mean the difference between life and death." He stopped abruptly, an embarrassed look on his face. "I guess I'm on my soap box, again. I'm sorry."
"No, this time I'm the one who should be sorry," she said. "I've got to learn when to quit." Adrenaline still pumped through her veins. The fight or flight syndrome. "I'm so wide awake, I'll never get to sleep tonight."
"Want to take advantage of your insomnia?"
"How?"
"Take a trip to Grafton's apartment and see what we can find? Since you knew his habits, you'll be a big help. And you can fill me in on what he was really like."
The grisly scene of the last time she'd seen Milton replayed in her head. Andrea hesitated. Then again, she was wide-eyed and sleep wouldn't come until the terror wore off. Someone had been following her. Of that she was certain.
But why?
What did he want?
Did he want to kill her, too? If that was the case, she was better off with the cop. Maybe they could find something of value.
Andrea glanced at Krastowitcz. Engrossed in his driving, he was oblivious to her. His chiseled jaw clenched firmly, he seemed stubborn and opinionated. The guy wasn't really so bad, a bit rough around the edges, but there was something. . .. Maybe it was the way his thick black hair curled around his ears, or the way he'd shown up at just the right time.
"Okay," she said. "I'll help, if I can. I won't get any sleep at home." In the safety of Krastowitcz' presence, her fear gave way to fatigue. She leaned back into the soft vinyl seat and closed her eyes.
DAMN! HE'D waited in the drenching Omaha heat for hours, in the heat, aching for her to leave the restaurant.
That bitch. Did she know anything?
His hand shook. He'd been so close. He almost had her. Almost. But he hadn't dared any closer. What was she up to, now? She was always nosing around where she didn't belong. That guy. He'd seen him around. Why'd he have to show up?
He'd have to leave her alone, sometime. That's when he'd make his move.
Did she have the journal?
She was guilty of something. She had to be. And he was going to find out exactly what. Milton always told her every-thing. Everything in that twisted mind of his. Had he taken pictures of her, too?
She'd kept glancing back, trying to discern him in the shadows, but she couldn't see; he was too far hidden in the darkness. The cigarette had been a nice touch. No one knew he smoked.
He knew that scared her from the way she sucked on her inhaler. Maybe he could frighten her more, get close enough to terrorize her, like Milton had been.
Then, maybe he'd hurt her, just a little. Then she'd come up with that journal.
APPROACHING TRENTON'S apartment, an unusual, nervous tremor skated up Suzanne's spine. She knocked and the door opened into a candle-lit room filled with large pillows strewn about the floor.
"Hey, Suzanne, come on in," Trenton said.
The delicious scent of Polo filled her nostrils and she brushed past him. Could she wait until after dinner to bury her face in his neck? "Hope I'm not late."
"Nope, just opening the wine." Trenton's fingers grazed her bare arm, inviting her in. Suzanne sensed his eyes following her. Appraising her skin-tight electric blue dress, he smiled. "Wear that just for me?"
"No one else."
"Sit down, dinner's almost ready."
Suzanne couldn't believe her luck. A gorgeous guy who cooked, too. Trenton served her like she was a queen. A shiver snaked its way down her spine, resting near her groin. She could get involved with this man too easily.
"Mmmm," she said between bites. "What is this?"
"My mama's special stuffed manicotti with Venetian sauce, a family specialty handed down from generation to generation."
"Sure."
Suzanne figured he had the meal sent in, probably Trentino's, but she
"No, this time I'm the one who should be sorry," she said. "I've got to learn when to quit." Adrenaline still pumped through her veins. The fight or flight syndrome. "I'm so wide awake, I'll never get to sleep tonight."
"Want to take advantage of your insomnia?"
"How?"
"Take a trip to Grafton's apartment and see what we can find? Since you knew his habits, you'll be a big help. And you can fill me in on what he was really like."
The grisly scene of the last time she'd seen Milton replayed in her head. Andrea hesitated. Then again, she was wide-eyed and sleep wouldn't come until the terror wore off. Someone had been following her. Of that she was certain.
But why?
What did he want?
Did he want to kill her, too? If that was the case, she was better off with the cop. Maybe they could find something of value.
Andrea glanced at Krastowitcz. Engrossed in his driving, he was oblivious to her. His chiseled jaw clenched firmly, he seemed stubborn and opinionated. The guy wasn't really so bad, a bit rough around the edges, but there was something. . .. Maybe it was the way his thick black hair curled around his ears, or the way he'd shown up at just the right time.
"Okay," she said. "I'll help, if I can. I won't get any sleep at home." In the safety of Krastowitcz' presence, her fear gave way to fatigue. She leaned back into the soft vinyl seat and closed her eyes.
DAMN! HE'D waited in the drenching Omaha heat for hours, in the heat, aching for her to leave the restaurant.
That bitch. Did she know anything?
His hand shook. He'd been so close. He almost had her. Almost. But he hadn't dared any closer. What was she up to, now? She was always nosing around where she didn't belong. That guy. He'd seen him around. Why'd he have to show up?
He'd have to leave her alone, sometime. That's when he'd make his move.
Did she have the journal?
She was guilty of something. She had to be. And he was going to find out exactly what. Milton always told her every-thing. Everything in that twisted mind of his. Had he taken pictures of her, too?
She'd kept glancing back, trying to discern him in the shadows, but she couldn't see; he was too far hidden in the darkness. The cigarette had been a nice touch. No one knew he smoked.
He knew that scared her from the way she sucked on her inhaler. Maybe he could frighten her more, get close enough to terrorize her, like Milton had been.
Then, maybe he'd hurt her, just a little. Then she'd come up with that journal.
APPROACHING TRENTON'S apartment, an unusual, nervous tremor skated up Suzanne's spine. She knocked and the door opened into a candle-lit room filled with large pillows strewn about the floor.
"Hey, Suzanne, come on in," Trenton said.
The delicious scent of Polo filled her nostrils and she brushed past him. Could she wait until after dinner to bury her face in his neck? "Hope I'm not late."
"Nope, just opening the wine." Trenton's fingers grazed her bare arm, inviting her in. Suzanne sensed his eyes following her. Appraising her skin-tight electric blue dress, he smiled. "Wear that just for me?"
"No one else."
"Sit down, dinner's almost ready."
Suzanne couldn't believe her luck. A gorgeous guy who cooked, too. Trenton served her like she was a queen. A shiver snaked its way down her spine, resting near her groin. She could get involved with this man too easily.
"Mmmm," she said between bites. "What is this?"
"My mama's special stuffed manicotti with Venetian sauce, a family specialty handed down from generation to generation."
"Sure."
Suzanne figured he had the meal sent in, probably Trentino's, but she
Similar Books
