No Footprints by Susan Dunlap Page B

It was. ‟And you didn’t find that alarming?”
    He shrugged. ‟We leave it that way. Otherwise . . . I forgot to open it this morning. Almost didn’t hear you ringing the bell. Before—a couple weeks ago—UPS tried three times and I never heard them. And that was about a computer I was waiting for.”
    I braced myself against the couch. Had I misjudged this guy? I had to make him believe I could still kick ass if I had to, but it was taking everything in me to do it. ‟Look, there are two of us, alone here, and someone hit me.”
    â€ŸWhy would I—”
    â€ŸWhy would anyone?” The bagpipes let up. The sudden lack of noise buffetted my ears.
    Why would anyone attack me? Who knew I was here?
    Oh, shit!
    I couldn’t call the cops. I sure couldn’t admit this to anyone in my family. In for a lamb, in for mutton stew.

    Don’t assume, Leo was always telling me. Odds were on Declan Serrano, but Tessa’s roommate was right here. Still, why would he attack me? We were strangers; our only connection was her.
    Maybe I wasn’t the target at all. ‟Did anyone ever threaten Tessa?”
    â€ŸNah. Why would they?”
    â€ŸPeople get threatened.”
    â€ŸYeah, but like dealers or pimps or smugglers.”
    â€ŸThere are stalkers.
    He laughed, actually laughed. ‟Listen, no one’s going to go after Tessa. Guys aren’t fighting over her; they don’t know she’s there. She could be hot, but, trust me, she’s not. Makes no effort.”
    I was having trouble listening. I’d started feeling queasy.
    â€Ÿ She doesn’t get out enough to piss anyone off. Like, her cell never rings. Living with her is the closest thing to living alone. Days go by without me even seeing her.”
    I let myself slump onto the couch proper and lean, thankfully, against the back. ‟Did she say anything about the guy she worked for?”
    â€ŸWe don’t talk much.”
    â€ŸYou live together.”
    He glanced at the room. ‟Not really. I mean we both have to live here, so we do. We’re polite. But shoot the breeze? No. There are times I’ve passed her on the street and she hasn’t bothered to say hello. Why should she? We’re both in the kitchen here and we don’t say hello.”
    I was watching for signs of unease or one of those odd tics liars have, but there was something else in his manner. ‟You don’t talk much. Talk some, though, right? She said something a bit odd, right? Maybe a guy less perceptive would’ve missed it, but it made you what? Suspicious? Uneasy?”

    â€ŸDon’t fucking patronize me, like not keeping my eye on her means there’s something wrong with me.” He flung the rest of his sandwich toward a trash can, watched it wobble on the edge and fall to the floor.
    â€ŸCome on!” I pressed harder. ‟There was.”
    â€ŸOkay, yeah. She called me.”
    â€ŸShe had your cell number?”
    â€ŸAnd I had hers. You know, like just in case. Like I could check to see if she’d be home when the UPS guy came. I mean, even with the door open they don’t go sticking boxes inside. A couple times I ordered a pizza on the way home and needed her to pay for it.”
    â€ŸConvenient for you.”
    â€ŸThat’s what my girlfriend said. And yeah, it’s true. But I paid her back and she didn’t complain.”
    â€ŸBut once she did call you.”
    â€ŸYeah, and it was odd in itself. It’s the only time.”
    â€ŸWhen was that?”
    â€ŸThree days ago. She called. I didn’t pick up. I was at my girlfriend’s and I forgot the phone. So I didn’t check messages until I got back here.”
    â€ŸWhat’d she say?”
    â€ŸNothing. I mean, nothing that mattered. ‛Call me.’ Something like that. But here’s the odd thing. She didn’t use her own phone. I didn’t recognize the number and