to run.
Her apartment door opened. “What are you doing here?”
A man’s voice. She didn’t recognize it. She missed the low-murmured response. “Forget it, she’s gone. We’d better go, too.”
Mrs. Nicholson’s dog began yipping in pleasure as animal and owner headed down the main steps from the floor above. The sound covered what the voices were saying.
“…find her. Get inside.”
Her apartment door closed. Alexis pressed the button that would take the decrepit elevator up to the next floor. The old metal doors crawled closed. Sounding as if any second might be its last, the elevator rose with painful slowness.
She stayed pressed against the side until it finally ground to a halt and opened once more. The hall beyond was empty and silent. Alexis pressed every floor, sending it on up, then ran for the back stairs.
But running was bad. Running would attract attention. She mustn’t draw attention. They’d be watching for that. She didn’t know what these people looked like, but it was certain that they would know her. Her car was in the garage down the street. She’d have to walk around the block to get there.
Walk. Don’t run.
They’d expect her to use the back door out of the building since they’d come in the front, so Alexis forced herself to walk down the hall toward the main entrance. She squirmed out of her white summer blazer and folded it over the briefcase as she stepped onto the noisy, dirty street outside.
She welcomed the people moving past, intent on getting home and out of the city heat. The ninety-seven-degree temperature didn’t faze the ice in possession of her body. With each step, she fought the panic screaming inside her head. Panic that urged her to run, urged her to look back to see if she was being followed.
A horn blared so loudly that it made her jump. Balanced on the razor’s edge of hysteria, she averted her head and kept walking. Other horns joined in screaming protest. They weren’t honking at her so it didn’t matter. Let them honk. This was rush hour in New York. Everyone used their horns. Her brain filtered out the noise and kept her moving.
She was deaf with fear by the time she reached the busy garage. It took every bit of strength she had not to break into a run to the safety of her seldom-used car. At each step, she expected to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder—or worse.
She nearly sobbed with relief when she reached her car. Putting down the briefcase, she searched desperately through her purse for the keys. She was shaking hard by the time she found them. The automatic button released the lock. She tossed the briefcase onto the passenger seat and slid inside, locking the doors and slumping down to allow herself the luxury of sitting a few minutes until the worst of her shaking had passed.
When she could manage it, she put the key into the ignition and backed slowly from the narrow parking space. She rarely drove and this was the height of rush hour. Inhaling deeply, she plunged into traffic. Normally a timid driver, she pushed the small car recklessly through the crowded streets until she had no choice but to slow down in the bumper-to-bumper traffic waiting to cross one of the bridges leading out of town.
It didn’t matter which bridge or where she headed. She only needed to leave the city behind. Panic still hovered on the edges of her mind as she followed the flow of traffic until she found herself on an interstate, still in New York state.
She had no idea where to go, what to do. She pictured the faces of friends and acquaintances. How could she drag anyone else into this? She didn’t even know what “this” was all about.
Her father was dead. She didn’t know why or even how. There was no family to turn to. Her mother had been an orphan. Her father had been the only child of elderly parents. If there were cousins, she didn’t know about them. She was totally on her own.
Alexis shuddered. She reached for her jacket and struggled into it as she drove. She was so cold. So scared. She should go to the police. Only, her father hadn’t told her to go to the police, he’d told her to run. Why?
Alexis shot a glance at the briefcase on the seat beside her. She was loath to touch the heavy object again. Like Pandora’s box, opening that briefcase might turn loose the evil that had killed her father.
She tore her gaze away and kept driving until the gas gauge warning light came on. She’d forgotten to fill the tank again. She’d have to stop somewhere. Surely she was safe now. No one could have followed her. Even she didn’t know exactly where she was.
Exhausted, she watched for signs for the next gas station, finally pulling off the road at a rest area. Parking as far from other cars as possible, she sat for a minute trying to decide what to do. She couldn’t just leave her father there. She should call someone.
Who? What could she tell them?
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her seat belt. There was no choice. She had to open the briefcase. Surely the contents would tell her what this nightmare was all about.
Even though she’d parked near the end of the lot, Alexis scanned the area to be sure no one was nearby. If an inanimate object could be evil, surely this briefcase was evil. She had to force her fingers to reach for the locks so she could peer inside.
A scream of protest filled her mind, but never made it past her lips. Beneath a thick manila envelope, the briefcase was filled with stacks of what appeared to be hundred-dollar bills. She closed her eyes tightly, wishing she could make them disappear by thought alone.
What had he done? Dear God, what had he done? Her father didn’t have this kind of money. Only drug dealers or kidnappers had this sort of cash.
Her moan of anguish escaped, shockingly loud in the tense silence of her car.
No wonder he was dead. No wonder someone wanted this case. But where had it come from? Her father wasn’t a drug dealer. He wasn’t a criminal. He worked in the insurance industry.
Money laundering?
Oh, God. She knew nothing about that sort of stuff. Could a criminal launder money through an insurance company? And even if they could, why would her father have this briefcase full of money? He wasn’t a crook, he was her father!
She snapped the case closed and shut her eyes. What was she going to do? Opening her eyes, she stared at the parking lot. What would happen if she simply carried the case over to the large trash can sitting several feet away and left it there? The idea was dangerously tempting.
Except, whoever wanted this case wouldn’t stop looking for her just because she’d thrown it away. No matter where she ran, they’d follow. The money made that a certainty.
There had been an envelope. Maybe the contents of the envelope would tell her what to do, how to get this money back where it belonged. She forced her fingers to reopen the case. Lifting the envelope, she turned it over and stared in horror at the bold printing across the front.
Her eyes burned with the need to cry again, but she’d used up all her tears. Too bad she hadn’t used up the fear, as well. It threatened to consume her at the sight of her name.
She should go to the police right now. It would be best if she didn’t even look inside the envelope. But she knew she would. He had been her father, whatever else he may have been. He had brought this briefcase to her apartment for
