Murder List

Chapter Twelve

He came out of nowhere. He was running toward her. She could hear his footsteps on the pavement as she was turning. His face was twisted in rage. He was a big, muscular man. What was he doing? And why was he so angry?

Her mind tried to make sense out of why he was there. He was probably a jogger who just got caught in the rain. Maybe he was trying to get to his car just as she was trying to get to hers, and when she turned toward him, she’d so surprised him that he’d stopped.

No, no. There was something all wrong about him. Without understanding why, she knew the anger was directed at her.

Her instincts were screaming at her to get out of there. Fear, a powerful motivator, overrode the pain in her knee as she struggled to get up off the ground.

Her car key still dangled from the bracelet on her wrist. It was a miracle it hadn’t slipped off in the fall. The car was safety. Run, her mind screamed. Run.

The rain was pouring now. Head down, she stumbled to get to her car.

Was he coming after her? She dared a quick look back. Oh, God, he was running at her, closing the distance.

Wait. He was waving something at her and shouting at her to stop.

No, no, it was wrong. It was all wrong. Faster, she had to run faster. Her brother’s warning popped into her head. Spencer had always told her that when in doubt, go with your instincts, and her instincts were screaming at her to get to safety.

She finally made it to the car. The key nearly fell out of her hand when she pulled the coiled bracelet off her wrist, but she grabbed it in time. Her hands were slick from rain, and she was shaking so much it took her two tries to get the key in the lock.

He was almost there. She swung the door open, dove inside, threw her purse out of her way, and pulled the door closed. Twisting around, she hit the lock button down with her fist.

She didn’t take time to recover her breath. She shoved the key into the ignition and started the engine, turning the bright lights on as she backed out. Her foot slipped off the pedal.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. He was standing just twenty, perhaps thirty feet away. The light shone on his face, and his expression terrified her. He didn’t move. She frantically wiped the rain away from her eyes.

She blinked and he was gone.

She grabbed her purse from the floor and frantically dug through it, searching for her cell phone. Where was it?

A car behind her honked. Cordie and Sophie… they were waiting for her to pick them up. And the lunatic was out there.

She gripped the steering wheel and drove like a wild woman to the conference center. Aiden was right, she thought. She did need a new car, one with power locks and an alarm. It had been childish for her to hang on to the old clunker just to spite him.

Her friends were standing on the porch waiting for her. Regan put the car in park and slid across the bench seat to unlock the back door for Sophie. She rolled the window down and called out to Cordie, “You drive.”

“What happened to you?” Sophie asked, and after she got in, she scooted to unlock the driver’s door for Cordie. “Your face is gray.”

“I fell. Actually I-”

Sophie interrupted. “You hurt your knee again, didn’t you? Did it just give out on you?”

“Yes, but…”

“You really should get that fixed,” Cordie said. She was adjusting the mirror.

“Stop interrupting and listen. Something happened. Sophie, give me your phone. I can’t find mine, and I need to call the police.”

Her voice trembled as she related what had happened. Although it seemed odd to her, retelling was almost as frightening as the experience itself, because she now realized how close she might have come to fending off a madman.

Cordie was so shocked by what she was hearing that she grabbed Regan’s hand to comfort her.

“Thank God you got away from him,” she whispered.

Sophie wanted more details. “Could you identify him if you saw him?”

“I don’t know. Yes… maybe. I was so scared. I turned and there he was. He wore thick glasses.”

Cordie found her cell phone and handed it to Regan. “Call right now and tell them there’s a lunatic roaming around the conference center.”

“I’ll bet he’s long gone by now,” Sophie said.

“Are you saying she shouldn’t call?” Cordie asked, ready to argue.

“Of course she should call, but after you give the police the description, tell the officer we’re on our way to the police station. There’s one about two miles from here.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Cordie said. She put the car in drive and headed out while Regan made the call.

“We’ve got to get some ice on Regan’s knee,” Sophie said. “And the sooner the better.”

Regan motioned for her friends to be quiet when the phone was answered. She worried she would end up talking to another detective like Sweeney, but fortunately, the officer who took the call was efficient and polite. As soon as she explained what had happened, he dispatched policemen to the conference center to search for the man.

“I think he believed me, but I don’t know why,” Regan said after she had ended the call. “I rambled, didn’t I?”

“A little,” Cordie said.

“Turn left at the next corner,” Sophie directed. “There’s a QuikTrip where we can get her an ice pack, and a police station is just about a mile farther down that street.”

“How come you know where all the police stations are?” Regan asked.

“Not all of them, just some,” she corrected. “I’m going to be an investigative reporter, remember? It’s good to know these things.”

“I liked Officer Martinez,” Sophie said an hour later as the three left the police station.

Regan was replaying what she had said and shaking her head over her descriptions. “I sounded like an idiot. There was a man… dressed like a runner,” she quoted herself. “He appeared out of nowhere and I fell, and I think he might have been chasing me. But then again… maybe he wasn’t…”

“You were smart to run, Regan,” Sophie said. “That’s what Officer Martinez said. You went with your instincts.”

“He also said there hadn’t been any problems at the center in over a year.”

“You still did the right thing,” Cordie said. “You reported the incident, and if he’s some kind of wacko, which, by the way, I think he is, they’ll be on the lookout for him.”

“Could we not talk about this anymore?” Regan said. “How about eating in the hotel dining room? I’ll get you both settled at a table in the restaurant, run upstairs to change out of these wet clothes, and we’ll have a lovely dinner.”

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to run anywhere,” Cordie said. “And you need to keep ice on that knee.”

“Then come up to my suite, and we’ll order room service.”

They both agreed, and the rest of the evening was blessedly uneventful. As far as Regan was concerned, the matter was closed.