Crescendo

door, expending several precious seconds as I took the time to close it noiselessly behind me. On the far side of the door, the elevator ground to a halt. The retractable door rattled open and someone stepped out. I used the railing to propel myself faster, keeping my shoes light on the stairs. I was halfway down the second flight when the stairwell door opened above me. I stopped mid-stride, not wanting to alert whoever was up there to my location.

Nora?

My hand slipped on the railing. It was my dad’s voice.

Nora? Are you there?

I swallowed, wanting to cry out to him. Then I remembered the townhouse.

Quit hiding. You can trust me. Let me help you. Come out where I can see you.

His tone was strange and demanding. At the townhouse, when my dad’s voice had first spoken to me, it was soft and gentle. That same voice had told me we weren’t alone and I needed to leave. When he spoke again, his voice was different. It sounded forceful and deceiving. What if my dad had tried to contact me? What if he’d been chased away, and the second, strange voice was someone pretending to be him? I was struck by the thought that someone could be impersonating my dad to lure me close.

Heavy footsteps descended the stairs at a run, jerking me out of my speculations. He was coming after me.

I clattered down the stairs, no longer worrying about keeping quiet. Faster! I screamed to myself. Run faster!

He was gaining ground, barely more than a flight away. When my shoes hit the ground level, I shoved through the stairwell door, crossed the lobby, and flung myself out the front doors and into the night.

The air was warm and quiet. I was running for the cement steps leading down to the street, when I made a split-second change of plans. I climbed the handrail to the left of the doors, dropping ten or so feet to a small grassy courtyard below. Above me, the library doors opened. I pressed back against the cement wall, my feet stirring trash and tumbleweeds.

The minute I heard the slow tap of shoes descending the cement steps, I raced down the block. The library didn’t have its own parking; it shared an underground garage with the courthouse. I ran down the parking ramp, ducked under the parking arm, and swept the garage for the Neon. Where had Vee said she’d parked?

Row B …

I ran one aisle over and saw the tail end of the Neon sticking out of a space. I rammed the key into the door, dropped behind the wheel, and cranked the engine. I’d just steered the Neon up the exit ramp when a dark SUV swung around the corner. The driver gunned the engine, heading straight for me.

I thrust the Neon into second gear and stepped on the gas, pulling out in front of the SUV seconds before it would have blocked the exit and boxed me inside the garage.

My mind was too frazzled to think clearly about where I was going. I floored it down another two blocks, ran a stop sign, then veered onto Walnut. The SUV accelerated onto Walnut behind me, holding my tail. The speed limit jumped to forty-five, and the lanes doubled to two. I pushed the Neon to fifty, switching my eyes between the road and the rearview mirror.

Without signaling, I yanked the steering wheel, cutting onto a side street. The SUV razed the curb, following me. I took two more right turns, circled the block, and got back on Walnut. I swerved in front of a white two-door coupe, boxing it between me and the SUV. The traffic light ahead turned yellow, and I accelerated into the intersection as the light flashed red. With my eyes glued to the rearview mirror, I watched the white car roll to a stop. Behind it, the SUV came to a screeching halt.

I took several sharp breaths. My pulse throbbed in my arms, and my hands were clamped tightly around the steering wheel.

I took Walnut uphill, but as soon as I was on the back side of the hill, I crossed oncoming traffic and turned left. I bounced over the railroad tracks, weaving my way through a dark, dilapidated neighborhood of single-story brick houses. I knew where I was: Slaughterville. The neighborhood had earned its nickname over a decade ago when three teens gunned one another down at a playground.

I slowed as a house set far back from the street caught my attention. No lights. An open, empty detached garage stood at the far back of the property. I reversed the Neon up the driveway and into the garage. After triple-checking that the door locks were engaged, I killed the headlights. I waited, fearing that at any moment the SUV’s headlights would swing down the street.

Rummaging through my purse, I dug out my cell.

“Hey,” Vee answered.

“Who else touched the card from Patch?” I demanded, the words rattling.

“Huh?”

“Did Patch give you the card directly? Did Rixon? Who else touched it?”

“Want to tell me what this is about?”

“I think I was drugged.”

Silence.

“You think the card was drugged?” Vee repeated doubtfully at last.

“The paper was laced with perfume,” I explained impatiently. “Tell me who gave it to you. Tell me exactly how you got it.”

“On my way to the library to drop off the cupcakes, Rixon called to see where I was,” she recounted slowly. “We met up at the library, and Patch was riding shotgun in Rixon’s truck. Patch gave me the card and asked if I’d give it to you. I took the card, the cupcakes, and the Neon’s keys inside to you, then went back out to meet Rixon.”

“Nobody else touched the card?”

“Nobody.”

“Less than a half hour after smelling the card, I collapsed on the library floor. I didn’t wake up for two hours.”

Vee didn’t answer right away, and I could practically hear her thinking everything through, trying to digest it. At last she said, “Are you sure it wasn’t fatigue? You were in the library a long time. I couldn’t work that long on homework without needing a nap.”

“When I woke up,” I pushed on, “someone was in the library with me. I think it was the same person who drugged me. They chased me through the library. I got out, but they followed me down Walnut.”

Another baffled pause. “As much as I don’t like Patch, I’ve got to tell you, I can’t see him drugging you. He’s a whack job, but he does have boundaries.”

“Then who?” My voice was a little shrill.

“I don’t know. Where are you now?”

“Slaughterville.”

“What? Get out of there before you get mugged! Come over. Stay the night here. We’ll work this out. We’ll figure out what happened.” But the words felt like an empty consolation. Vee was just as perplexed as I was.

I stayed hidden in the garage for what must have been another twenty minutes before I felt brave enough to go back on the streets. My nerves were frayed, my mind reeling. I opted against taking Walnut, thinking the SUV might be cruising up and down it right now, waiting to pick up my tail. Sticking to side streets, I ignored the speed limit and drove in a reckless hurry to Vee’s.

I wasn’t far from her house when I noticed blue and red lights in the rearview mirror.

Stopping the Neon at the side of the road, I planted my head against the steering wheel. I knew I’d been speeding, and I was frustrated at myself for doing it, but of all the nights to get pulled over.

A moment later, knuckles rapped the window. I pushed the button to lower it.

“Well, well,” Detective Basso said. “Long time no see.”

Any other cop, I thought. Any other.

He flashed his ticket pad. “License and registration, you know the drill.”

Since I knew there was no talking my way around a ticket, not with Detective Basso, I didn’t see the point in