„No, ma’am,“ he said. „And I honestly didn’t mean to sneak up on you. You just seemed so pleasantly engaged in conversation with yourself and I didn’t want to barge in.“
Again her cheeks burned. „Don’t you ever talk to yourself?“
His smile dimmed and the look of almost desperate desolation returned to his eyes, making Kristen feel guilty for even asking the question. „On occasion,“ he murmured.
The elevator dinged again, and the doors opened to a darkened cavern of automobiles and the smell of stale oil and exhaust. This time his after-you gesture was much more subdued and Kristen wasn’t sure how to end the conversation.
„Look, I’m sorry I almost pepper-sprayed you. You were right. I should have been more aware of my surroundings.“
He studied her carefully. „You’re tired. People lower their guard when they’re tired.“
She smiled wryly. „So it shows, huh?“
He nodded. „Yeah. Just for my peace of mind, let me walk you to your car.“
Kristen narrowed her eyes. „Who are you?“
„I was wondering when you’d ask. Are you always this trusting, carrying on conversations with strange men in deserted elevators?“
No, she definitely wasn’t, definitely had the right not to be. „No, I normally pepper-spray first and ask questions later,“ she shot back and he smiled, this time in rueful acceptance.
„Then I guess I’m lucky once again,“ he said. „I’m Abe Reagan.“
Kristen frowned. „I know you. I know I do.“
He shook his dark head. „No, I would have remembered you.“
„Why?“
„Because I never forget a face.“
He said it matter-of-factly, as if there were no possibility of flirtation. And Kristen was annoyed to find herself disappointed.
„I have to be getting home.“ She turned on her heel, her key poking out from between two fingers as she’d been taught. She held her head high and looked and listened as she walked, but only heard his footsteps behind her. She stopped at her aged Toyota and he stopped, too. She looked up at his face, again in the shadows. „Thank you. You can go now.“
„I don’t think so, ma’am.“
Enough was enough. „Excuse me?“
He pointed to her tire. „See for yourself.“
Kristen looked and felt physically sick. Of all times, a flat tire. „Dammit.“
„Don’t worry, I’ll change it for you.“
Another day she might have refused, because she was certainly capable of changing a tire. Today, she’d let him knock himself out. „Thanks. I really appreciate it, Mr. Reagan.“
He took off his overcoat and laid it across her hood. „My friends call me Abe.“
She hesitated, then shrugged. If he’d planned anything evil, he would have done it by now. „I’m Kristen.“
„Then pop the trunk, Kristen, and we’ll have you on your way.“
Kristen did, wondering when she’d last opened her trunk, sincerely hoping she had a spare, already anticipating Mr. Know-it-all’s scathing response if she didn’t.
And stopped short, staring at the interior of the trunk she’d left clean and empty.
To say it wasn’t as she’d left it would be quite the understatement. She reached out a tentative hand, then snatched it back. Don’t touch anything. She squinted, trying to make sense of the three large shapes that had not been there before. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dim illumination provided by the little trunk light, her brain began to process what her eyes were seeing. And the resulting message from her brain sent her stomach churning. She’d thought her day couldn’t get any worse after the Conti mistrial.
She’d been very, very wrong.
Reagan’s voice cut through the fog in her brain. „This should only take a few minutes.“
„Um, I don’t think so.“
In an instant he was behind her, looking over her shoulder and she could hear him exhale on a hiss. „Holy shit.“
Either his eyes were better than hers or fatigue had put her in slow-motion mode because it had taken Abe Reagan only a split second to comprehend what had taken her multiple seconds to process to the point of being well and truly horrified.
„I need to call the police.“ Her voice trembled and she didn’t care. It wasn’t every day her personal space was violated. It sure as hell wasn’t every day she presided over her very own crime scene. And this one qualified as a real doozy.
Three plastic milk crates sat side by side. Each contained clothing topped by a manila envelope. Each envelope had a single Polaroid taped precisely in its center. And even from where she stood she could see the subject of each Polaroid was well and truly dead.