, and she found herself locked against his hard body, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
But all she could think about was the room behind her. How if Alec hadn’t asked her out tonight, or had been running late, she might be already dead.
“Come on.” He helped her out to the living room, sat her back down on the couch. The last time he’d sat her here, she’d thought her problems couldn’t get any worse. She’d been wrong.
When he passed it to her, she numbly took the freshly filled water glass, but just held it in her hands, rotating it as if she were suddenly blind and searching desperately for a Braille message on its surface. Some answer as to why this was happening to her.
How had she managed to get herself mixed up with a man like Carlos Bricker? She was cautious where people were concerned—especially since Karen’s death—and her instincts were usually pretty good. So how had Carlos managed to fool her so completely?
And more importantly, why hadn’t he come himself? If he hated her that much, why send someone? She thought she knew why, though. If she turned up dead, Carlos was bound to be a prime suspect. But then again, his new girlfriend might be willing to give him an alibi for the attempted assault of his ex-girlfriend. Carlos could be very charming and persuasive; he could easily convince the new girlfriend that the ex was just out to get him. But when it came to a murder charge, she might not be so willing to provide an alibi. Because new girlfriends eventually became ex-girlfriends. And what went around came around.
She didn’t look up when Alec sat in the chair facing her. She’d told him she was tough. That she could take whatever was in that room. Well, she wasn’t quite that strong.
Katie rubbed her forehead as if the action could erase what she’d seen. It wouldn’t. She suspected she’d be seeing that room in her nightmares for many years to come. Maybe for the rest of her life.
“How much money does it take to buy…to buy someone to do this?” She rotated the glass faster now. It was a stupid question really, but she still found herself wondering what it had cost the creep. Recently, he’d had money problems, so maybe he had even sold some of her paintings to pay for the hit on her.
“Your ex-boyfriend has nothing to do with what happened here tonight.”
It took a second for his words to sink in. When they did, she raised her gaze to his for the second time in seconds. “What are you saying?”
“This nickname. Katydid. Is there anything in your bedroom that has that written on it? The back of a photo? Inscribed on something in your jewelry box? In a book?”
She looked down at her hands, at the dried blood beneath her nails and at the sterling ring on her right hand. She fingered the band. Her sister had given it to her only weeks before her death. The inside was inscribed: To Katydid, My better half. It was the only piece of jewelry she owned with an inscription, and she never removed it.
“Maybe the back of a photo.” She tightened her grip on her hands. “But I don’t understand… Who else would want to harm me?” And then she saw it in Alec’s eyes. “You know who it is? Who did that to my room?” How was that possible?
“Yes.” He was composed. Too composed. Guarded.
“But how can you know who it is?”
Exhaling sharply, he looked away. When he looked back, his expression was even grimmer. “Eleven months ago, while I was still with the Bureau, I came home after two weeks on the road and found my wife murdered. Our bedroom looked exactly like yours does tonight.”
What was he saying? That the man who had killed his wife wanted to kill her? But why? That made no sense. She was shaking with the effort not to cry. Her fingers curled into her arms as she continued to fight for control.
“Why? Why would he come here to kill me?” Of course, she could guess.
Still seated in the chair facing her, Alec held his face in his hands for several seconds, and then, letting out a harsh breath, looked at her again.
Jack walked in at that moment and placed her jewelry box on the coffee table. The box wasn’t the department store variety, but a hand-painted wooden one done by an artist friend. A small chameleon peeked out from beneath the huge red hibiscus bloom covering the top. Now the outside of the box was covered in what looked like copier toner.
Alec slipped on latex gloves before lifting the lid with the end of a pen.
There was a small wad of tip money on top. Probably seventy or eighty dollars at most. He carefully lifted it by the edges and placed it in a plastic bag.
He looked at her. “I need you to go through and tell me if anything is missing.”
Still reeling from what he’d told her, she took the ballpoint he passed. Her fingers were shaking, but with some effort, she managed to steady them.
She had very few pieces of expensive jewelry. An aquamarine ring her parents had given her for her sixteenth, the expensive watch she’d purchased when one of her paintings had finally brought more than a thousand dollars, the gold bracelet her dad had surprised both Katie and her mom with on Valentine’s Day two years before.
She lined them up next to the box. The only other worthwhile piece was the locket. It was usually tangled up in the bird nest at the bottom of the box. She rooted around. When was the last time she’d seen it? She’d worn the gold bracelet last week and the necklace had been here then. She could feel the pressure building in her chest, the sense of her confusion spreading. It had to be here.
In desperation, she used the pen to lift out the wad of cheap necklaces and bracelets. The jewelry landed noisily on the table next to the box.
“Katie?”
“It has to be here!”
“What has to be?”
Calm down. “A locket. It belonged to my grandmother.”
“Any chance you mislaid it?”
“No.” She shook her head. She could feel her palms begin to go clammy. “I only wear it when I get dressed up, and I haven’t since I came here.” She’d planned to wear it tonight. On their date.
Why
