Page 71 of Torched Spades
“And you’re walking a very dangerous one,” he warns, his tone sending a shiver down my spine. “You don’t know him.”
“You’re right,” I clip, all pleasantries melting away. “I don’t. But doyou, Mr. Holmes? Do you know every detail about the man behind the probation you’ve so willingly taken over? Because if you do, maybe you can fill in a few gaps I seem to be missing in my files.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Dr. Brennan.”
I nod to where his laptop sits open to his left. “Type in Johnny Malone… Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
* * *
My gut feels drunk again.
Placing my hand over my stomach, I will the angry twisting to stop, but it’s no use. The moment I step out of the courthouse elevator and turn the corner, everything comes rushing back, and I’m hurled right into another twelve-car pile-up.
As I stare down the same empty hallway where I first saw Johnny, I try to force my feet into a brisk pace, but they feel encased in cement. It’s like my subconscious wants to wring every sadistic drop out of today as a final fuck you.
The ultimate fuck you.
I let out a humorless laugh as I trudge past the wall he punched, my sneakers scuffing a pristine floor that a few weeks ago was covered in apple nectar.
“Mind your own business, lady. I’m kind of having a bad day here.”
I should’ve listened to him. If I’d only kept walking, none of this would’ve happened. I would’ve met Johnny Malone during his first appointment, and as Owen Holmes pointed out, most likely referred him out within two weeks.
Instead, I tossed an apple at a stranger, and now everything is ruined.
The moment I step outside the courthouse and into the parking garage, I palm my forehead and drag in a much needed breath. Once I don’t feel as if my head is being held underwater, I swipe a finger under each eye, then push my shoulders back. “What’s done is done,” I remind myself. “What happens to him now is none of my concern.”
Resignation quickens my step, the squeal of my sneakers against the concrete pinging across the nearly empty parking garage. I take a quick glance toward the concrete slabs separating the first floor from the second and groan.
Shit. I hadn’t realized how late it was until now.
Until being surrounded by darkness and silence.
“Stop being paranoid,” I mutter, but when my steps acquire a second echo, the twist in my gut becomes a snap of warning. I don’t look over my shoulder because I’m too focused on the shadows dancing in front of me—my own, and the one behind me matching my every move.
Run.
My heart pounds out the same word in between my heavy footfalls, and when I see my car tucked away in the far upper corner of the garage, my hastened pace becomes an all-out sprint.
I almost make it.
Seconds before I hit the unlock button on my key fob, I’m slammed into from behind. The sheer force of the impact sends me hurling into the side of my car, my forehead crashing into, then slingshotting off the roof. Before I can even cry out, the wind is knocked out of me again as a strong hand grips the back of my neck and shoves my face against the window.
“Going somewhere?”
At that moment, all I can think about is Jack’s warning from the diner.
“An internist in Newport was stabbed while leaving her office. She was killed by one of her own patients, Becca. A fucking sick son of a bitch who became obsessed with her. That person could easily be you.”
And now it is.
“Please let me go,” I beg. “I won’t say anything. I haven’t seen your face. I don’t know anything about you.”
“Maybe not, but I know all about you, Becca.”
Those words ring in my ear like an alarm.Why do they sound so familiar?I don’t have time to think about it before I’m wrenched away from the window and shoved face-first onto the concrete. I fling my hands out in front of me, trying to break my fall, but I’m a heartbeat too late, and my chin smacks against the hard garage floor.
I don’t allow myself time to feel pain. Immediately, I’m up on my hands and knees, crawling frantically toward the exit. “Help!” I scream, my vision blurring with hot tears. “Someone, please help…ugh!” My final plea becomes a garbled grunt as a steel-toed shoe crashes into my ribcage and flips me over. A second wave of copper fills my mouth, and I blink furiously, determined to stay conscious.
