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SEPTEMBER BRACED HERSELF against the door behind her. She squeezed her eyes shut against the spectacle of Angela—dead, how could she be dead?—and concentrated on her escape. The man with the gun, his identity, the reasons for the attack, nothing mattered but protecting herself.
Shadow barked nonstop from the back yard. His frustrated yelps alternated with the thud, thud, thud rhythm of his body’s impact against the closed kitchen door.
The scalding coffee wouldn’t slow the intruder for long. Soon he’d burst through the door, gun blazing, and she’d be helpless.
She turned around, scrabbled at the door latch, saw no way to lock it, and backed away in quick, jerky steps until she bumped into the car. Nowhere to hide in the jumbled mess. He could simply shoot through the door.
At the thought, she dodged out of the potential line of fire. Her shoulders hunched, eyes wide as she frantically scanned the dim garage. Out, she needed out. She needed her keys, but if she could reach her car, she’d be safe.
She spied the garage door opener mounted on the wall; salvation! She scurried to the opener and pressed it, but nothing happened. September punched it again and again, whimpering under her breath when it wouldn’t open. She flicked the nearby light switch. Nothing happened. He’d cut the power. Only the tiny skylight overhead offered dim illumination.
Another door on the back wall probably led into the back yard where Shadow barked. Stacks of gardening supplies blocked the exit. She scurried to the mountain of material, grabbed the nearest item and toppled it to one side. She couldn’t even reach the doorknob. Seconds had passed—but felt like hours—he’d be upon her before she could uncover the exit.
Nostrils flaring, skin clammy, she wrestled the ladder away from Angela’s dangling form. She grabbed it. Metal screeched against the cement floor, clanged when it crunched the side of the car. The dead woman’s feet swayed overhead. September dodged them, biting her lip to contain whimpers threatening to grow into screams. She wedged the top of the ladder at an angle against the kitchen door and braced the ladder feet flush with the car’s rear tire.
Just in time. He twisted the lever handle. When it wouldn’t open, he bumped it. The ladder jarred and jangled. He bumped harder, it shifted still more, but held.
September whirled and raced back to the other exit. The ladder bought time for her to get through, to rejoin Shadow in the back yard. With him by her side, she could do anything. She’d puzzle out the whys later.
Shadow’s barks grew more frantic. At September’s feet, Macy mewed and wound about her ankles, wanting solace, but only managing to trip her.
The door pounding grew louder, more determined. The ladder jittered in place, shifting in increments as September clawed free and dragged aside bags of mulch, rakes, shovels. Finally uncovering the doorknob, she silently cheered as she grabbed and twisted.
Locked. No key in sight. She screamed, breathing in gulps, twisting to look everywhere for any other options.
He hit the door with a mighty crash. The ladder fell sideways.
Catching up a rake, September dashed to brace it alongside the falling ladder. She yelled, lying and praying he’d believe her. “I have a gun, too! Keep back, stay away from the door.”
His pounding stopped, for the moment. Her gun, nested in the glove box of her distant car, offered no protection. And she couldn’t call for help, with her phone in the bag of research by the front closet. She couldn’t escape the garage. Maybe distract him, find out what he wanted, buy some time. Make enough noise to rouse the neighbors for help. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t give up!
September choked back a sob. “I just talked to her last night, she sent me a text. Why would Angela invite me here then kill herself? You killed her!”
Long pause, his voice flat. “I’m not that sloppy. I honestly don’t care. I’m just the cleanup man.” He rattled the door’s handle. “So help me out. Give me what I came for and we part as friends.” He paused again, nonchalant attitude in stark contrast to her racing pulse. She could hear his slow, steady breaths from the other side of the door. “I’ll get in there eventually, and you’ll tell me anyway. Then we won’t be friends anymore.” The words sounded practiced. He’d done this before. Many times.
The damn safety deposit box! Oh my God—Chris, too? But Victor killed Chris. It couldn’t be connected. Could it?
He rattled the doorknob again, whispering against the door, voice measured and calm, but deadly steel beneath the words. “You’ve got nowhere to go. I’ll turn the garage door and light back on long before the authorities finally come. Nothing personal.”
Shadow’s barks had stilled, as if he listened to their voices. Macy trilled, leaped onto the hood of the car, and from there hopped up to drape himself around September’s shoulders. Her fingers dug deep into the cat’s fur and he squeaked. She had to get them out of here. Keep him talking.
“Why are you doing this? Who are you? What’s so important in those files?” Anything to delay the inevitable. He spouted empty promises. She wouldn’t be allowed to walk away.
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Another of those long, deadly pauses before he continued. Had he yawned? “I suppose you could call me Mr. Bleak, because those are your chances. Give me what I need and I’ll go away. Make me come after you and here’s how my employer suggests it plays out.” He cleared his throat and recited as if reading. “Angela Day blamed September for her son’s death, so baited a trap to get her to South Bend. She killed September, then hanged herself out of remorse.” He wiggled the doorknob again and waited.
September dug her nails into the palms of her hands. The walls began to close in. She shook her head, wanting to crumple to the ground. Black spots floated before her eyes—Shadow, she needed Shadow to ground her...Macy meowed again, and her trembling fingers clutched his fur harder.
“The clock’s ticking. Cooperate, or I’ll skin that mangy cat of yours, and shoot the damn dog.” His weight hit the door. It jarred open half a foot, enough that he could peer into the garage.
He’d skinned off the ski mask. Blank nondescript brown eyes stared at her, blinking lizard-slow, scalded skin surrounding them already blistering and bright red. “Time’s up.” One gloved hand snaked through the opening to push at the ladder.
September screamed. She thwacked his arm with the rake. Macy swatted one clawed paw at the gloved hand.
He withdrew with a hiss. Stalemate. He couldn’t get in. She couldn’t get out. In the background, Shadow’s barks again escalated.
His voice sharpened. “Tell me where you left the files. Do it now, or I’ll shut up the dog permanently.”
September clenched her jaw, teeth aching with pressure, and finally nodded to herself. He’d find the files anyway. She couldn’t risk Shadow’s life.
“In a bag. By the front door.”
“Good girl. You sit tight and maybe I won’t kill your dog.”
Macy struggled in her arms and she let him go. He found something on the garage floor, batted it, then fetched the jingling object for her to toss.
“Not now, Macy.” She looked down when he pushed it against her foot.
Macy dropped the car keys, sat, and pawed her leg again with a soft meow.
