Set the Night on Fire by Libby Fischer Hellmann Page B

this.”
    “Miss . . . what I’m trying to tell you is . . . ”
    “Listen.” The cop in the driver’s seat finally spoke up. “If you feel someone’s after you, get yourself some protection. A bodyguard, something like that . . . ”
    Lila gazed from one cop to the other. “So that’s it? As far as you’re concerned, it’s over?”
    The cop with the pen shook his head. “We’ll file a report. Beyond that . . . well . . . I’m sorry.” He didn’t look it.
    The cop who brought her coffee got out and opened the door. He walked her to the parking lot. They exchanged cool farewells.
    She got in her car, pulled out, and cut over to Lake Shore Drive. She was a financial manager. She’d never had a brush with the law; she’d never even been stopped for speeding. Yet, since she’d come back to Chicago, a fire had killed her family; a man followed her on State Street; she thought she’d been followed in Evanston; and now someone was shooting at her. And she had no one to turn to. Even Val was away. She was alone.
    Except for the man who’d fallen on top of her. She glanced out at Lake Michigan. Long fingers of ice extended from the shore, surrendering to the dark, turbulent water. He was somewhere out there, white gym shoes and all. He hadn’t hurt her, and she’d seen the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. He probably wasn’t the motorcycle rider’s accomplice. But how was it he’d been walking down the street at the precise moment a gun was pointed at her? If he really was a good Samaritan, why didn’t he stick around and let her thank him? 
    She gripped the wheel. The heater was blasting, but she shivered. Tonight wasn’t just a dog snuffling in the garbage. What if the man on the motorcycle knew where she lived? Could he be there, waiting for her?  Maybe she shouldn’t go back to Danny’s. But where else could she go? She’d become a target. And she had no idea why.
    She remembered the movie Signs . She’d gone to see it right after she moved to New York. The first half of the film had fascinated her, and she’d concluded the most terrifying thing in the world was to be pursued by someone you couldn’t identify, for a reason you didn’t understand. In the movie, though, once they discovered the enemy was simply your run-of-the-mill aliens, the story became dull, even tedious.
    She wished she’d be that lucky.
     
    * *
     
    Lila did go back to Danny’s, but the first action she took when she got there was to take out all the knives and lay them on the counter. Just in case. She checked the phone to make sure it was working. Locked and unlocked the door several times.
    She wrapped herself in a dark blue terrycloth robe that belonged to Danny. It still carried the faint scent of Aramis. She grabbed a bottle of bourbon in the kitchen, poured a drink, and tossed it down. It burned her throat, but a few minutes later, a welcome sensation of warmth seeped through her, and she thought she might be able to focus on something else. She ought to try. Distraction would do her good.
    She sat down at Danny’s computer, turned it on, and entered the name “Dar Gantner” into Google. She blinked in surprise. The listing of websites and links stretched over ten pages. She started to read.
    Dar Gantner had grown up in Hamtramck, a working-class suburb of Detroit. His father was a shop steward at Ford, his mother a housewife until his father lost his job during a UAW strike. Then she went to work at a paint factory.
    Dar was a good student. He was a National Merit Scholar, and in the fall of 1967, he entered the University of Michigan on a full scholarship. The same year as her father, Lila realized. That must have been where they met.
    Dar majored in history but apparently spent most of his time protesting the Vietnam War. In the fall of his freshman year he went to Washington to demonstrate at the Pentagon. By spring, he’d become one of the campus leaders for the Mobilization to End the