For less than a single second, Jeannette was paralyzed with fear. But she only got halfway through questioning her lack of caution in pulling the door open before she realized she had nothing to fear.
“Rosie!” she gasped, hurrying past Warren to pull the aged woman in a hug. “Thank God you’re all right. What are you doing here? Why are all the lights on over at your place?”
Rosie made a harrumphing noise, but she squeezed Jeannette back with a strength that was at odds with her age and her looks.
“I have a few questions myself,” said her neighbor. “And they were going to start somewhere else, but...” She inclined her head toward Warren, then raised a practically nonexistent eyebrow. “Now I’m wondering a few other things.”
Jeannette’s face warmed right away, and she shook her head. “It’s not like that.”
Rosie’s eyes—their sharp gray visible even in the dark—moved to Warren, and her wrinkled mouth pursed. “Not sure I buy it, but I’m guessing we’re a little pressed for time, so I’ll just tell you what I know.”
She turned and took five shorts steps toward the couch, then plunked herself down and lifted a cup of steaming liquid.
“Don’t worry,” she said, taking a small sip. “I heated it in the microwave. No need to turn on the lights and draw any more attention from the fake cop outside in the hall.”
Jeannette’s breath caught, and her attention jerked toward the hall that led to the front door. At the same time, Warren’s hand landed on the small of her back. He pressed it there, briefly comforting her. Then he turned and soundlessly strode out of the room. He didn’t need to say where he was going. Jeannette was sure that he was headed for the peephole to take a look for the man Rosie had seen.
“Not like that, huh?” said Rosie as soon as he was out of earshot.
Jeannette turned toward her neighbor, who was fixing her with a shrewd stare. “He’s a customer.”
“I’ve never worked in a coffee shop myself,” said the older woman. “But I’d always assumed it meant less touching and tearing through the night together.”
“He saw something disturbing tonight, and he came into the café on autopilot.”
“A man came to you on autopilot, and you say he’s just a customer? I’ve mentioned to you that I’m not quite psychic, right, haven’t I? But almost.”
“I wasn’t even supposed to be working.”
“This is the kind of excuse you use when you don’t believe in psychic intuition.” Then Rosie snapped her fingers. “This guy...he’s Mr. Blue Collar.”
Jeannette groaned, wondering how many times that little nickname was going to bite her in the butt tonight. “I did not tell you that.”
“You did. That time we had wine and played cards about six months ago.”
“You’re eighty-nine. You’re not supposed to remember things from last week, let alone from six months ago.”
“Too smart for my own good, my mother used to say. And I have no intention of changing.” Rosie flashed a smile, then turned serious. “Are you okay?”
Jeannette forced a nod. “I’m okay. Not that I’d choose to be running for my life in the middle of the night, but at least—”
“At least it’s with Mr. Blue Collar?” The older woman filled in.
Jeannette wasn’t entirely sure if that was what she’d been about to say—probably—but a throat clear announced Warren’s return just then, and she didn’t have time to form either a denial or an affirmation. Her face warmed yet again, and she tensed for an awkward question. But if Warren had heard the last bit of the exchange, he pretended that he hadn’t.
“There’s no one out there now. Not that I could see, and I took a careful look,” he said.
Jeannette’s shoulders sagged. “That’s good.”
He nodded, then shifted his attention to Rosie. “You said he was a cop?”
“Fake cop,” Rosie corrected. “Or maybe a real cop, but not a good one.”
“What do you mean?” Warren asked. “How could you know that?”
The older woman nodded toward Jeannette. “I guess this one didn’t tell you that my first three husbands were cops?”
Jeannette bit the inside of her mouth to keep from pointing out that now wasn’t the time to launch into a personal history. She knew her neighbor well enough to be sure that the best way to learn something from her was to let her get there in her own way. Warren seemed to sense it, too, because he didn’t push Rosie in another direction.
“No,” he said. “She didn’t mention that. But did you say first three husbands?”
The wizened woman sipped from her mug. “That’s right. Herb was a good man. Killed in the line of duty. Fell in love with his partner through our shared grief. That was Oscar. We were together ten years when the cancer took him. Two sets of twins. Youngest were just a year old when I lost him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Warren replied.
“Long time ago now,” Rosie stated. “Missed him like crazy at the time. Probably why I married Derrick so quickly. But he was far too young for me, and it wasn’t a surprise at all when he ran off with a witness from one of his cases.” She took another little taste of her beverage. “You single, sir?”
“Why?” Warren replied teasingly. “You in the market for another husband?”
Rosie chuckled. “If I were...but no. And it would be a waste of your good looks. Besides which, my fourth husband is still alive. You’d think my intuitive brain would help me out with these things, but it completely fails me where my own love life is concerned. Which is why I haven’t divorced the old coot, even if he is crazy as a loon, living off the grid somewhere at eighty years old.”
“And he’s not a cop?” Warren wondered aloud.
She snorted. “Hardly. Pavel has been many things over the years, but he’d never have taken a job working for the man.” She waved her hand, then set down her mug. “But he’s not relevant to my point anyway. My first three husbands, though...they took me to a lot of police-related events. Show me a crowd of a hundred people, and I can pick out every law enforcement official in the bunch. And the man out there who’s sitting in front of my place, believing it’s yours...he might have a badge, but he sure as hell isn’t interested in the law.”
“Hang on. Why does he think your place is mine?” Jeannette asked.
The older woman was all smugness as she explained how she’d woken up and suddenly felt an urge to look out her peephole. In her usual, intuitive way. When she’d spied the so-called cop out in the hallway standing at Jeannette’s door, she’d felt compelled to do something about it. So she’d grabbed her coat and her keys and sneaked out.
“Scared the hell out of the big fella,” she told them. “Tapped him right on the shoulder while he was staring at your door like he thought he might break it down. Swear he almost took a swing at me. So I told him I was gonna call the cops. Then he flashed that ole badge of his, then ordered me to get back inside my place and headed for your door again. I demanded to know why a cop was at my door.”
She went on for another few seconds, explaining how the badge-wielding stranger had gone from angry to confused, then blurted out a question about Jeannette living there. A query which Rosie had met with a brush-off, saying that people always made the same mistake and that there must be a computer glitch somewhere that had the addresses mixed up.
The octogenarian flashed her teeth again—this time in pure self-delight—and added, “I made the internet sound like the devil. Then I pulled out your spare key, slipped past him and let myself into your place, just like that.”
Jeannette sagged down on the couch beside Rosie. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”
Her neighbor expelled a disbelieving noise. “Phh. I knew where you were, and I knew that when you got home, you’d wonder what was up when you saw all my lights on. That little trick worked, didn’t it?”
“It did,” Jeannette admitted. “But you should’ve just stayed in your own place. What if something had gone wrong? Whoever the guy out there is...whether he’s a cop or not—” she exchanged a look with Warren “—this isn’t a good situation.”
Rosie leaned over to grab her mug again, sipping before speaking. “Does that mean you don’t want to know what he looked like?”
“Yes, we do,” Warren said quickly. “Please.”
“Your height or little taller. Thicker across the middle than you are, though, and likely older, based on the state of his skin. Hair was more gray than blond, too, and long enough that he had it pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck. Navy suit jacket, pale blue dress shirt, no tie, tan pants.” Rosie paused. “And a gun, but I don’t think he wanted me to see that part.”
By the time she’d finished speaking, Warren had started pacing the room.
“So not Jimmy or his friend,” he said. “Which isn’t good. It means they want to stop us badly enough that they’re willing to tell someone else what’s going on.”
“Do you think we should chance calling the police anyway?” Jeannette asked.
“You can’t,” her neighbor interjected. “Not unless you had the means of doing it before now and just decided not to. First thing I did was try your home phone to call one of Oscar’s trusted people. The line is dead. I’m guessing by design.”
“Damn.” Warren’s curse was a whisper.
“Wanna give an old lady some insight?” asked Rosie.
Jeannette shook her head. “I know it sounds cliché, but I think the less you know, the better.”
The other woman’s sharp stare grew even sharper. “What do you know?”
“Not enough,” said Warren, his voice a little rough.
“But we probably shouldn’t stick around here,” Jeannette added, her eyes hanging on him for a second before turning to Rosie once more. “And you shouldn’t, either. The guy who was out there could figure out you were lying and come back.”
“And just how am I going to get out?” her neighbor replied. “I might be spry for my age, but I doubt I can scale a building like the two of you.” She gave her head a firm shake. “No. I’ll stay here. Sleep on the couch. If they bust in, then I’ll play dumb. Pretend I’m too addled to understand where I’m supposed to be.”
“Rosie...” Jeannette couldn’t keep the worry from her voice.
Her neighbor’s wrinkled hand closed over her smooth one. “I’ve done it before. People want to believe it because it’s easier than thinking someone who reminds them so thoroughly of their own mortality might have a working brain. How do you think I manage to ride the bus for free all the time?” Her cheeky grin surfaced again. “Now give me a hug.”
Jeannie bent down to oblige, and the older woman’s arms tightened to hold her there for an extra second.
“He knows more than he’s letting on,” Rosie whispered in her ear. “Maybe he thinks he’s protecting you, maybe not. But my cop-wife instincts and my psychic proclivities are screaming that it’s true.” She pulled back without giving Jeannette time to react. “Now I’m going to make the decision easy for the two of you. Either you two go out the window, or I’ll leave and take my chances that the fake cop isn’t lurking around the corner.”
“I don’t think she’s faking the threat,” said Warren.
“I know she’s not,” Jeannette replied. “I’m just trying to come up with a way of counteracting it. Something other than tying her up and carrying her out with us.”
A moment of pensive silence hung in the air, and then Warren stepped over and put his hand on her shoulder. “We don’t have a lot of time or a lot of options,” he said. “I don’t want to leave your friend here, either, but she’s probably safer pretty much anywhere that we’re not.”
Jeannette closed her eyes for a moment. She let her brain power through everything at double speed. Warren wasn’t wrong. But she wouldn’t say he was exactly right, either. The man who Rosie had seen—cop or not—was in all likelihood stationed there in case the two of them showed up. What were the chances that he would break into her apartment without provocation? He might get orders from someone to perform a search. Or he might decide to do it on his own. But it wouldn’t be a subtle entry. Jeannette had a dead bolt and a chain lock. He would literally have to bust his way in, and there was no chance it would not draw attention from the neighbors. Someone would call the police. And if the guy was a fraud, then he’d be in trouble. If he was the real deal—an officer, but corrupt—then his troubles would be heightened all the more.
She opened her eyes and let out a breath, praying that she wouldn’t regret what she was about to say. “Okay. We’ll go. But I have one condition. Once we’re outside, I want to create some kind of distraction. Something that will make whoever’s watching my building certain that we’re out there.” Her gaze flicked to Warren, and once he’d nodded, she looked back to her neighbor. “And I want you to barricade yourself in the spare room.”
“You mean that closet you use as a den?” Rosie replied. “My body will be a barricade just by itself.”
Jeannette ignored the snarky tone; she knew the other woman was trying to make her feel better. “It locks from the inside, and the desk has wheels that can be secured. It should be easy enough to unsecure them so you can roll it in front of the door and secure it again. There’s a chair that goes flat, and there are some things on the shelf that could be used as weapons. A letter opener. That statue that I got from the flea market... Use anything you need to.”
“It won’t come to that,” the aged woman said.
Tears welled up, and Jeannie had no choice but to wipe them away. “How can you be sure?”
“I’m practically psychic, remember?”
Jeannette didn’t argue. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. Not this time, anyway. Instead, she stiffly led Rosie to the spare room. She pulled out the chair that unfolded into a single bed, handed over a blanket and helped her beloved neighbor get settled, and demanded another reassurance that Rosie wouldn’t do anything crazy. And dread filled every moment. Even with Warren reassuring her that they would find the cop—a good cop—to come into the apartment the moment they could, Jeannette couldn’t quite believe she was actually going to leave Rosie where she was. Alone.
As they made their way back out the window—they were opting for the straightest route to the street below this time—Jeannette’s throat was dry with worry. And the fact that she already felt decidedly uneasy was probably why she didn’t notice that something was off. She didn’t hear anything from below. She didn’t sense a presence. And it didn’t strike her as odd that Warren, who’d gone down first, didn’t reach out and help her down when she almost lost her footing on the last rung. So when her feet hit the ground, and she turned and found the gun pointed at her face, she was too shocked to do anything but let out a tiny gasp.
This time, Warren’s teeth-gritting was fully intentional. He had to do it in order to keep himself from calling out a warning. Because the second he’d had both boots on the ground, a sinister voice had told him what would happen if he made a single noise.
She’ll die.
It was the only thing that kept him still. The hope that if he obeyed the order not to move or speak or breathe, then the opposite would happen.
She’ll live.
The man who held him was armed twice over. He held a wicked blade to Warren’s throat, and he had the gun aimed at Jeannie, whose brown eyes were wide with surprise.
Every part of Warren wanted to react. To protect. To throw himself in front of her. Remaining where he was...it was truly a physical effort. He had to order his muscles not to jump to action. The only thing that kept him in place was a forceful, mental reminder that if Warren did move, then the man behind would fire. And there was a significant lack of certainty on whether or not he would be fast enough to get between Jeannie and the bullet. He couldn’t be responsible for her death. At least so long as he stayed where he was, there might be a chance to find a way out of the situation. So that’s what he would do. For now.
The man behind him spoke up then, his voice far too close to Warren’s ear. “Might as well put your hands on your head, Ms. Renfrew.”
The proximity made him twitch. The smell of rancid smoke made his nostrils want to close up. What bothered him more, though, was the way the stranger casually dropped Jeannie’s name. Like he had a right to say it.
Of course he knows who she is, he chastised himself. How the hell did you think he found the apartment?
It was true. That didn’t mean he liked it. He also didn’t like the wave of relief that hit him as Jeannie raised her hands in compliance. Yes, he was glad that she wasn’t going to try another impulsive stunt. He was just displeased that there was no other option.
“I’m going to give you some instructions now,” the man added, “And both of you are not only going to listen, but you’re also going to behave nicely while doing it. If one of you doesn’t, then I’ll punish you by killing the other one. Got it?”
He pushed the knife a little harder into Warren’s neck as though to emphasize his point, and Jeannie sucked in a visible breath.
“Got it,” she squeaked.
“Got it,” Warren growled.
“Good,” said the man. “In a second, I’m going to let you go stand over by your girlfriend, because I’d prefer to be able to watch you both properly while I ask you a few questions. But before I do that, I want you to know that I’m a crack shot. Fast, too. Best in my division. Hell. Maybe the best in the entire police department.”
Warren’s heart was at his knees. The man either was a real officer, or he was very good at faking it.
“My point in telling you this isn’t to brag,” the cop added. “It’s just to warn you. Neither of you will be fast enough to get around it if I fire, and if I were you, I wouldn’t attempt to sacrifice myself in hopes that my one, true love would get free. You’ll just wind up dead. And if you think I can’t find some valid reason for taking you both down, then you’d better carefully consider what I might’ve learned on the streets over the last thirty-odd years. So I ask you again... Got it?”
“Yes,” whispered Jeannie.
“Yeah,” said Warren, unable to keep the resentment from his voice. “Got it.”
“Good,” repeated the other man, easing the knife away. “Step over to her.”
Now Warren’s willpower underwent another test as he forced himself not to drag Jeannie into an embrace. He made himself focus on the man in front of them instead, silently committing his features to memory for later. It was most definitely the same guy that Rosie had encountered out in the hall; her description of him was spot-on. He stood an inch taller than Warren, and he was probably nearer to sixty than he was to fifty. His ponytailed hair bordered on greasy, and his ample middle gave the impression that his claim of superior gunmanship—supposing it was true—was probably one of the only edges he had in his line of work. Maybe he had brains, too. Or at least cunning. It was impossible to know. He was clearly relying on the weapon, which he brandished with purpose. As he adjusted his feet to make himself even wider, his jacket opened just enough to reveal that he did indeed have a badge clipped to his belt.
“Here’s what I know so far,” he said. “You—” he pointed the gun at Jeannie “—are Jeannette Helen Renfrew. Part-time barista, full-time student. Grew up in Vancouver. Had a deadbeat dad and a hardworking single mom who moved you both to Edmonton just before you turned eighteen. One prior. A misdemeanor charge for reckless endangerment. You also have an outstanding parking ticket, as well as some unpleasantness with an ex. And you—” He swung the weapon in Warren’s direction “—saw something that’s left some friends of mine pretty unhappy. And you’ve also drawn a strange blank for my resources.” He paused to casually scratch his chin with the barrel of the gun, then righted it again. “I ran your plates, and I got your name. Warren Lawrence Wright. Graduate of SAIT, and owner of Wright Designs. But weirdly...nothing else. No tickets, no address before your current one, no insight into your childhood. No man is that spotless, Mr. Wright. Which is why it’s a big red flag for me.”
Warren tensed. There was a question in the words. One he had to admit that he’d prefer not to answer. At least not without explaining a few things to Jeannie first.
He made himself clear his throat. “I don’t have a record because I’m a law-abiding citizen, Officer.”
“Detective,” the other man corrected, his tone somehow both offhanded and pointed at the same time.
He wants you to acknowledge his superiority, Warren realized, obliging the corrupt officer as soon as the thought came. “I’m a law-abiding citizen, Detective.”
“Yes,” mused the cop. “But who were you before you were a law-abiding citizen, Mr. Wright?”
Warren could see that the police officer wasn’t going to let it go. He also knew that the detective had an easy way to force an answer—in the form of one innocent woman. As if provoked by the silent acknowldgment of that power, the gun shifted again. The muzzle found a direct line to Jeannie’s forehead, and there was no way the threat was idle.
But if you speak up...will that stop him from shooting her?
He somehow doubted it would simply end there.
“Let her go,” Warren said, recalling that he’d made the same plea to no avail with Jimmy and his buddy, but he needed to stall so he could come up with a plan. “If you do, I’ll tell you whatever you want.”
The detective smiled a humorless smile. “How should I reply to that? Should I lie and promise that if you tell me your secrets, she can walk away?”
“If you’re going to kill her anyway, what’s the motivation for telling you anything?”
“How about my assurance that I’ll kill her myself in a quick and painless way?”
Beside Warren, Jeannie shivered. He didn’t blame her. The cool tone with which the other man spoke was darkly contradictory to the meaning of his words. Conscious that he was moving when he shouldn’t be, he eased himself just slightly in front of her. As he did, his boot caught on a loose rock under his feet. The small stumble that resulted gave him an idea. It was simple. If Warren fell into the man in front of them—accidentally—Jeannie might stand a fighting chance at getting away.
“Please, Detective,” he said. “At least lower the weapon. Point it at me, if you have to point it somewhere.”
With a sigh, the other man rolled his eyes, then complied. “Spill it.”
Warren gave Jeannie’s hip the slightest touch, hoping she’d realize he was about to make a move. He shifted again.
“I knew her,” he said, hoping the statement was both vague enough and truthful enough that it would distract the corrupt lawman.
Another little adjustment.
The detective’s brow furrowed. “Knew who?”
A bit more.
Warren was halfway across Jeannie’s body now. “Her.”
And move again.
The cop’s brows separated and went up. “You aren’t saying—”
Warren fell forward, arms flailing. The other man jumped back, taken by surprise. The gun wavered, and there was a moment of triumph. But it was quickly swept away. Killed by the sudden crack that ripped through the air and sent Jeannie to the ground.