Page 1 of Just Now

PROLOGUE

Kate Minnett had legal matters weighing heavy on her mind as she climbed out of her BMW, glancing briefly at the crimson flare of the setting sun, and headed to her front door.

In particular, the legalities surrounding death. Violent, tragic death, leaving a slew of loose ends in its wake.

She slung her laptop bag, heavy with legal files as well as her computer, over her shoulder as she approached the house. Its weight pulled down, tugging at the shoulder of her smart navy jacket. She eased her head to the right so her shiny bobbed hair was freed from the strap, which had been pulling at a few strands.

“The property owner was stabbed in a mugging in the city center, fiancée is not mentioned in the will. Ex-wife still stands to inherit.”

Kate mused over the complications of her job in the estate and inheritance legal field as she approached the front door. This wasn’t one of her current cases. It was a case from a neighboring city. Not Boston, where she lived, but Springfield. A different branch of the legal firm she worked for, but they all put their heads together on complex cases.

She hoped she’d be able to find the best outcome, but sometimes, following the letter of the law was harsh. Nobody expected to be stabbed and robbed at the age of forty when walking back to the parking garage after a late business meeting. Very few people kept their affairs in pristine order.

Preoccupied with the potential outcome of the case, she put her key in the lock.

She knew already what she would find inside. The smell of her house, a mixture of polished floorboards and potpourri from the bowl she kept in the hall. She liked a very clean home and was something of a neat freak. At any rate, that was what Chad, her ex-husband, had always called her, in the increasing number of fights they’d had before the divorce and his move out of state a few years ago.

Now she was alone and she liked it that way. It was easier, and work was busy enough that she didn’t miss romance in her life. Well, truth be told, perhaps she did. Just a little. Maybe next month she’d sign up on the dating site again, take the plunge once more, trawl through the pool of men that, in the over-thirties market, seemed to consist of a disproportionate number of weirdos and married men looking for fun on the side.

When they found she was a lawyer, both types melted away.

“Maybe the following month,” she admitted to herself, thinking of what it would take, and the weirdos she’d already encountered. “Maybe in the spring.”

For now, it was time to get one of her prepackaged healthy meals into the microwave, put her feet up, and think about the case challenges. Do some work while she ate her dinner, and then relax for an hour or two before following the yoga video tutorial that she forced herself to do at least four times a week.

She opened the front door.

And gasped.

There was somebody there, inside her home, facing her. Someone. Inside her home?

And not just any someone. A man, immaculately dressed in a pinstriped business suit, a glossy tie, a red button-down shirt, and shiny shoes. Looking as if he’d just walked out of a top-level boardroom, with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder. He looked entirely relaxed as he stared at her, as if he had every right to be strolling around in her house.

She let out an audible gasp. Fast and urgent, her heart pounded in her throat.

This couldn’t be happening. It was a nightmare, a weird dream. It had to be, right? What was this man doing in her home? Who was he?

Tall, strong, broad-shouldered. Not speaking, but now smiling slightly. A gleeful, terrible expression that told her no good could come of this.

Run, Kate’s brain told her, surfacing from the deep waters of total shock. Run. This isn’t a dream. And you need to get away. Fast.

She turned, crying out as her ankle twisted, the heavy weight of her laptop bag unbalancing her as her heel caught.

And then rough hands behind her yanked her back, and she felt tough, strong fingers on her throat, pressing on the sides, cutting off the blood supply. She tried her best to fight the touch, but she’d done no more than frantically claw at the sleeves of that pinstriped suit jacket before darkness rushed in.

*

Reality filtered back. Slowly, painfully. Her throat ached. Her head pounded with a muzzy feeling, as if it had been starved of oxygen. Her mind felt bludgeoned by what had happened.

What had happened?

Now she was lying on a bed, and she opened her eyes, staring in bewilderment.

There was the bedside lamp. Her bedside lamp, with its cream edging and oval shade. Was she in bed? Had this crazy guy, this mirror image of herself, taken her inside the house? Had it all been the weirdest kind of bad dream?

But beyond, things were different, disjointed.

The wall was wrong. Not her cream-colored wallpaper, but a whitewashed surface that was uneven and blotchy. Not her artwork on the wall.

---