floor in front of the door. “Angie?”
Only silence answered.
She remained still, listening. An odd smell caught her attention. Metallic.
She forced herself to move, edging toward the tiny alcove kitchen. As she stepped into the darkened room, the metallic smell hit her anew. Fear gripped her, cold and darkly familiar, but her mind rebelled against whatever vestige of memory was trying to fight its way to the front of her mind. She turned to run away but her foot slipped from under her and she went down, hitting hard on her side.
She felt something wet beneath her hands. Shaking her hair from her eyes, she saw her roommate’s still, bloody body lying tucked up next to the breakfast bar.
She opened her mouth to scream but couldn’t find the air for it. A sharp pain lanced through her side.
Then, over the roar of blood pounding in her head, a soft creak behind her made her go still with terror.
“Welcome home, baby.”
Chapter Two
Black flecks danced in front of her eyes as she tried to take a breath. The flecks grew and joined others in a frightening rush, and Jane struggled to sit up, fighting off the darkness.
She drew a deep breath and her vision cleared.
She wished it hadn’t.
There was blood everywhere. It covered the faded tile of the kitchenette like spilled milk, pooling in the uneven places and crisscrossing the grout. In contrast, Angela’s face was a waxy white, her eyes half-closed, unseeing.
A low noise rumbled from Jane’s chest into her throat.
“I didn’t want to do it. She wasn’t supposed to be here.” The voice behind her was low. Male. Smooth and modulated, with a neutral accent she couldn’t place.
Jane tried to make herself turn and look at the speaker, but she couldn’t move.
“It’s time to go, sweetheart.” The voice was right behind her. Something soft and smothering whipped down over her head, and her vision went dark again. Strong arms wrapped around her, dragging her to her feet.
The urge to survive overcame the lethargy of grief and she kicked back hard against her captor’s solid form, but he held on tight. She kicked again, making solid contact with his shin. With satisfaction, she heard his grunt of pain and redoubled her efforts.
She managed to free herself and ripped at the cloth covering her face. A pillowcase, she realized, tossing it aside as she raced for the door.
He caught her as she grabbed for the door handle. “No, baby. Shh. Shh.” His arms tightened around her, pulling her back against his body. She felt his pulse racing against her shoulder blades. He was breathing hard from the exertion, and she forced down the panic flooding her system. Panic would only weaken her. She had to stay alert. Stay focused. Find his weakness.
She made herself relax in his arms, listening to his breathing, alert to the softening of his grip as she stopped resisting.
His hand smoothed her hair back from where it had fallen in her face. “That’s better, baby. See? It’s time to go home, sweetheart. You know that. You have something I need.”
His voice sounded familiar and foreign at the same time. Confidence tinged every word he spoke. He was a man used to getting his way, unaccustomed to opposition.
She made herself turn slowly in his arms to face him. Hard blue eyes stared down at her from a handsome, even-featured face. A sandy brown mustache and beard covered the lower half of his face. From a distance, it might look real, but as close as she was, she could see that it was a disguise. What she could see of his hair beneath a navy-blue Boise State baseball cap looked to be sandy as well, lighter than the beard.
He wore a black long-sleeved T-shirt and black jeans. Close up, she could see darker spots that were almost certainly Angela’s blood. Her stomach convulsed, and she swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising in her throat.
She forced herself to meet his eyes again. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Home,” he said.
Fear flooded her veins at the simple word. Wherever this man planned to take her, it wasn’t a place she’d consider home.
She had to get away from him. Now.
“Home?” she whispered, meeting his eyes. She held his gaze, trying to read his mood, his intentions. He didn’t seem to want to kill her here and now, though he clearly had no scruples about murder.
She fought against a rising tide of grief, forcing the sight of Angela’s bloody body from her mind. Not now. She couldn’t think about it now.
“I kept everything just like you left it,” he said, an indulgent tone to his voice. “I watered your jade plant, baby. Just like you used to do it. It’s looking good. You’ll be pleased when you see it.”
The softening of his voice sent a shudder down her spine. He obviously knew her intimately. Was he her husband? Lover? What kind of person had she been, to be intimate with a man who could kill in cold blood?
“I should pack some things,” she murmured, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
His eyes narrowed. “I packed for you.” He waved his hand to his right. She followed the movement and saw a small bag packed and sitting beside the sofa. She hadn’t seen it earlier when she entered from the bedroom. The sofa must have blocked it from view.
“What’s my name?” she asked softly.
His eyes narrowed farther. “Don’t try to pull that amnesia crap with me, baby. I know your games too well.” He turned away from her for a moment, reaching for the bag. It gave her the opening she needed.
As he bent to grab the handle, she pushed him hard, catching him off balance. He lurched forward, hit the coffee table and bounced off the sofa to land on the floor between the two pieces of furniture.
Jane whirled and raced to the door, slamming it behind her as she sprinted down the narrow hallway toward the exit stairs leading down to the hardware store on the first floor. She heard the apartment door open behind her but didn’t look back as she jerked open the door to the stairs.
She took the steps at breakneck speed, listening for the sound of pursuit behind her. By the time she reached the first floor, she realized she hadn’t heard anyone behind her at all.
But she didn’t dare pause to investigate. She burst through the exit door and into the hardware store, her breath coming in short, keening gasps.
Harold, the clerk at the tool desk, looked at her as she ran up to him. His brown eyes widened. “My God, Jane, are you hurt?”
She looked down at her T-shirt and realized it was wet with Angela’s blood. The sight made her head swim, and she grabbed at the tool desk, trying to keep her balance. Her hand slipped, painting a crimson streak across the shiny wood as she slid to the floor.
Her world narrowed to a tiny pinpoint of light in a churning sea of darkness. Vaguely, she was aware of Harold’s voice as he barked information into the phone. He must have called 911, she thought, struggling not to drown in the darkness.
Somewhere in the void, a low, familiar voice murmured her name. “Jane.”
She stirred, looking toward the voice. The darkness began to recede, and she found herself gazing into the wintry gray eyes of Joe Garrison.
Chief Garrison, she amended mentally, tears burning the backs of her eyes as she met his hard scrutiny.
Unbidden, the words came from somewhere deep inside her, a place she had long feared existed. A place where wariness and suspicion were old, trusted friends.
“I didn’t do it,” she said.
JOE SLIPPED a pair of plastic covers over the soles of his snakeskin boots and entered the crime scene, crossing to the kitchen alcove where the investigator from the coroner’s office was doing the preliminary examination of the body.
