against the wall, far away from him. “You’re not—”
“Sane?” I piped in helpfully as I moved across the room.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I need some aspirin. Probably a beer. You’re damn scary, El.”
Aspirin and a beer. My heart thudded hard against my breastbone, the pain sharp. How simple for him to eliminate me from his life.
I pushed the door open, turned to face him. “Bye, Mitch.”
Ten
I escaped to the safety of my Bug just as tears slipped down my cheeks and the frustrated scream that had been clawing at my throat escaped. A couple good swipes at the steering wheel and I felt better. No wonder I hadn’t dated anyone for over a year. I blew my nose, started the engine, and gave an apologetic pat to the dashboard.
Home. Safe. I pulled on my baggiest blue jeans and a soft, scoop-necked shirt. The strappy sandals stayed. Sexy shoes rival chocolate for healing a battered heart—and calming down a pissed off redhead.
The first bite of Dublin Mudslide melted on my tongue, rich chocolate spread across my palate and I inhaled a sweet, calming breath. Oh, yeah. Much better. I finished the entire carton with a satisfied lip-lick and promised myself a healthy dinner. Or not.
After I sent the last of my afternoon clients on their way, I picked up paper and pen with the intention of facing my own demons. I needed closure on my confrontation with Mitch, and writing a letter to myself from his perspective would be a good way to wrap things up, as well as keep me true to my rule of applying client assignments to my life. When I finished, I dropped it in the mailbox for pick up. Somehow, it seemed necessary to get it out of the house before I moved on to the next step. Figuring out why Tony was murdered.
It wasn’t like I had a choice—not after seeing the images of his death. Not after he sent them to me. That was the biggie. Creepy as it was, it established a bond between us and I needed to honor that. To stand for him. It would be easier if I had a clue what to look for, but the universe had kicked me out of my hermit-hood, and since I didn’t want the dawn wake-up-in-a-cold-sweat phenomena to start again, I’d have to trust in divine intervention for answers.
The killing I’d witnessed wasn’t professional (according to television). Scary yes, but truth: Shaved Head and Pudgy were not the elite of the criminal set, so it had to be something personal, something they wanted to take care of themselves. I jotted down a few questions, hoping to clear my head some. What did Tony know? Whose toes was he stepping on? Why didn’t he fight back?
From the storyboard, I made another list: Diamonds, Cats, New York. It was clear that the picture of the camera and the surrounding storm had to do with the photographs and subsequent events.
And I knew exactly what I had to do next.
The timing was perfect. Tony’s neighborhood would be settled in for the night, too comfortable to notice me checking out the area. I slipped into the nifty black outfit that was becoming an indispensable part of my wardrobe. It helped to calm my nerves, because hey, I didn’t have a plan per se, just thought I’d drive around Tony’s neighborhood and see if anything caught my attention.
Not that I was planning to break into his house again. Really I wasn’t. For one thing, Violet refused to teach me how to use those clever little tools. Then there was the illegal thing. But mostly it was because no one in their right mind would expose said mind to that kind of abuse a second time. I did, however, want to stroll around the neighborhood, and inconspicuously touch anything that registered on my intuitive radar.
The drive was a flash of slow motion that ended with me parking in the hotel lot before I realized I’d covered the distance across town. I got out of the car, locked it, and made my way across the lot. This was a stupid idea, El. Go home where you belong. You should go back to hiding from life and let Violet
“Sane?” I piped in helpfully as I moved across the room.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I need some aspirin. Probably a beer. You’re damn scary, El.”
Aspirin and a beer. My heart thudded hard against my breastbone, the pain sharp. How simple for him to eliminate me from his life.
I pushed the door open, turned to face him. “Bye, Mitch.”
Ten
I escaped to the safety of my Bug just as tears slipped down my cheeks and the frustrated scream that had been clawing at my throat escaped. A couple good swipes at the steering wheel and I felt better. No wonder I hadn’t dated anyone for over a year. I blew my nose, started the engine, and gave an apologetic pat to the dashboard.
Home. Safe. I pulled on my baggiest blue jeans and a soft, scoop-necked shirt. The strappy sandals stayed. Sexy shoes rival chocolate for healing a battered heart—and calming down a pissed off redhead.
The first bite of Dublin Mudslide melted on my tongue, rich chocolate spread across my palate and I inhaled a sweet, calming breath. Oh, yeah. Much better. I finished the entire carton with a satisfied lip-lick and promised myself a healthy dinner. Or not.
After I sent the last of my afternoon clients on their way, I picked up paper and pen with the intention of facing my own demons. I needed closure on my confrontation with Mitch, and writing a letter to myself from his perspective would be a good way to wrap things up, as well as keep me true to my rule of applying client assignments to my life. When I finished, I dropped it in the mailbox for pick up. Somehow, it seemed necessary to get it out of the house before I moved on to the next step. Figuring out why Tony was murdered.
It wasn’t like I had a choice—not after seeing the images of his death. Not after he sent them to me. That was the biggie. Creepy as it was, it established a bond between us and I needed to honor that. To stand for him. It would be easier if I had a clue what to look for, but the universe had kicked me out of my hermit-hood, and since I didn’t want the dawn wake-up-in-a-cold-sweat phenomena to start again, I’d have to trust in divine intervention for answers.
The killing I’d witnessed wasn’t professional (according to television). Scary yes, but truth: Shaved Head and Pudgy were not the elite of the criminal set, so it had to be something personal, something they wanted to take care of themselves. I jotted down a few questions, hoping to clear my head some. What did Tony know? Whose toes was he stepping on? Why didn’t he fight back?
From the storyboard, I made another list: Diamonds, Cats, New York. It was clear that the picture of the camera and the surrounding storm had to do with the photographs and subsequent events.
And I knew exactly what I had to do next.
The timing was perfect. Tony’s neighborhood would be settled in for the night, too comfortable to notice me checking out the area. I slipped into the nifty black outfit that was becoming an indispensable part of my wardrobe. It helped to calm my nerves, because hey, I didn’t have a plan per se, just thought I’d drive around Tony’s neighborhood and see if anything caught my attention.
Not that I was planning to break into his house again. Really I wasn’t. For one thing, Violet refused to teach me how to use those clever little tools. Then there was the illegal thing. But mostly it was because no one in their right mind would expose said mind to that kind of abuse a second time. I did, however, want to stroll around the neighborhood, and inconspicuously touch anything that registered on my intuitive radar.
The drive was a flash of slow motion that ended with me parking in the hotel lot before I realized I’d covered the distance across town. I got out of the car, locked it, and made my way across the lot. This was a stupid idea, El. Go home where you belong. You should go back to hiding from life and let Violet
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