Guard-Dog-In-A-Box had looked so promising there on the shelf at the store, but now that she’d lived with her faux protection for a week, she saw just how desperate she’d become to even buy it.
She was cooked meat.
She never should have started researching the underbelly of the beauty-pageant industry. Ever since she’d begun the research a month ago, her life had been turned upside down by someone who didn’t want her writing the story. Jenna had racked her brain trying to figure out who among the people she’d interviewed or spoken with might wish her harm, but no one jumped out as a likely culprit. She hadn’t even uncovered any information that seemed worthy of death threats. But the voice-altered phone calls and the threatening mail had included comments like “back off the story” and “you’re risking your life if you write it.”
Jenna surveyed her apartment, wishing now that she had a roommate, or at least a parakeet. Someone to comfort her and tell her that it wasn’t such a bad thing to get three death threats in the past month. Someone who could also remind her that it was really quite normal to nearly get run down by a car in San Francisco. Two days in a row.
Yes, a roommate would be nice right about now. A roommate, a bodyguard and a really big weapon. But all Jenna had was Guard-Dog-In-A-Box. She resisted the urge to hurl the waste of money across the room and eyed the double locks on the apartment door. If anyone really wanted to get in, they wouldn’t have much trouble. The wood of the door frame was rotting away in places, and the locks looked as if they’d been installed before Jenna was born.
Sure, the front door of her apartment building was supposed to remain locked to nonresidents, but Mrs. Lupinski liked to prop it open for her lovers and the ever anticipated sweepstakes-prize delivery people. Getting buzzed in on the rare occasions it was locked was as easy as claiming to be a pizza delivery guy.
Jenna leaned against the decrepit door and closed her eyes. She let her mind drift to happier days, when home security was the least of her concerns. Only two months ago she’d been a relatively carefree journalist who’d made a decent career of writing for women’s magazines, and she was embarking on the story she was sure would finally turn her career from decent to well paying. No more squeaking by on a paltry freelance income that barely paid the high rent in the city. The beauty-pageant exposé was supposed to be her ticket to success.
When the buzzer on the door sounded, she jumped so hard that Guard-Dog-In-A-Box clattered to the floor and began barking. It sounded about as menacing as tin-can recorded dog barks could sound—that is, not menacing at all.
Her hand shook as she pressed the intercom button and said, “Who is it?”
“Ms. Calvert? My name is Travis Roth. I need to talk to you about your sister, Kathryn. May I come up?”
Kathryn? Jenna stared at the intercom, dumbfounded. She hadn’t heard from or spoken to her twin sister in years. Could this be a ploy someone was using to get inside the building?
“What about her? Just tell me now.”
“I really need to speak with you face-to-face. It’s a sensitive matter.”
A sensitive matter? Did bloodthirsty criminals talk like that?
“Haven’t you ever heard of the telephone?”
“I’ve been trying to call you for days with no answer.”
Oh. Right. She’d unplugged the answering machine after the strange calls started coming in, and finally she’d just stopped answering the phone.
“Look, if you’re here about the pageant story, I don’t have any idea what your problem is with it!”
She turned off the intercom and pushed her sofa against the door, then climbed on top of it and pulled her legs to her chest. She was beginning to think journalism had been the wrong career choice. What she needed was a nice, safe job. Maybe in forestry, or library science.
No, that was just fear talking. She loved her work. She’d always dreamed of being a freelance writer, and now she was one. Was she really such a coward she’d let someone bully her out of writing the truth? Scared as she might be, in her gut, Jenna knew she wasn’t about to stop working on the article.
Fifteen minutes later, she was still sitting in the same spot staring at her chipped toenail polish when she heard Mrs. Lupinski hollering about the whereabouts of her free pizza, a sure sign that the guy with the sensitive matter to discuss had gotten into the building.
Someone knocked at the door, and in spite of herself Jenna jumped again.
“Ms. Calvert, this is urgent. It’s about your sister’s wedding.”
Kathryn was getting married? No surprise there, if he was telling the truth. Her sister had been dreaming of a rich Prince Charming ever since they’d been old enough to date.
“She needs your help.”
“Right, now I know you’re lying. And why isn’t she here asking for my help herself if she needs it?” Kathryn would no sooner ask for Jenna’s help than she would wear a designer knockoff dress.
“I’ll explain, if you’ll just give me a chance.”
“Go away before I call the police!”
She peered through the peephole at him to see his reaction. Yow! What a cutie. Smoky green eyes, sand-colored hair streaked with blond and cut meticulously short, the kind of stern, masculine mouth that begged to be kissed into submission. Not exactly the face of a thug, but what did she know? Maybe criminals were going for the GQ look this year.
“I understand you and Kathryn haven’t spoken in some time, and you didn’t part on friendly terms.”
Okay, somehow he’d found some personal information to make his cover seem authentic. Jenna sank back down on the couch and chewed her lip.
“Jenna, this is really urgent. Open the door.”
She eyed the fire escape. Today was not a good day to die. For one thing, her roots were starting to show, and she had a zit on her chin. She’d look like hell in a casket. Maybe this guy was legit, but she couldn’t afford to find out. It would only be a short drop from the bottom of the fire escape to the ground.
She hopped off the couch, grabbed her backpack purse, slid her feet into the nearest pair of sandals and hurried to the fire-escape window.
The gorgeous maybe-assassin started pounding on the door, and Jenna pushed her window open and squeezed through it. Her breath came out ragged, and she imagined herself in an action movie as she climbed down the fire escape and dangled herself over the bottom edge for the drop. Five feet, no problem. She let go and landed with a thud in the scraggly mess of weeds that made up her building’s backyard vegetation.
Now what? She hadn’t exactly formulated an escape plan. Jenna eyed the tall chain-link fence that surrounded the backyard and tried to envision herself scaling it. No way—she wasn’t risking it unless there were no other options.
If she hurried, she might be able to go out the alleyway to the street and slip away before he realized she wasn’t in her apartment anymore. Jenna hurried to the rusty gate and eased it open, then ran down the alley to the sidewalk.
She’d
