“I really can’t talk any longer.” She scanned the area, fearful that her resurrection-from-the-river might tip off her kidnappers should they be lurking nearby.
The man appeared intrigued. “As you like, Miss Braxton. I’m staying at the Inglis Hotel. Shall we say, supper in the dining room at seven?”
Melanie had to admit she was hungry and she couldn’t resist the invitation to dine with this handsome man and pick his brain about her roommate. She felt strangely safer standing next to him, which was absurd because he’d done nothing to keep Chrissy safe.
“Fine. I’ll be there. Good day, Mr. Knight.”
Melanie pivoted and disappeared down the alley next to the store, never looking behind her to see if the man was watching or if he had simply climbed into his black limousine. She’d do well to remember that Trevor Knight was the type of man of which her father would approve. He was also the same kind she’d escaped upper-class society to avoid.
Where He leads, I will follow. Stand firm and watch the Lord do wonders.
Chapter 6
Melanie weaved her way behind the massive building, scooted across a weed-infested field, climbed a fence, and within a matter of three-minutes was leaning, panting, against the back wall of her apartment building. So far, so good.
She looked toward the windows of her apartment to see if there were lights or activity within. The front entrance was no longer a safe option, so Melanie dragged a barrel from the garbage area and placed it under her second-floor balcony. She’d never gone this route before, but she had considered it a good option if she ever locked herself out. That was before Chrissy had come to live with her, and they’d decided to find a good hiding place for the key in the hallway.
It turned out that it was far too easy to gain access to her balcony. She should have considered the ease of a break-in long before this. One tends to drift along, comfortable and carefree, believing good people overpopulate the bad, until evil comes knocking on the door. Melanie’s mind now teetered on a lop-sided scale. Even the eye-opener of police work hadn’t inflicted such disparity. The change inflicted on a trusting soul after a single day saddened her. She felt violated and less world-wise.
She crouched in the corner of the balcony behind an artificial palm tree and peered inside at the living, dining and kitchen areas – the open concept was modern and stylishly decorated. No movement caught her eye, and she feared she’d arrived too late to witness the intruder in action. Disappointment overwhelmed her. Melanie needed to go inside, but ill-timed memories chose that moment to flood her being, freezing her to the spot. She shook from the chill, recalling the vision of the two kidnappers from the night before, standing at the front door. One had been Asian, a karate-kicking, gun-toting kind of guy, and one had been a typical American hillbilly. She’d matched their voices to the two that had argued at the river, and she’d bet her bottom dollar that the poor, backwoods chap had received a bullet from the trigger-happy Asian. Suddenly, it became all too personal. The incident should have been reported to the police before she attempted to investigate it on her own.
Melanie sighed. Typical of her to act first and think later. It was too late for second thoughts now – she was already here.
To maintain her sanity, Melanie detached herself from the familiar and honed in on her stake-out experience to de-personalize the case. She shook herself free from analyzing her position and studied the apartment. Only the two bedrooms and bathrooms lay beyond her careful scrutiny. One hand tipped the heavy pot housing a growing fern, and her fingers reached under it to extract the spare, patio-door key. She lifted an overdue prayer for strength.
“Chrissy,” she told herself, “just concentrate on Chrissy.”
The key turned in the lock, the click amplifying in her ears. She backed off and crouched again, watching for signs of interference from someone she might have overlooked in one of the back rooms, but there was nothing. Apparently, she’d missed the opportunity to confront the intruders, and although that brought relief to the fear building within, it would not aid with finding Chrissy.
Melanie had almost moved into position to swing the door open wide when the profile of a woman’s backside standing in Chrissy’s bedroom doorway reflected in the entrance mirror. Hope surged, then dwindled; it wasn’t Chrissy.
She pushed back against the outside wall to rethink her position, risking another glance after a few seconds.
In the main living area, the woman was rifling through the storage drawers in the television stand; then she switched her efforts to the rolltop desk, the only piece of furniture Melanie had brought with her from home. She didn’t recognize the intruder.
As her scrutiny intensified, another figure exited her bedroom, strolling into view, shuffling through the pages of a bedside novel. A rebuke from the woman sent the book sprawling to the floor. Melanie’s heart skipped a beat.
Drew was in her apartment.
Melanie collapsed against the brick wall, scraping her manicured fingernails against the hard surface. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks as the ultimate betrayal sunk in.
What could it all mean?
She wondered what mess Drew might have gotten them into now. During her brief visit to his home last week, he’d hadn’t mentioned knowing Chrissy or her family. He’d treated her as nothing more than Mel’s roomie – an interesting one, of course – but she’d taken it with a grain of salt. In one way or another, Drew found something of interest in every woman he met. When Melanie had left home four years earlier, Drew also moved from the estate into a condo. He had been
