Black Listed(15)

She’d spent a few minutes setting herself back to rights and returned to the reception, where she stayed busy, both to avoid Rachel’s questions and to keep her mind off the deal she’d made with Sawyer. What she couldn’t avoid was the sensation of Sawyer’s gaze on her. Even as the night cooled the air, it had made her hot and kept her painfully aware of the delicious soreness between her legs.

At least he’d had the decency to leave the party right after dinner.

With sunrise on the horizon, all she wanted to do right now was slide into bed and sleep for the next eight hours. She needed a clear head to figure out how she could get out of her arrangement with Sawyer. There was no way in hell she could go through with it.

Her first instinct was to run. After having spent most of her life doing just that, the compunction about packing up her belongings and making a fresh start under a new identity pressed hard on her. As Sawyer’s presence suggested, her past was catching up with her.

Who else might have recognized her from the photograph? If Sawyer found her, could the rest be far behind?

But if she ran now, she’d miss the life she’d built for herself these past few years. There was nothing like getting paid to manipulate and orchestrate. She’d been born for public relations. Or maybe if she’d had a different set of parents, she would’ve ended up as an attorney. As she’d observed working at the law firm, lawyers did plenty of manipulation and orchestration in their jobs.

Barely able to keep her eyes open, she leaned against the doorframe as she stuck the key into the lock. But before she turned it, the door moved inward as if it had already been unlocked and opened. She pinched the bridge of her nose and thought back to the prior day. She’d been in a rush to get to Benediction, carrying multiple bags with her as she left.

Was it possible she’d forgotten to shut the door?

She pushed it open, the porch lamp throwing a sliver of light into her condo’s entryway. A streak of crimson on the carpet caught her eye.

Was that blood?

Her hands began to tremble, and her heart pounded.

Suddenly, she was wide awake.

She inched inside, leaving the door open, and flicked on the lights. Like she’d been punched in the chest, all the breath left her lungs as she took in the mess of her condo.

Splashes of blood-red paint stained the white walls and beige carpeting, its cloying scent obvious now that she stepped inside.

She continued farther into her home, stopping at the kitchen, where garbage had been strewn everywhere. Flies buzzed around the pile of rotten food covering her kitchen table. Gagging on the rancid smell, she covered her mouth and hurried out of the room.

Her couch cushions had been sliced, pieces of foam and cotton littering the room, and her television had been shattered as if hit with a baseball bat. Her bookshelves were now bare, her beloved books ripped apart and covered with the red paint.

Thank goodness she hadn’t hidden her black list on those shelves. Perhaps it was time for her to put it in a safe deposit box at the bank.

But what if she had to leave suddenly?

No, she had to keep it accessible. For now, it was safe.

She briefly closed her eyes, terrified of what she’d find in her bedroom, but she had to see. Had to know. Whatever had been done couldn’t be any worse than the images playing through her mind right then, the worst of it being that the intruder was still in there.

This was no ordinary break-in. There was rage behind the chaos.

Since there was no sign of forced entry, whoever did it either knew how to pick her lock or had gotten her key.

Determined to stay calm, she held her breath and strode into her private sanctuary.

All her clothes were piled onto her bed and had been slashed and covered with paint. She inched closer, sensing something different about the mound of soiled fabric. It almost seemed alive, as if the fabric itself was stirring.

Breathing.

A piece of paper floated down onto the floor.

Although her instincts screamed for her to flee, she wouldn’t crumble. Whatever this was, she would handle it. Alone. Just as she always did.

She commanded her feet to move and stretched out her arm, snatching the paper. The intruder left her a message written in block print.

Gotcha.

She’d been found.

But why had he or she gone through all this trouble, rather than call the police on her or kill her?

This felt like a dangerous game of cat and mouse. Whoever it was wanted to play with her before he finished her off.

Something caught her eye from the heap of clothes. Something black that appeared and disappeared before she could blink.

Clutching the letter in one hand, she gingerly lifted a couple pieces of fabric with the other, praying she wouldn’t find anything. Her wrist tickling, she scratched it, but the irritation persisted. Not seeing anything on the bed, she continued to move her clothes. A black blob crawled and spread.