Holly was running late. She’d promised to be at the table by eight sharp; her father was a tyrant for punctuality. Thankfully the Montclairs’ house was just around the corner from the restaurant. She felt good. This case wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but the two of them were reunited, and safe, for now.
There were no parking spots on Main Street. She drove around the corner, found an empty space three blocks away on Bridge Street. If she hurried, she’d only be five minutes late, would only receive a heavy-lidded glance and purse of the lips before an enfolding bear hug.
She hated to be late for her father.
She locked the car, the familiar squawking beep ringing out. She turned her mind to the menu. She was famished; she’d shoved down a bag of cookies from the vending machine at the airport, riding through the afternoon on a wave of crumbly sugar and coffee.
She ran through the conversation. Moreno was tough; a great cop. She’d already learned so much, knew she had much, much more to go. But she’d done it. She’d made it.
She fingered the shield on her hip, a small smile on her face. This was going to be an excellent dinner. She could already see the pride in her father’s eyes when she brought it out to show him. So yes, he’s pushing me hard, but, Daddy, they made me detective!
Detective Graham.
The dinner would turn into a celebration immediately. They would drink champagne. She loved champagne, the tickle of it going down her throat, the warm surge from her stomach.
All thanks to Ethan Montclair. And her gut. Wow, Sutton Montclair in person was amazing. A Botticelli angel, carved of ivory. Holly could only imagine what the real hair color would make her look like. They were a pair, the two of them. Unforgettable.
The case that leapfrogged her career into action. She should buy them some wine or something.
A shadow formed behind her.
She caught it out of the corner of her eye, a flash reflection in the window of the building she was walking past.
The hair stood up on the back of her neck.
She turned just in time to deflect the first thrust of the knife. It caught her in the shoulder. She gasped and got her hands up, but her attacker was fast, and had the advantage of surprise.
The blade stabbed again, and this time, Holly felt the flesh of her stomach part. The knife was large, it went deep. There wasn’t pain, just shock and confusion and a sudden concern for her parents. They’d be waiting at the restaurant, worrying about her tardiness.
A searing fire began. Holly fell to her knees, hands cradling the handle of the blade jutting absurdly from her stomach. She heard the words, whispered, maybe she dreamed them, she didn’t know, it all hurt, so much pain, she’d never felt anything so horrible, she felt invaded, could feel every inch of the metal inside her. She tried to pull the knife away, felt the warm gush of blood, and realized she was dying.
“You should have left it alone.”
And there was nothing more.