wait outside for the cab to pick her up. Of course, Lester didn’t want her standing on the curb in front of his house, so she always had to hide behind a stupid hedge near his front door. Those nights when the cab was late, she absolutely dreaded having to ring his damn bell and use his phone again. Some nights, it just wasn’t worth the one hundred and twenty bucks.
The son of a bitch was out of toilet paper. Tarin sighed. Still crouching a bit, she moved over to the cabinet beneath the sink. It was a tiny, windowless powder room—no tub or shower. She found a roll of Charmin under the sink, sat back on the toilet, and loaded up the dispenser.
Tarin wiped herself, and was about to flush the toilet. That was when she heard Lester raise his voice: “Who the fuck are you?”
Though he spoke softly, Tarin could still hear him. In fact, the words sliced right through her.
“No, God, no!”
A loud shot rang out.
Tarin gasped. Her heart seemed to stop for a second.
Paralyzed with fear, she didn’t dare utter a word. Her whole body start to shake. Tarin thought she might be sick, and she swallowed hard. Tears filled her eyes, but she couldn’t cry. She had to keep very still.
She heard his footsteps. He was getting closer. Did he know she was in here?
Slowly, Tarin stood up. All of a sudden she felt naked, and she covered her breasts. She glanced over at the door, then cringed. She hadn’t locked it.
The footsteps got louder, then stopped.
Waiting for the next sound became unbearable. Her eyes riveted to the door, Tarin watched the knob slowly turn to one side.
All at once, the bathroom light went out, and she was engulfed in total darkness. She’d forgotten that the light switch for the bathroom was outside the door. At the threshold, a line of light cut through the blackness. She could see the shadows of his feet skimming across that line.
She heard him laugh, a strange cackling.
Tarin couldn’t breathe. Blindly groping in the dark, she tried to find the towel rack or something she could hold on to, something with which she could defend herself.
The door burst open, and slammed against the wall.
Tarin screamed.
The last thing she saw was a man’s silhouette coming at her. His face was swallowed up in the shadows, and he held a shiny object in his hand.
“Chicago,” Hannah said, over her glass of Diet Coke. “I’m originally from Chicago.”
Craig was asking way too many questions. It had been years since she’d dated. But she didn’t recall ever having to weather through so many inquiries about her background.
They were eating lunch across the street from the video store, at a place called Bagels & Choosers. It was an upscale sandwich shop with high ceilings, metal tables, and regional artwork hanging on brick walls. Craig looked handsome in his gray turtleneck and jeans. But that didn’t matter, because Hannah’s guard was up. At this point, she didn’t trust anyone. Still, it was a date, and she’d dressed a notch above her usual store-clerk knockabouts. Her hair was pinned up, and she wore khakis with a pink oxford shirt.
“When did you move to Seattle?” Craig asked, picking at his Cobb salad.
“About three years ago,” Hannah lied.
“Are you—um, still in touch with Guy’s father?”
She shook her head. “He died in a car accident before Guy was born.” Hannah put down her spoon. The chicken noodle soup was a bit too salty. “Listen, do you mind if we change the subject?”
“I’m sorry.”
Forcing a smile, Hannah shrugged. “It’s okay. The marriage was pretty much kaput by the time I got pregnant. I just don’t feel like discussing it. Let’s talk about you. What exactly does a Web content director do anyway?”
Craig started explaining it to her. Hannah nodded and pretended to listen. All the while, she wondered about that
“Anyway, it’s not what I thought I’d end up doing,” he was saying. “How about you? What line of work were you in before you got married?”
“Um, retail,” she lied. “I worked at Marshall Field’s.”
Hannah sat back. “Hey, speaking of shopping,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that tape you slipped into my shopping cart at the store the other afternoon.”
He squinted at her. “What tape?”
“The videotape of
Craig shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hannah studied him for a moment. Craig seemed genuinely confused.
She sighed. “Never mind. I guess someone was playing a joke on me or something.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Listen, I should head back to the store.”
Craig got to his feet. “I just need to use the men’s room for a minute. Then I’ll walk back with you. Okay?”
While he headed toward the rest rooms, Hannah flagged down their waiter. She got the check, then stepped over to the cashier to cover it. By the register was a stack of discarded newspapers. The one on top caught Hannah’s eye. She saw a photograph, and a headline near the bottom of the front page:
Hannah picked up the newspaper and moved away from the register. She studied the grainy photo of the victim, then read the caption beneath it:
She recognized the cold, crudely handsome older man in the picture. How could she forget the belligerent Mr.
Hannah glanced over at the rest-room area. She didn’t see Craig, so she started reading the article:
