TWENTY-TWO
ONE
“Come on, Old Blue, don’t fail me now!” Shelby Simons turned the key in the ignition of her 1958 Cadillac and prayed that this time, the engine would turn over.
It didn’t, of course.
That would have made her morning just a little too easy.
“Fine. Stay here. I can walk the four blocks to Maureen Lewis’s place,” she grumbled.
She grabbed two large bakery boxes from the backseat and closed Old Blue’s door with a little too much force. She loved the car, but it was as fickle as its original owner, Grandma Beulah, had been.
The scent of chocolate wafted from the boxes as Shelby picked her way across the bakery’s empty parking lot, and her stomach growled. Stupid diet. Eight days of starving herself, and she still could barely fit into the little black dress her sister had sent from Paris.
But Shelby would fit into it before the Spokane Business Association’s black-tie dinner that she’d planned to attend with Andrew Willis.
Andrew, her ex-fiancé, who’d promised her a million dreams and given her nothing but lies.
Now, he’d be attending the function with Stephanie Parsons, and Shelby would be going alone, because there was no way she was going to stay home moping about her newly single status. Sure, she’d been planning a wedding two short months ago, but God had had other plans, and Shelby had to believe they were better than the ones she’d made for herself.
Marriage.
Family.
Forever with someone who loved her.
She sighed, hefting the bakery boxes a little higher and doing her best to ignore the fragrant aroma that drifted from them. Maureen would be pleased with the assortment of pastries Shelby was providing for the early-morning kickoff to Maureen’s birthday bash. She’d invited Shelby to attend the breakfast and the New York shopping spree she and her closest friends were going on afterward, but unlike Maureen, Shelby wasn’t a bestselling true-crime writer with plenty of money to throw around. She had bills to pay and a business to run. Being at the bakery she’d opened five years ago was the only way to do it. Though, she had to admit, flying to New York to shop sounded like a lot more fun.
She walked up South Hill, heading toward 21st Street, the quiet morning making her feel more lonely than usual. Two months, and she was over Andrew. If she were honest, she’d admit that she’d been over him two minutes after she’d caught him kissing Stephanie and broken their engagement. But she still craved the connection she’d had with him, still missed having someone she could call when she was walking up a dark street by herself and felt vulnerable and alone. Not that Andrew would have appreciated an early-morning call, but she’d always thought that once they were married…
She cut the thought off before it could form.
She hadn’t agreed to marry him because she’d thought she could change him. She’d agreed because she’d thought she’d loved him. More importantly, she’d thought he had loved her.
Obviously, she’d been wrong on both counts.
If she’d loved him, her heart would still be broken.
If he’d loved her, he wouldn’t have fallen for Stephanie while he was engaged to Shelby.
Shelby frowned, not sure why she was thinking about Andrew. She had plenty on her plate without worrying about the past. She had three deliveries to make and a car that wouldn’t start. Maybe Maureen would lend her one of the three cars she owned. If Shelby arrived on time. Maureen was a stickler for punctuality, and if Shelby was even a minute late making the 5:20 delivery, Maureen would not be happy.
She picked up her pace. One more block. She could do that in three minutes. Which was exactly how much time she had left. Up ahead, a dark figure bounded around the corner of Maureen’s street, jogging toward Shelby with a swift pace that bordered on a run.
She stepped off the sidewalk as he neared, her heart doing a funny little dance. Dark sunglasses on a nondescript face, a jacket zipped up to his neck, a hood pulled over his hair—he looked like trouble.
Why else would he be wearing sunglasses before dawn?
Why else would he have black leather gloves on his hands?
She fished her cell phone from her apron pocket, knowing the battery was dead and wishing she’d remembered to charge it before a guy who looked like a serial killer jogged by. She pressed the phone to her ear anyway, holding an imaginary conversation and praying he would just keep going.
He did, but she couldn’t shake the fear that shivered along her spine as he turned his head, seemed to look right at her.
Shelby clutched the boxes a little closer, watching his progress as he approached 20th Street.
Should she knock on someone’s door and ask to use a phone?
What would she say if she did?
There’s a guy jogging down South Hill wearing gloves and sunglasses and looking scary didn’t seem all that compelling.
He stopped abruptly, stood in the shadows of the old manor house that some development company was restoring. Turned to face her. He was a block away, but she could feel his eyes behind those dark glasses, feel them staring straight into hers. Her heart thrummed painfully as he took a step toward her.
One step, but she had a feeling he planned to take more.
Terror froze her in place, every nightmare she’d ever had coming true as he took another step.
A car passed, its lights splashing over Shelby, drawing her attention away from the approaching threat for a split second. When she looked back, the man had disappeared.
She wanted to believe he’d turned down 20th Street and gone on his way, but she could still feel his gaze, hot and ugly and terrifying. She stepped back, afraid to turn her back to the unseen threat, worried that he’d be on her before she even knew he was coming.
Never turn your back on a predator.
That’s what Grandma Beulah had always said, but then, Beulah had been a B movie actress and had spent more time in Beverly Hills than the great outdoors. Shelby couldn’t claim to know much more than Beulah had about predators, but she knew that standing around waiting for a creepy jogger to lunge from the shadows wasn’t going to do her any good.
She pivoted and took off, glancing back and seeing nothing. She was still terrified, still sure she could feel him breathing down her neck, and she half expected to be tackled from behind at any second.
