Page 122 of Liar's Point

She gathered up her grocery bags, then looked around again before opening the door.

A man watched from the shadow of an oak tree. Tall, heavyset. A cigarette glowed in his hand. Cassandra didn’t know his name, but he’d been coming around for months, and she was pretty sure he’d moved in with the lady in the unit behind her. The woman didn’t let him smoke, apparently, and he was constantly skulking around outside, watching people coming and going and giving Cassandra the creeps.

Ignoring his stare, she trained her gaze on her door and strode up the sidewalk with her bags. After letting herself into her apartment, she locked the door and slumped back against it.

She could do this.

She had a plan.

She dumped her bags on the kitchen counter and went straight into the bathroom. After splashing water on her face, she went to her bedroom closet and flipped on the light. Rows and rows of empty shelves stared back at her. She grabbed her backpack off the floor and tossed it onto the bed. Turning back toward the closet, she paused in the doorway as a familiar scent wafted over her.

No.

Her heart skipped a beat as she identified the smell: Gucci Pour Homme.

She darted a look at the bed. The cheap comforter barely covered the mattress. She dropped into a crouch to look underneath. Nothing.

Get a grip. You have to get a grip!

She reached under the bed and dragged out the gym bag she’d stashed there. She dropped it onto the bed beside the backpack, then unzipped the main compartment and surveyed the contents.

Jeans. Socks. Wool sweaters that she hadn’t worn in more than a year.

She rummaged through the clothes, and her hand closed around something smooth and hard. She pulled out the pistol and studied it. It felt heavy and awkward in her hand—not surprising, really. It wasn’t hers, and she had never even fired it. It had been a gift from Jess before she’d left.

Just in case, Jess had said.

Cassandra had taken it reluctantly, more worried about having a gun in her possession than actually needing to use it. But then everything went sideways, and she’d realized Jess was right.

A loud knock at the door made her jump and turn around.

Dear God, who would show up here at ten p.m.? She shoved the pistol back under the pile of sweaters. But then she changed her mind.

She crept down the hall, gripping the gun in her hand as she eyed the front door. Maybe it was that detective again. Or maybe it was Reese, wanting to know the plan for Danielle’s funeral. Cassandra had been dodging phone calls all day.

Keeping her body near the wall, she leaned to check the peephole.

Alex Breda. She breathed a sigh of relief.

But her relief disappeared as she realized what this meant. Alex wasn’t a part of her new plan. In fact, he could have nothing to do with it.

He looked straight at the peephole, clearly aware that she was standing on the other side of the door.

She glanced around frantically. She wanted to stash the gun back in her bedroom, but part of her wanted it close.

She stepped over to the counter where she’d dumped her grocery bags and grabbed the box of tampons she’d just bought. She opened the box and tucked the pistol inside, then stashed everything in the bag and slid all the groceries to the back of the counter near the microwave. There. Out of sight but accessible.

She returned to the door and took a deep breath before pulling it open.

Instead of the surfer-boy clothes she’d seen before, tonight Alex wore a dark suit and a dress shirt with the top button open. His charming smile was nowhere.

“Hi,” she said, feigning confused surprise. “What brings you here?”

“I got your message.”

He stood there staring at her, and nerves filled her stomach because she hadn’t expected this now, and she wasn’t prepared. For a tense moment she considered making something up.

He sighed. “Cassandra, I’ve been up since four a.m., I skipped dinner, and I just spent five hours in my car. You want to let me in, please?”

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