he’s just watching. Maybe he didn’t
have anything to do with the fire. Or with the wardrobe falling.”
“I hope you’re wrong about that.”
“Why?”
“Bad enough to be looking back over our shoulders for a guy in a black leather jacket;
if he isn’t the only one watching you—if he isn’t the only threat—then we have no
idea what the other threat looks like.”
Sarah half-consciously wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to ward off the
chill.
Tucker reached out and touched her shoulder lightly, but said only, “I’m going to
go turn off some of these lights, okay?”
She nodded and wandered into the living room to wait for him. The plan, agreed upon
earlier in a hasty discussion in the restaurant after Margo had excused herself,was to return to the apartment over the shop tonight—and to leave Richmond in the
morning.
Sarah wasn’t sure how she felt about that. There was a small, almost distant part
of her that was alarmed by the hurried decision and bewildered by her willingness
to just up and leave everything she had known, yet a larger part of her consciousness
was convinced it was the right thing to do.
Yes. Walk away from your friends, your business, and the ashes of your home, because
you’re afraid. Put your trust in a man you met yesterday because he says he thinks
you can change fate…even though he doesn’t believe you can see the future…
As wrong as it sounded, it felt right. This was what she was supposed to do. This
was her fate. A fate Tucker was somehow part of; she knew that too. And that was what
frightened her the most, because she knew it meant she was already walking the path
that led to her destiny.
Toward the death she had seen.
“I already checked all the doors and windows,” she told him when he joined her in
the living room. “That is what you were doing, isn’t it?”
He didn’t try to deny it. “All locked. Drapes are drawn.” He paused, then added, “There
were automatic timers on a couple of the upstairs lamps.”
“Yes, Margo always sets them when she goes out of town. The living room lamps have
timers as well.”
Tucker didn’t say why the subject interested him, but he seemed even more preoccupied
after they locked upMargo’s house and drove back to the apartment over the shop.
“Why don’t you go ahead and pack tonight,” he suggested, almost as soon as they arrived.
“We might decide to leave pretty early.”
Sarah might have asked him why, but she was actually relieved to have something to
do. It was very quiet in the apartment, neither she nor Tucker seemed inclined toward
conversation, and her nerves were very much on edge. Something was going to happen.
Soon. And she didn’t want to think about what it might be. So she packed.
It didn’t take long. Both she and Margo kept a few extra things in the apartment,
including a packed overnight bag in case either had to go out of town for an unexpected
estate auction or something like that, so it was a simple matter to take the bag from
the closet and add in the rest of the clothing she had here. All the clothing she
had left, as a matter of fact.
All the anything she had left.
That realization, late in coming but devastating, made her sit on the bed and cry.
Gone. It was all gone. All her things, from the furniture she had lovingly collected
over the years to the strand of pearls that had been all she had left of her mother.
The few family pictures she had. The pictures of David. The few gifts he’d given her.
Gone.
And the work, all that hard work to restore the house, it was all gone. The hours
spent covered in sawdust and plaster dust and paint spatters, wasted. The bruised
knuckles and fingers sore from using unfamiliar tools,wasted. The shopping for just the right moldings, the right wallpaper, the right curtains
and rugs and fixtures, wasted.
Her life wasted.
She didn’t make a sound, unable even in
have anything to do with the fire. Or with the wardrobe falling.”
“I hope you’re wrong about that.”
“Why?”
“Bad enough to be looking back over our shoulders for a guy in a black leather jacket;
if he isn’t the only one watching you—if he isn’t the only threat—then we have no
idea what the other threat looks like.”
Sarah half-consciously wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to ward off the
chill.
Tucker reached out and touched her shoulder lightly, but said only, “I’m going to
go turn off some of these lights, okay?”
She nodded and wandered into the living room to wait for him. The plan, agreed upon
earlier in a hasty discussion in the restaurant after Margo had excused herself,was to return to the apartment over the shop tonight—and to leave Richmond in the
morning.
Sarah wasn’t sure how she felt about that. There was a small, almost distant part
of her that was alarmed by the hurried decision and bewildered by her willingness
to just up and leave everything she had known, yet a larger part of her consciousness
was convinced it was the right thing to do.
Yes. Walk away from your friends, your business, and the ashes of your home, because
you’re afraid. Put your trust in a man you met yesterday because he says he thinks
you can change fate…even though he doesn’t believe you can see the future…
As wrong as it sounded, it felt right. This was what she was supposed to do. This
was her fate. A fate Tucker was somehow part of; she knew that too. And that was what
frightened her the most, because she knew it meant she was already walking the path
that led to her destiny.
Toward the death she had seen.
“I already checked all the doors and windows,” she told him when he joined her in
the living room. “That is what you were doing, isn’t it?”
He didn’t try to deny it. “All locked. Drapes are drawn.” He paused, then added, “There
were automatic timers on a couple of the upstairs lamps.”
“Yes, Margo always sets them when she goes out of town. The living room lamps have
timers as well.”
Tucker didn’t say why the subject interested him, but he seemed even more preoccupied
after they locked upMargo’s house and drove back to the apartment over the shop.
“Why don’t you go ahead and pack tonight,” he suggested, almost as soon as they arrived.
“We might decide to leave pretty early.”
Sarah might have asked him why, but she was actually relieved to have something to
do. It was very quiet in the apartment, neither she nor Tucker seemed inclined toward
conversation, and her nerves were very much on edge. Something was going to happen.
Soon. And she didn’t want to think about what it might be. So she packed.
It didn’t take long. Both she and Margo kept a few extra things in the apartment,
including a packed overnight bag in case either had to go out of town for an unexpected
estate auction or something like that, so it was a simple matter to take the bag from
the closet and add in the rest of the clothing she had here. All the clothing she
had left, as a matter of fact.
All the anything she had left.
That realization, late in coming but devastating, made her sit on the bed and cry.
Gone. It was all gone. All her things, from the furniture she had lovingly collected
over the years to the strand of pearls that had been all she had left of her mother.
The few family pictures she had. The pictures of David. The few gifts he’d given her.
Gone.
And the work, all that hard work to restore the house, it was all gone. The hours
spent covered in sawdust and plaster dust and paint spatters, wasted. The bruised
knuckles and fingers sore from using unfamiliar tools,wasted. The shopping for just the right moldings, the right wallpaper, the right curtains
and rugs and fixtures, wasted.
Her life wasted.
She didn’t make a sound, unable even in
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