Shadowkiller by Wendy Corsi Staub Page B

out yet on video, and she’d already seen Stir of Echoes , the only other recent thriller they had in stock. So she’d settled on a romantic comedy, deciding she might as well live vicariously through Julia Roberts. It wouldn’t be the first time.
    And she wouldn’t be the only one, according to Luis, who was a huge Julia fan.
    â€œWhat woman wouldn’t want to be Julia? I would if I were a woman.”
    â€œYou mean, you’d want to be the characters she plays,” Allison told him. “Although—that’s probably the same thing.”
    â€œNot at all. Julia is an amazing actress, Allison. She’s going to win an Oscar one of these days. You mark my words.”
    â€œYeah, sure, Luis. I wouldn’t hold my breath for that if I were you.”
    Finding her keys, Allison quickly unlocked the door. As she stepped into the vestibule of her building, she heard someone call her name from the street behind her.
    â€œHold the door!” Her upstairs neighbor, Kristina Haines, came hurrying along the shiny wet sidewalk, sans umbrella. Her dark, wet curls were wind-blown and her cheeks were bright red from the chill. Her coat was open, as usual, and she was wearing her waitressing uniform: white blouse, black slacks, and black sneakers.
    â€œThanks!” Kristina took the steps two at a time as Allison stood waiting for her. “I forgot my key!”
    It wasn’t the first time for that, either. “Is Ray home?”
    â€œHe’s supposed to be—when I left for work he said he was staying in all night—but I’ve been calling and no one’s picking up.”
    That didn’t surprise Allison. Kristina’s live-in boyfriend didn’t strike her as the most trustworthy guy in the world—not that she’d offer that opinion to Kristina. They were friends, but not the kind that shared deep, dark secrets. Allison had never really had—or wanted—a friend like that. Luis was becoming one, but she even held him at arm’s length most of the time.
    â€œWhat are you doing home from work already?”
    â€œSlow night,” Kristina told her, huffing a little as she reached the top step, “and Maury—he’s the manager—asked if anyone wanted to leave. I volunteered because I figured Ray was home, but who the hell knows where he went? He’s not picking up his cell, either.”
    â€œYou can come hang out with me until he gets back, if you want,” Allison told her. “I’ve got lo mein and a movie.”
    â€œSounds fascinating. Which movie?”
    Allison held up the video in its blue and white Blockbuster box.
    â€œ Runaway Bride ?” Kristina read off the label. “It was okay. Not great. I saw it in the theater last summer on my first date with Ray. I knew that night he was The One.”
    Yeah, well, you might want to rethink that , Allison wanted to tell her. Hopefully, Kristina would figure that out for herself.
    â€œBut I’ll watch it again,” she went on, “because it beats sitting here on the steps for God knows how long, waiting for Ray to come home and let me into the apartment.”
    â€œMaybe you should give me a spare set of keys,” Allison suggested. “In case this happens again.”
    â€œThat’s probably a good idea. And you can give me your keys, too, in case it happens to you.”
    â€œSure,” Allison agreed, though she knew it wouldn’t happen to her. Growing up, she’d learned to be responsible at an early age. Her mother was the one who frequently forgot her keys—although there was one night when she was so high that Allison had actually deliberately locked her out.
    That was early on, after her father left, when she still thought that anything she said or did could make a difference in her mother’s behavior. Eventually, she realized that there was no reasoning with an addict, and, ultimately, resigned herself to the