Page 5 of Run for Her Life
“Thanks, Simon.” She stood up and headed back to her desk.
Simon would find something, and she would go from there. She eyed the bustling office of FBI Seattle with suspicion. Like she was waiting for someone to jump out at her. Or someone watching her. She scanned the room for any hint of deception or even the slightest crack in normalcy. She knew she was being watched. That’s how that man—Viktor—had forced his way into her motel room, beaten her up, stolen a key to the safety deposit box in Chicago, and warned her to stop trying to find out the truth about what happened to Rachel.
Was she being watchednow? She must be. Her eyes flitted across the room. Everyone was familiar to her. Her colleagues. Agents and admin staff—all vetted thoroughly. Then why could she sense a hostile gaze on her? Why were the hairs on the back of her neck standing up? Why was her blood bubbling under her skin and making her toes curl?
It was the natural response of a prey sensing a predator. A harsh and heavy presence right over her shoulder.
When she reached her desk, she stopped at the sight of an envelope addressed to her. She tore it open without thinking, spilling the contents onto the desk, and gasped, stepping back.
A lock of blonde hair, neatly tied with a red ribbon. And a note.
Like the snap of an elastic, her mind switched gears. She grabbed the first person walking past and instructed him to find Simon. She didn’t see or wait for a response. Her vision tunneled on the lock of hair drizzled with what looked like flecks of dried blood.
Her heart skittered in her chest and her lips quivered. Slowly, she picked up a pen and used it to open the folded piece of paper.
Ticktock goes the clock
Annabelle lies beneath the rock
Weeping roots will not betray.
Once she begged, now she sleeps,
Locked in silence, six feet deep.
Last breath stolen, fingers curled,
Ever rotting, beneath this world.
Marrow blackens, flesh turns stone,
If you find her, you’re not alone.
FOUR
Thump.
“Did you touch it?” Simon asked, standing next to her with his hands in his pocket.
Thump.
“No.”
Thump.
A small crowd had gathered around Zoe’s desk. All eyes glued to the lock of hair and the note. Zoe chewed on her painted nail as she tried to make sense of the contents of the envelope. Her heart thumped in her chest slowly—too slowly. It almost made her lightheaded. There was something very off about this and it wasn’t just the spine-tingling note or the bloodied hair.
“Why was it sent toher?” she heard someone say behind her.
The words reverberated through Zoe like an electric current. That’s what was bothering her. Whyher?
“All right. Show’s over. Back to work. Now,” Simon snapped, shepherding the crowd away. “You, stay,” he said to one of the junior agents. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Bag this. It’s evidence. Get the lab to test the hair.”
Zoe continued to stare at the envelope as a gloved hand picked it up, scooped the contents back inside and took it away.Her eyes zoomed in on a dried fleck of blood that had come away from the hair and lay gleaming on the white desk. “Do you think it’s a prank?”
“Could be someone chopped off their hair,” Simon said. “Wouldn’t be the first time some asshole is trying to screw with us.”
“But what if it’s not some sick joke?” She looked up at Simon.
