'You're going up to fourteen, Angela,' he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. 'You're going back to that same ledge. But you won't be there very long.'
She frantically dug into her purse for her cell phone. Twenty-six-year-old Dominique Chandler walked at a brisk clip down Michigan Avenue. Attractive, with close-cropped hair and a flawless cocoa-colored complexion, she was accustomed to guys coming on to her and making passes. But this was too much.
She'd just left the Hyatt bar, her favorite after-work watering hole. She wore a sexy red wraparound dress. A couple of guys had hit on her in the Hyatt's bar, but she wasn't interested. She'd had her fill of happy hour hors d'oeuvres and cocktails, and said good night to her coworkers at 10:15. She'd wanted to catch the 10:24 CTA.
She'd walked only a block in the direction of her bus stop when she'd heard someone call to her: 'Hey, wait up, pretty baby!'
Dominique had furtively glanced back at the pest but hadn't gotten a good look. If the police asked later about the man who had attacked her, she could only say that he was a tall, skinny white guy with black hair.
'Hey, baby, don't you tease me!' he yelled, following her. 'I know you want it, bitch!'
Dominique had the cell phone in her hand now. She was walking even faster. She hoped there would be people at her bus stop--but that was three more blocks.
'Leave me alone!' she screamed--as loud as she could. She pressed the button to activate her cell phone.
'Dominique?' he called. 'Dominique, wait up!'
She wondered how the hell he knew her name. But she didn't slow down. Her thumb was already pressing 9 -1-1 on the cell phone's keypad. She broke into a sprint and was about to cross the street.
'Dominique, it's me, Zack!' she heard him yell. 'I'm just messing with you, for God's sake!'
She glanced over her shoulder and suddenly realized her tormentor was actually a pal from work, Zack, the cute young guy in the mailroom. Dominique stopped near the curb in front of an older, eighteen-story building on Michigan Avenue. She swiveled around. 'Oh, my God, Zack!' she screamed, laughing. 'I was about to call the cops on your ass. You scared the shit out of me, you son of a--'
Before she could finish, Dominique heard a piercing scream from above.
She looked up to see something descending on her. She almost stumbled into the street as she backed up to avoid it. Dominique dropped her cell phone.
With a loud, hollow thump, the body hit the pavement a few feet in front of her. Dominique was splattered with the woman's blood.
She shrieked.
Fourteen stories up, the man dressed as a janitor didn't have a drop of blood on him.
He had kept his word to Angela Gannon. She hadn't been on the ledge for very long.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sydney had no desire whatsoever to drive twenty-five miles to the grand opening of a ValuCo store in Auburn, but she was one of four local celebrities scheduled to appear at the event. That Saturday afternoon, they were throwing a fun fair in the store's parking lot, and there would be a food court, too. All the profits were going to charity.
She'd practically browbeaten Eli into going with her. It was ironic, too, because she was always feeling guilty for not spending enough time with him--and here she was, forcing him to spend time with her. She was dressed--
While waiting, Sydney retrieved their mail and sat down at the dining room table. A bill, two credit card offers,
Sydney felt a little pang in her stomach as she recognized his handwriting. It was addressed to her, not Eli.
Some slightly masochistic part of her decided not to open Joe's note first. Or maybe she was just too proud to admit to herself how much she still cared. Whatever the motive, she tore open the envelope with the Portland address first. Inside was a white card with silver embossed fancy script that said
Sydney was touched by the note and surprised at how quickly Leah's parents wrote back to her. But she was confused, too. She'd mailed them a card on July 5th, but hadn't sent any flowers. She figured someone at the network must have sent the flowers in her name.
For the last seven nights, she'd checked the Internet for any possible new developments in the police investigation into Leah and Jared's deaths. But there was nothing.
Sydney now wished she'd opened Joe's letter first, because it still mattered--too much--what he had to say, even after reading this heartbreaking note from a woman whose daughter was just murdered a week ago. She was still thinking about Joe.
She had no idea why he was writing to her. Was he begging her to come back? She didn't dare hope for that. If he truly missed her, he would have let her know by now.
Sydney opened the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was his stationery from work--with
'Asshole,' she murmured, her eyes filling with tears. Could he have been any colder and passionless? He never even mentioned missing her or Eli. She felt as if he'd just sucker-punched her in the gut. The son of a bitch wanted to
She started to cry, and crumpled the letter in her fist. But then she heard Eli--jumping from the top step to the first landing, and then again from the first landing to the second landing.
Sydney quickly wiped her eyes.
'Can I at least check out some of the rides while you're giving your speech?' he asked, stepping into the dining room. 'I don't have to be up on some stage with you, do I?'
Sydney stashed the crumpled letter back in its envelope. But she was too late; he'd already seen the envelope and no doubt recognized his father's handwriting.
'Hey, is that a letter from Dad?' he asked eagerly.
