

Trouble Magnet

Eliza Carlisle Mystery, Book One

Also by DelSheree Gladden

The Handbook Series

The Crazy Girl's Handbook

The Oblivious Girl's Handbook

Eliza Carlisle Mystery Series

Trouble Magnet

The Catalyst

Firebrand

Instigator (coming soon)

The Arcane Wielder Series

Life & Being

The Ghost Host Series

The Ghost Host: Episode 1

The Ghost Host: Episode 2

Escaping Fate Series

Escaping Fate

Soul Stone

Oracle Lost

(Coming Soon)

Twin Souls Saga

Twin Souls

Shaxoa's Gift

Qaletaqa

The Destroyer Trilogy

Inquest

Secret of Betrayal

Darkening Chaos

Someone Wicked This Way Comes Series

Wicked Hunger

Wicked Power

Wicked Glory

Wicked Revenge

The Aerling Series

Invisible

Intangible

Invincible

The Date Shark Series

Date Shark

Shark Out Of Water

The Only Shark In The Sea

Shark In Troubled Waters

Trouble Magnet

Eliza Carlisle Mystery, Book 1

DelSheree Gladden

Smashwords Edition

Trouble Magnet

Eliza Carlisle Mystery, Book 1

Written by DelSheree Gladden

Copyright © DelSheree Gladden 2016

Cover Design DelSheree Gladden

Published by DelSheree Gladden

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher and/or author.

Printed in the U.S.A.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgments

I had three chapters of this book written when Emily Kimelman invited me to be a seed author in her Sydney Rye Kindle World, and mentioned combining one of my worlds with hers to help promote both. This was my only mystery based world to mashup with Sydney Rye's so I figured I better get it finished! So thank you to Emily for giving me the push I needed to introduce Eliza Carlisle to my readers.

Because this ended up being a little more fast-tracked than usual, I went straight to my fabulous sister-in-law Deanne Gladden and my right hand beta reader Sneha Mohite for comments and suggestions on this story. I know I can always count on them to be honest about what needs fixed and willing to read whatever random project I send them. Thank you so much!

As always, thank you to my husband Ryan for his support and love, and for squeezing in reading this book between all his work deadlines. He's the best in so many ways. Love you, hun!

Dedication

For my little sister Kass, who's had her share of Eliza-style craziness lately. Hang in there and know I'm here whenever you need me. Love you, sis.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Also by DelSheree

About the Author

Preview of The Crazy Girl's Handbook

1: Grandma Crazy Town

I was going to kiss my sister full on the mouth the next time I saw her. Staring out the window of the cab at the gorgeous old apartment building, I couldn't believe how things had worked out. Four years older, Bernadette had always taken care of me. This was above and beyond. The moment I called her to gush about my acceptance to culinary school, she'd had all the answers.

Her boss had been trying to talk her into taking an overseas assignment for months, but she was still under lease on her apartment and didn't want to have to put all her stuff in storage for the next year or sublet to a stranger. Solution: let me move in while she was in Spain. I got super cheap rent while going to school, and she didn't have to box everything up.

Stepping out onto the curb, I could barely stop myself from jumping up and down. At twenty-three, I was finally living on my own in a big city, ready to start a top notch program at my dream school. It was a few years later than originally planned, but it was perfect.

I was startled out of my glorious revelry by my one, gigantic suitcase being dropped at my feet with a loud slap of plastic wheels against concrete. "This is where you're going to live?" the cab driver asked. His skeptical tone seemed ridiculous. And why did he look like he was shying away from the building like it might be contagious? "I should have known when your sister called me at the cab company to pick you up from the airport."

"Isn't it great?" I said, determined not to let him ruin my moment.

"That's what everyone thinks...at first," he grumbled. He shook his head. "Good luck."

Having already paid my fair, he walked back to the driver's side and drove off a few seconds later. I had no idea what his problem was. I didn't have more than a second to dwell on it before a woman burst through the main door of the apartment building and bounded down to shake my hand. It seemed a little overenthusiastic, but I was beaming and shaking back with equal gusto.

"You must be Eliza Carlisle. Bernadette's sister, right?" The woman stared at me expectantly, looking ready to pass out from her excitement. This place was really friendly, apparently. No wonder Bernadette liked it. It might take me a little getting used to. Me and people hadn't been real tight lately, but I was pretty sure I could manage.

"Yeah, I guess she told you I'd be here today." Either that, or my sister had the world's most perky stalker.

Her smile grew, which I hadn't thought possible. "Of course she did! She told me all about you."

Well, hopefully not all about me. Whoever this lady was, even as aggressive as she seemed to be about making friends, Bernadette knew how to keep her mouth shut when she needed to protect someone. It was no surprise to anyone when she went into journalism.

"I'm, Sonya, the manager, and I'm here to welcome you and get you settled." She reached for my suitcase, and I thought about trying to stop her, but it seemed slightly rude to say no, and I was just a little afraid of provoking her into some kind of super welcome mode. Instead, I followed her up the steps while she continued to talk.

"I can't tell you how excited I am to have another woman my age around here. I mean," she said, looking back at me while she yanked my suitcase over another step, "your sister is really nice, but she was hardly ever around. It'll be great having someone to talk to." She was still smiling, even as she wrestled my bag up another step.

I guess I hadn't really thought about how old Sonya was until that moment. She was young, but I hadn't realized she was that young. "How old are you?"

"Twenty...four," she said, her words broken up by the effort of hauling my suitcase up and over the last, unusually tall step. "My grandma owns the building. When managing it herself got to be too much, she offered me a rent-free apartment in exchange for keeping an eye on things."

That explained how she came to manage an entire building at such a young age. "Sounds like a pretty good deal to me."

For the first time since meeting her, Sonya's smile faltered. "Yeah, well, it'll be better now, right?"

Not really sure how to respond to that, I nodded and hoped it was the right response. When her smile wattage went back to blinding, I figured I'd guessed correctly. Sonya pulled one of the doors open and gestured for me to go ahead of her. Stopping to stare as soon as I entered the lobby, it took me a moment to take it all in. It was beautiful with its dark wood scrollwork and vintage wallpaper. The carpet runners were a little worn from traffic, but high quality and well cared for. It instantly felt like home.

"I closed the dumpster lids. Are you happy now?" some shuffling, grumbling older gentleman snarled as he made his way across the lobby.

I looked back at Sonya, hoping he was talking to her and not me. She rolled her eyes, but her voice was perfectly pleasant as she said. "Thank you, Mr. Piper."

He flapped his arm a few times in annoyance without turning back, and disappeared around a corner.

"Never mind him," Sonya said as she directed me to the office. "He's always like that."

She brushed it off quickly, but I tucked the warning away for later. Avoid angry old men ranting about dumpster lids. If Sonya and I were the only younger residents, I hoped that didn't mean all the elderly people in the building were as irritable as Mr. Piper. Old people kinda creeped me out. Angry old people even more so.

"So," Sonya said once she was tucked away behind her desk and I was seated in front of her, "let's get all the paperwork out of the way and then I'll show you to Bernadette's...well, your apartment, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan."

I swear it was like watching a little kid handing over a birthday present to their best friend that they knew was going to be the best possible gift on the planet. Sonya seemed nice—a little overly so—but I couldn't for the life of me figure out why she was about to bust a seam over this. It was just a lease agreement. She pushed the paperwork across the desk and I was happily signing away when the office door burst open so hard it slammed into the wall behind me.

Spinning around in my chair, I gaped at the man in the doorway. His dark hair and emerald green eyes were certainly something to take notice of, as was his height and broad shoulders. In any other situation, I would have been struck by how attractive he was. Seeming to be a few years older than myself, I was instead stunned by the anger in his body language. What really had my fingers turning white as they clutched the chair arms was the livid expression on his face as he thrust a piece of paper out in front of him.

"If I get another damn complaint from Ms. Sinclair about my TV being too loud after seven p.m., I swear I will take that cat of hers that spends half the night yowling, and pitch it right out the window! Not everyone goes to bed at seven in the evening, and the only way she can hear my TV is if she's got a glass against the wall again!"

He didn't even wait for a response before tossing the paper at Sonya and storming out of the office, the door slamming closed behind him. As soon as it felt safe to speak again, I asked, "Who on earth was that?"

Sonya sighed. "Baxter. Never mind him. He's always like that. He's total eye candy, but the fights he and Ms. Sinclair get into make me insane. She's the bigger pain in the ass, but dealing with those two makes me crazy sometimes." She shook her head again, but dismissed the whole encounter a moment later. I wished I could have done the same. "Anyway," Sonya continued, "if you have any questions about the lease agreement, just let me know. You'll actually be subletting from Bernadette since her lease isn't up yet, but all the same rules and requirements apply."

"Rules and requirements?" I asked. Rules, sure, there were always rules, I supposed. Requirements? Like a credit check? I hoped that wouldn't be an issue as I had almost zero credit to speak of.

Tilting her head to one side, Sonya frowned. "Bernadette did explain how this building works, right?"

"It's an apartment building. How complicated can it be?" I mean, I'd never lived on my own before, but still. Pay your rent on time, don't annoy the neighbors. What else was there?

Slumping into her chair, Sonya's posture made it pretty clear there was definitely more to it than that. "Oh dear." She sighed and her smile was taken over by worry. "I really thought Bernadette would have explained everything already. I was so excited."

She said it like my moving in here was suddenly out of the question. That got me worried. How bad could this place possibly be? Classes started the next day and I had nowhere else to go. All of my savings had gone toward tuition. I barely had enough left to pay the inexpensive rent here for a month while I looked for a job. I couldn't afford anywhere else.

"Why don't you just explain," I said warily.

Sonya bit her bottom lip, but nodded in a defeated sort of way.

"My grandma, she's a little...odd." Sonya looked up at me, her brows knit together. "Her and my grandpa have owned this building forever, but after my grandpa passed and all the kids were gone, she was lonely and she...made some changes to the standard lease agreement, but not the rent amount."

I was beginning to feel like I was sitting in the lobby of the Bates Motel, waiting on a key that would surely unlock my doom. "The changes? What were they?"

"Well, there's kind of two parts." She took a deep breath, the kind a doctor might take before he tells a patient they have terminal cancer. "The first part, one of the reasons rent is so low here, is because the residents all have a job...something they're responsible for to keep the building running smoothly so Grandma doesn't have to staff a maintenance guy."

"So, all the repairs are done by people who have no clue what they're doing?" I was suddenly wary of leaning too hard on anything or flipping on a light switch.

Sonya shook her head quickly. "No, no. Anything serious, we have a licensed repair person come in. Small things though, like changing light bulbs or repainting a scuffed up piece of railing, keeping the dumpster lids closed so trash doesn't blow down the alley, things like that are the residents' responsibility. Everyone has a job."

"You're going to assign me a chore, then?" That didn't sound so bad.

"Well...Bernadette said you'd just take over her assignment."

Great. Just great! Bernadette the overachiever, who could do anything and everything, said I'd slip right in and fill her shoes like I'd never, ever been able to do before. I loved my sister, but we couldn't have been more different if we had tried. I had one talent, cooking, and honestly, I wasn't even sure I was that good. It was just one of the few things I didn't suck at, so I figured I better attempt to make a career out of it since nothing else seemed all that promising.

"What was her assignment?" I held my breath, hoping for once she'd picked something simple and easy to learn.

Sonya's eyebrows pinched together again. "Um, minor plumbing repairs."

"Plumbing?" I shrieked.

Seriously? I had no clue where to even start with that! I was pretty sure I knew what a screwdriver was, but that was about as far as my mechanical knowledge extended. Daddy banned me from laying even a single finger on his tools after I tried to replace the pedal that fell off my bike when I was eight and ended up with my hair stuck in the spokes and a broken finger.

"You might be able to talk one of the other residents into trading with you." She tried to force a hopeful smile, but it died a short death. No one wanted to fish lost rings out of drain pipes or unclog someone else's nasty sink. I didn't have to be a plumber to know that.

"So...the other part," Sonya said slowly. She waited for me to focus on her again, although zoning out in that moment would probably have been preferable. "My grandma really likes to be social, but she has a hard time leaving the building much anymore. Several times a week she hosts these, uh, get togethers, and...well, you're required to attend at least one...per week."

It took me a moment to process that tidbit of weirdness. I had to repeat it a few times in my head to make sure I had it right. "So, let me get this straight. Part of the lease agreement says I have to hang out with your grandma and all the other residents at least once a week, whether I want to or not?" She nodded. "What happens if I don't?"

Fiddling with some of the papers in front of her, Sonya said, "You get two warnings before you're given thirty days' notice to move out." She looked up at me, her expression a mixture of hope and apology. "If that happens, Bernadette will lose her deposit and the option to renew her lease."

To me, that didn't sound all that bad. Sure, losing the deposit money would have sucked, but Bernadette had a good job and could easily afford higher rent to live in a building not owned by a kooky old lady who probably should have been living in a retirement facility instead of forcing unassuming strangers to be her unwilling friends. Why on earth hadn't Bernadette warned me about all of this?

"The rules," Sonya continued, "are pretty basic. Rent's due on the first. Five percent late charge after the tenth. No loud TV or music after ten. No damaging the apartment. Hanging pictures is okay, though. No physical violence against any of the other residents, either."

That last one slapped me out of my self-pity and shot me up ram-rod straight in my chair. "Physical violence? Is that a problem here?"

Sonya blanched. "Not recently."

I was going to die here. That was the real reason rent was so cheap. I'd finally escaped my past only to be roped into living in a funny farm where one of the other residents just might kill you in your sleep for playing your TV too loud or forgetting to put down the dumpster lids. Or maybe they'd just push you down the stairs. There were a lot of stairs here.

What had I gotten myself into?

No, what had Bernadette gotten me into? She was supposed to be looking out for me, not putting a target on my back!

I stared down at the final page of the lease agreement. One more signature to go. Clearly, Sonya was certain I'd walk away. If I'd had any other options—and I mean any other options—she'd have been right. Instead of running from the insanity of this place, I sighed and scrawled my name one last time. As soon as I lifted my pen, Sonya grabbed both my hands and squealed in delight.

"I'm so glad you're staying! I was so sure you'd walk away when I realized Bernadette hadn't prepared you."

Which was exactly why my traitorous sister hadn't said a word.

Before I could come up with a solid plan to pay my sister back for this, Sonya was back around the desk, my suitcase in hand, yanking me up from my chair and out of the office. The clunk-clunk of my suitcase banging its way up the stairs sounded like a death march. I was so focused on my own misery that I didn't realize someone was coming up behind me until I was body-checked into the wall and another raised voice started ranting while waving a paper in Sonya's face.

"Is your grandmother serious about this?" a Hispanic woman in her forties yelled. "She demands I come to these stupid potlucks, but now she doesn't want me to bring my son? She really expects me to find a sitter just to show up to one of her weird dinner parties?"

A look of well-practiced patience settled over Sonya. "Marlene, you know my grandma is usually happy to have the entire family come to dinner, but Alonzo did take a permanent marker to her walls last Tuesday night. Anyone would be upset about that."

"He's just a kid!"

As mad as I'd probably be about marker on my walls, toddlers weren't the easiest little beasts to control...

"Alonzo is ten, Marlene," Sonya said, which shut her up and made my mouth snap closed as well.

Ten? Seriously? Never mind. I would have banned the little brat, too.

"Why don't you check with Beth in three-thirty? She's the resident babysitter and I'm sure she'd be happy to keep Alonzo company while she does homework."

Marlene huffed, then spun around and marched back down the stairs without another word. Sonya shook her head and said, "Don't mind Marlene..."

"She's always like that?" I finished. When Sonya nodded, I sighed. I was beginning to see a pattern.

A few minutes later, Sonya stopped in front of a door with shiny brass numbers stating that we had arrived at apartment two-sixteen. "This is you," she said as she handed over the keys. "Grandma's dinners are at six o'clock on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and she'll usually do something on holidays, too. Everyone brings a little something and you only have to stay for an hour." She paused and bit her lip. "Really, it's not that bad. I'll be there."

She said that last part like it was supposed to erase everything else. All I could do was sigh in response. The only escape I was going to find was holing myself up in my new apartment. Reaching out with the key, I was jiggling it around in an attempt to unlock the deadbolt when shouting from next door erupted only moments before two sets of doors burst open.

"I can hear your TV!" some crazy old woman—who I assumed was Ms. Sinclair—shouted at an equally peeved Baxter.

"I don't even have my TV on!"

The old woman spun around and stomped back into her apartment, of course, slamming the door behind her. Baxter looked ready to do the same, but as he twisted around, he caught sight of me and glowered. "You're my new neighbor?"

I nodded, not daring to speak.

"Complain about the noise of my TV once and..." His hands balled into fists as he tried and failed to contain his anger. "I don't play my TV too loud, no matter what that old bat says."

I just nodded again, hoping he'd go away. Granting my wish, he turned back toward his apartment and I released the breath I was holding. "I'm going to kill my sister," I muttered.

It was barely loud enough for Sonya—who was standing right next to me—to hear, but Baxter paused and looked back at me, his eyes narrowing before disappearing into his apartment. Feeling suddenly weak in the knees, I leaned against the wall to steady myself. That last rule about physical violence was looking more and more necessary by the minute. The best I could hope for at this point was that the residents were as diligent about not killing each other as they were about not missing dinner with Grandma Crazy Town.

2: Squared Away In No Time

I'd tried calling my sister once I was safely tucked away in the apartment the night before. She hadn't picked up. I was tempted to think she was avoiding me, but eventually had to admit it was probably due more to the fact that she was in Spain and I had no idea what time it was there when I'd called. My message of, "I hate you. Call me back," hadn't inspired an immediate response.

I was halfway through orientation that morning when I finally got a text from her telling me to call when I was out of class. It was a long day filled with syllabi, tours of the facility, and picking up and organizing all the equipment and supplies my lab fees had paid for. By the time I made it out of the building and was heading for the subway, my brain was too fried to deal with my sister. Plus, getting on the subway would have cut off the call anyway.

I used the time spent riding through the dark tunnels to emotionally and mentally recover from my day and prepare for talking to Bernadette. Usually, talking to Bernadette was a relief. Staying connected with her over the last few years was just about the only thing that had kept me afloat. She was always supportive and compassionate, eager to help. Why she had thrust me into a den of lunatics was completely beyond me.

Still feeling exhausted when I stepped out onto the street again after my subway ride, I was tempted to put off the call until I could sit down. Half afraid to actually reenter my building, I figured a chat with my duplicitous sister might help delay the inevitable. She picked up seconds after I sent the call.

"You signed the lease, didn't you?" No greeting. No, hey, how was your trip? No, did you get settled in all right? Just the demand.

All my frustration came spilling out at once. "How could you do this to me? Plumbing? Dinners with random strangers? Sonya practically attacking me with kindness? Those crazy people you were neighbors with? Have you lost your mind?"

Silence.

"Seriously, Bernadette. What on earth made you think this was a good place for me to be? You know how well I do with crowds, and what's with the rule about not doing violence to your neighbors? Does that really need to be a rule? I mean, geez, it's already against the law. Shouldn't that be enough?"

A long sigh whispered over the line as Bernadette exhaled. "Take a deep breath, sis. It's really not as bad as all that."

"Oh really? Then I didn't witness at least four yelling matches yesterday before I even made it into the apartment? I thought I was going to faint when that psycho Baxter threatened me." The building was just around the corner, suddenly, and I found myself cursing its nearness to the subway exit.

"Baxter threatened you?" Bernadette asked. Sadly, she didn't sound all that surprised. That didn't make me feel any better.

"He started to, anyway. That lady was yelling at him about his TV, which wasn't even on, and then he said something about if I ever complain he'd...then he just kind of trailed off, but it still freaked me out a little."

Bernadette's sigh was one of relief this time. "Honestly, Eliza, he was just upset at Ms. Sinclair. She's always pushing his buttons and getting him riled up, but he'd never actually do anything to anyone."

Her brushing off my concern and taking no responsibility for the situation she'd put me in was infuriating, but I forgot all about it as soon as I turned the corner. An ambulance and two police cars were parked right in front of my building with a handful of cops wandering around. If that wasn't enough to stop a person in their tracks, I nearly fainted right into the gutter when I saw a black body bag being rolled out the front door on a stretcher.

"He killed her. He actually killed her."

"What?" Bernadette yelled. "He killed who? Who is he? What are you talking about?"

She continued to rant, but I ignored her as I rushed across the street to find out what was going on. I made it as far as the sidewalk before a uniformed man stepped in front of me and held up a hand. "I live here!" I blurted out automatically.

"I understand, but if you could wait just a few minutes while we sort things out, that would be best for everyone involved."

I was pretty sure he couldn't stop me from going up to my apartment unless it was a crime scene. That thought set me back on my heels. There was a crime scene somewhere in this building. In the building I currently lived in. That wasn't completely novel for me, but it was shocking all the same. "What happened?" I asked shakily. "I saw the body being wheeled out. Was it Ms. Sinclair?"

The officer's eyes narrowed at me. "Why would you assume it was Ms. Sinclair?"

There was a rarely-heard-from part of my brain that was shouting at me to stop talking. It really hadn't cropped up since the last time the police had dropped into my life, but it was there and desperate to be heard. I knew I should probably listen to it and not get involved, but if I was right and nobody arrested Baxter, there was no way I could sleep in the apartment next to him without fearing I would be next.

Even still, the police weren't always to be trusted. "I just moved in yesterday. I only know a few people."

"And Ms. Sinclair was one of them?"

Was? "It was her I saw, wasn't it?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You said was. Past tense."

The officer bristled. Annoyed at having given something up, even if it was small, he folded his arms across his chest. "Why did you automatically assume the deceased was Ms. Sinclair? Is there someone who would have wanted to hurt her?"

"It wasn't natural causes?" I asked as my panic began to grow. After last night, I had jumped to murder, but I'd really, really been hoping the crazy old woman had just had a heart attack or something.

"What makes you think it wasn't natural causes?" the officer demanded.

"Why would you ask me about someone hurting her if it was?" I snapped.

Huffing, the officer squared up like I might be some kind of threat to him. Holding back the urge to roll my eyes wasn't easy. His stone-wall posture said he wasn't going to give me anything else, whether intentional or not, but I needed to know. I wasn't setting foot in that building until I was sure it was safe.

"Have you arrested him yet?" I demanded.

"Arrested who?" the officer asked, suddenly interested in talking to me again.

"Baxter!"

I'd only heard his voice twice, but there was no mistaking it when it erupted right behind me. "What?"

Spinning around, my knees actually started to buckle when I found myself less than six inches in front of Baxter. Two hands grabbed at me, which almost made me scream, because his was one of them. A guy as good looking as Baxter holding onto me should have been comforting, but the intensity of his voice startled me into pulling away. "Let go of me," I begged.

Baxter shook his head like I was the crazy one, but didn't let go. He pulled me closer instead. "You're the one who was calling me, so what do you want?" His tone was anything but friendly.

"I wasn't...calling you, I was..." My voice trailed off before I could say something incredibly stupid. Like that I'd been offering him up as a suspect. I thought I was good until Officer Genius opened his stupid mouth again.

"She was telling me to arrest you," he so helpfully supplied.

"What?" For once, Baxter sounded more confused than angry. He finally let go of my arm and pushed me away from him and into the officer, who still had a hold of me for some reason. Baxter's eyes narrowed at me and I was suddenly glad for that other hand on my arm. "Arrest me for what?" he demanded.

"For murdering Ms. Sinclair," the officer said.

Baxter's eyebrows spiked right to the top of his forehead. I wasn't exactly qualified to read other people's facial expressions, as I'd spent the last few years avoiding society in general, but his surprise seemed honest. To me at least.

"She's dead?" Baxter asked. He rubbed one hand across his chin and mouth as he processed the announcement. He didn't exactly seem all that sad about the news, but he was plenty shocked. That was until he remembered how he ended up standing here. Red crept up from beneath the collar of his dress shirt as he glowered at me once again. "And you told them I did it?"

"I, well, you were screaming at her last night, and you threatened to throw her cat out the window if she didn't stop complaining about your TV being too loud," I snapped. "You were the first person who came to mind!"

"I didn't kill her!" Baxter shouted. Several heads turned our way, which only pissed him off even more. Jamming a finger in my direction, he said, "You've been here less than twenty-four hours and you think you have any idea what it's like to live in this insane asylum? Everyone in this building has motive to kill Ms. Sinclair."

Jerking me back behind him, the officer stepped up in front of Baxter. He was a good four inches shorter, but he was solidly built and confident enough to stare down someone I was pretty sure could beat the living daylights out of him. "Why, exactly, would someone in this building want to stab to death a harmless old lady?"

"She was stabbed to death?" I whispered, nearly fainting at the thought of all that blood. The officer reached out and grabbed an arm to steady me again, but didn't take his eyes off Baxter.

"I'm not saying anyone in this building killed her," Baxter said through his teeth, "especially not me, but she made everyone's lives hell in this building, turning people in for the smallest infractions, lying if she couldn't find anything legitimate, writing up her own tickets and taping them to people's doors. I doubt you'll find a single person in this building who didn't have a beef with her, but I doubt any of them actually killed her."

With a smug look plastered across his face, the officer asked, "And why not?"

"It's against the rules," Baxter said.

I totally got what he meant, but the officer's smugness slipped away as confusion set in. "Of course it is," he snapped. "It's against the law to murder people no matter where you live, not just in this building."

Rolling his eyes and grinding his teeth, Baxter stretched his neck and shoulders to ease away some of his frustration. "No kidding, you moron," he said, "but that's not what I was talking about. The lease agreement we all had to sign prohibits physical violence against other residents. If you break the rule, you and your whole family are out. No second chances. Lose your temper and throw a punch, and the cheapest rent in town, in one of the nicest old buildings in town, will blacklist you for the rest of your life."

The officer stared at him for a moment, probably trying to figure out whether Baxter was serious or not. He was definitely serious. Not only because I didn't think Baxter was capable of being anything other than serious, despite the fact that he couldn't have been more than thirty years old, but because I had checked rental rates all around town last night and was still recovering from the sticker shock. Eventually, the brilliant officer seemed to realize Baxter wasn't lying and backed down by a hair.

"That may be, but I still think a few questions are in order."

Getting his hackles up all over again, Baxter pointed past the good officer to me. "Maybe you should start with her, then. She's new, so no one knows anything about her, and she said she was going to kill her sister last night."

I knew he'd heard me! "I didn't mean it, and you know it!" I snapped. Baxter stepped forward, ignoring the officer and getting practically nose to nose with me. Well, more like my nose to his Adam's apple. His towering didn't make me back down this time, not with his petty accusation hanging between us.

"Next time," he said, "don't go around pointing fingers at people based off nothing, and people will stay out of your business, too."

"Maybe you should stop barging into offices yelling about TV volume and cats and screaming at your neighbors in the hallways, then nobody would be in your business, either."

The officer may not have been the brightest crayon in the box, but he was brave enough to step between Baxter and I and push us each back a few steps. "How about the both of you stick around to answer a few questions since you're both so keen on pointing the finger? I'm sure we'll get this all squared away in no time."

3: What Needed To Be Done

"No time," turned out to be three hours. Not that anything got squared away since the police still had no idea who killed Ms. Sinclair. All the detectives who took over from Officer Williams were able to figure out was that we all lived in the most ridiculous apartment building on the planet and both Baxter and I had airtight alibis for the time of the murder, which had happened around three in the afternoon.

Knowing I had been in classes all day, seen by several dozen people, didn't make Baxter any more inclined to be civil, and knowing he'd been in a diversity training meeting all afternoon with twenty of his coworkers certainly didn't make me think him any less capable of murdering someone. Namely me. I'd be watching my back around him from now on.

By the time I made it home and collapsed on Bernadette's couch, I figured it was probably time to call my sister back and explain a few things.

"I have been trying to call you for the last three hours!" Bernadette exploded as soon as she picked up. "What on earth has been going on? The last thing I heard from you was 'He killed her,' and then nothing!"

"Sorry." I honestly couldn't remember when I'd hung up on her, but I hadn't even thought about her again until the police had cut me loose a little while ago.

"Explain," Bernadette demanded.

Knowing this was going to take a while, I lay down on the couch and settled in. "Ms. Sinclair is dead. Murdered. Somebody stabbed her...more than once it sounds like."

"And you know who did it?" Bernadette gasped.

"Well...I thought I did."

Groaning, Bernadette pieced the one comment she'd heard earlier with my hesitation to continue. "You didn't, did you? Please tell me you did not accuse Baxter of killing Ms. Sinclair."

"Well, honestly, what else was I supposed to think?"

"Nothing! It's not your business who killed her. Stay out of it, Eliza, for your own safety, and because you barely know any of the people you might accuse. Baxter would never hurt anyone. I can't believe you told the police he killed her."

"I can't believe you're taking his side!" I snapped. What happened to the sister who understood me and tried to help me through tough stuff like this? When did she turn into this person who tricked me into living in an apartment I was more likely to get murdered in than have a repair made without something blowing up? All just so she didn't have to pay higher rent.

Bernadette sighed, and I knew she felt bad. "I'm not taking Baxter's side, but you really shouldn't have accused him of anything. I know he can be intimidating, but he's really a decent guy. Most of the people in the building are. All the weird rules and requirements just tend to get everyone riled up now and again, and people like Ms. Sinclair don't help the situation."

Her claim of Baxter being a good guy wasn't going to win me over any time soon, but I knew that last part was definitely true. I couldn't believe so many people were willing to put up with this bizarre place just to have cheaper rent.

"Maybe it wasn't Baxter who killed her." I was willing to admit that. The rest was still up for debate. "Somebody did kill her, though, and as soon as that sinks in, I'm really going to be freaked out. What if it's someone who lives here?"

"I doubt it's anyone who lives in the building, Eliza," Bernadette said in the comforting tone I was accustomed to.

I wanted to let her words sink in and work like they usually would, but it wasn't going to happen. Not this time. "Her door was locked."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the deadbolt was locked when they found her."

"How did they find her then?" she asked.

I shuddered thinking about it, glad I hadn't come home any earlier and seen it without being prepared. "The lady who lives next to her, I can't remember her name..."

"Suzanne Pollard."

"Yeah, she was walking down the hall and saw blood seeping out from under the door. She called Sonya, who opened the door, and they found her there in the entryway. The police thought the murderer must have gone out the window, but..."

"Ms. Sinclair doesn't have a fire escape because it's too close to the neighboring building to fit one," Bernadette finished.

"Plus, the window was still locked, too," I said, "which means...the person who killed her had access to a key."

Bernadette was silent for a long time. When she spoke, I could hear fear thick in her voice. "It could have been a family member's key, or she could have lost her key. Sometimes she'd leave them stuck in her mailbox downstairs."

"Yeah, maybe," I said, but neither of us really bought that. "The police said her keys weren't in her apartment anywhere."

"I'm so sorry, Eliza. I never would have suggested you move in if I didn't think it was safe. You shouldn't have to deal with something like this again."

She really did sound contrite this time. Not like earlier when we'd talked about the non-murderous brand of craziness of this place. Sure, my sister may have willingly led me into the ultimate nuthouse, but she'd never knowingly put me in danger.

"You don't think..." I hesitated, trying to shove my fears back down into the deep recesses where they had lived for the past five years. "It couldn't be...him. Right?"

"Of course not," Bernadette said quickly. "He's gone. Even the police agreed you were safe now."

Like that meant much. I took a deep breath, working to convince myself that my sister was right. I would never have left the bakery and my safe but lonely life if it hadn't been true.

"How'd you find out so much anyway? The police shouldn't be releasing that much information to you," Bernadette said.

"They didn't, well, not on purpose anyway."

Bernadette sounded tired as she yawned and said, "Well, I'm sure the police will figure everything out soon. Until then, be extra careful, and if you need anything, Baxter is right next door."

Scoffing at the suggestion, I wanted to hang up on her just to show her what I thought of that. "Under no circumstances would I ever go to Baxter for help."

My sister knew better than to argue with me, so she just made me promise I'd be extra vigilant and to call her every day so she'd know I was okay. A million promises later, she finally said goodnight and went to bed. I was too keyed up to sleep, but I had no intention of moving from the couch for at least another hour. The knots in my neck and shoulders were just beginning to relax when my phone buzzed and a number I didn't recognize popped up on my screen.

***

I thought I was angry at Baxter before. Now, he was the one who needed to watch out for someone sneaking up behind him with a wrench, or whatever it was I had in my hand. Thankfully, Sonya had known where my sister usually kept her tools and plumbing kit. I didn't know what half the things in her toolbox were called, and even less about what they were used for, but I was standing at Baxter's door waiting for him to answer all the same.

After making me wait in the hall like an orphan begging for food, Baxter finally deigned to get off his ass and answer the door. It was plain as day he was enjoying this. "Since I'm not sitting in jail right now, no thanks to you, I figured it was as good of a time as any to get that leaky bathroom faucet taken care of."

"I almost wish Officer Williams had kept me overnight," I grumbled when he let me in. Maybe he thought he was getting a little payback, but the joke was probably going to be on him because I had no idea what I was doing.

Noticing the absolutely pristine order of his entire apartment as I walked through only made me hate him even more. Tidiness and I had long been enemies. Baxter was a jerk and a neat freak. Who would have guessed? My mood soured even more when he directed me into the bathroom. The counters were spotless. Not a bottle or toothbrush anywhere. Not even a stray hair or water droplet on the mirror above the sink. Who was this guy? Nobody's apartment should be this clean.

"Well, let me know when you're done," Baxter chirped before abandoning me to failure.

A string of names I was sure would have made Bernadette frown at me ran through my head as I hefted my screwdriver and wrench thingy and stared at the offending faucet. How did you make a faucet stop leaking? Was there something wrong with one of the handles, or was it the part the water came out of? What if the problem was a pipe I couldn't see?

Completely clueless as to what my first step should be, I did what I usually did when I needed to find an ingredient substitution or measurement conversion. I Googled it. A billion and a half results popped up in less than a second. Were there really that many different ways to fix a faucet? Good gracious, I was going to be stuck in Baxter's bathroom forever!

Not wanting to spend a minute more in this place than I had to, I clicked on the first YouTube video in the list, closed the door so Baxter couldn't hear the sound, and then hit play. Three seconds in, I was completely lost. The faucet in the video had one long handle that extended over the spout part and the guy on the video was using all kinds of terms that went right over my head.

I skimmed down to the comments to see if anyone had a simplified explanation and stared at the comments in shock.

"I hope you die! This made no sense, you asshole!"

"If I had been trying to confuse myself this would have been the perfect video!"

"Trying to impress us all with your ability to use a thesaurus? WTF?"

"You managed to turn a simple repair into building a damn spaceship!"

Cringing at the furious comments, I went back to the search results and tried again. I clicked though a series of videos looking for something better, and ended up watching crickets and spiders fight each other in Mason jars, before pulling myself out of the YouTube hole I'd gotten sucked into and starting over. Finally, I found a video that had two knobs on either side of the spout like Baxter's did. Hallelujah! I hit play and zeroed in on what he was saying. Half a second later, banging on the door made me yelp and drop the phone.

"Are you almost done yet? How long can it possibly take to fix a little leak?"

"It'll take as long as I feel like taking!" It was tempting to whack the door just to see if it would hit Baxter's head in the process. "Go away or it'll take me even longer!"

Grumbling accompanied his retreat, but he did leave, thankfully. By the time I picked up my phone and turned my attention back to the video, I'd missed a few minutes, but the guy talking seemed to just be rambling on forever about nothing, so I didn't bother starting it over. Eventually, he got to the actual fixing part of the explanation with barely three minutes left on the video and I set to work loosening the little screws on top of the knobs that turned the water on and off.

After dropping one of the knobs on the floor, I got the other one off with no trouble and set them both on the top of the toilet so I wouldn't lose them. I was feeling pretty proud of myself at that point. Maybe it wouldn't be quite as hard as I'd thought. Hitting play on the video again, I watched the guy use what he confirmed to definitely be a wrench, to loosen a nut of some kind that was holding the metal tubey thing the knob connected to in place.

It didn't look like it would be too hard to get it off and check the O-ring mentioned in the video. Famous last words. As soon as I started loosening the nut, I knew I was in trouble. Water definitely did not start spraying everywhere when the guy in the video used his infernal wrench! Covering it with my hand did nothing but send the water spraying directly at me rather than at the ceiling. Swearing at it did even less. Wrapping a towel around it helped some, enough that I was able to turn the spraying into more of a puddling. I'd take what I could get at that point.

Frantic to fix the mess before Baxter pounded down the door and really did murder me for destroying his bathroom, I fished my phone out of my back pocket where I'd stuck it before picking up the wrench, and desperately dragged the cursor back to the beginning of the video. Whatever I'd missed thanks to Baxter's banging must have been way more important than I'd thought. Water was creeping into my shoes as the puddle on the floor grew into a small pond before I found what I was looking for.

"Before starting your repair, turn off the water to the sink," the guy in the video instructed.

Cursing Baxter, his stupid sink, and the guy in the video for not repeating that crucial tidbit of information after his ten minute monologue about nothing, I stuck my phone in my back pocket, where it would hopefully stay dry, and thrust my head under the waterfall now raining down from the sink in search of the shutoff valve. Water running in my eyes certainly didn't help me find it any quicker, but given that there was only one knob-type thing down there, I twisted it for all I was worth.

The waterfall didn't stop immediately, but it fizzled out quickly enough. I had no idea what to do about the lake on the floor, but I was pretty sure I knew how to stop the faucet from leaking now. I worked like lightning, removing the nut and replacing the O-rings on both handles, then slapping them back together. I was hesitant to turn the water back on, but given that ninety percent of my body and clothes were already soaked and Baxter's bathroom was a complete loss, I figured another geyser wasn't exactly going to make things worse.

Closing my eyes, I gave the shutoff valve a twist and jumped back, ready to cover my face, if need be. Wonder of wonders, nothing happened. The water stayed where it was supposed to—you know, except for what was on the tile and slowly soaking into the carpet peaking under the bathroom door—and when I turned the handles on and off, there wasn't a single leak. I was about to chalk this up as a win until I took a step and splashed water all over the wall.

That was about the time Baxter yanked the bathroom door open.

"What the hell did you do in here?" he demanded.

Fear that he might ring my neck somehow got buried under my smug satisfaction at seeing the horror on his face when he looked at his no longer pristine bathroom. "I stopped your faucet from leaking. Isn't that what you asked me to do?"

Baxter's mouth opened, closed, then fell open again. Finally, he sucked in an angry sounding breath and leveled a finger at me. "You are going to clean up every spec of water!"

"Sorry," I interrupted, "I'm not in charge of cleaning services, just plumbing. You'll have to talk to someone else about that."

Having no clue where that came from, I decided to bail before my newfound moxie ran out and I started crying or passed out or something equally embarrassing. I grabbed Bernadette's plumbing kit, the screwdriver, and the wrench, and bolted from Baxter's apartment like it was on fire...although it would be highly unlikely to catch fire at this point given how much water there was all over it.

I was so eager to get away, I ran right into Sonya and we both pitched over onto the ground in a mess of arms and legs and plumbing equipment. Sonya was the first to right herself and offered me a hand. "Were you just in Baxter's apartment?" she asked in surprise. "And why on earth do you look like you went skinny dipping without remembering to take off your clothes first?"

"Wouldn't that just be regular swimming, then?"

"Not with street clothes on. You'd have to be in a bathing suit for regular swimming."

I couldn't argue with her there.

In answer to Sonya's original question, Baxter burst out of his apartment a moment later spouting off about how I'd ruined his bathroom and he fully expected me to get back in there this minute and clean it all up. There was no way that was going to happen, regardless of what Sonya said, but she surprised me by listening to Baxter's entire rant before looking at him with a completely neutral expression and saying, "But she fixed your leaky faucet, right?"

"Yes! I already said that," he snapped.

Turning to me, Sonya grinned and said, "Sounds to me like you did what needed to be done. Congrats on your first successful plumbing repair!"

"Successful?" Baxter howled.

"Well, she did fix the faucet," Sonya argued. "I'm sure you can handle the cleanup. After all, you're perfectly capable of fixing a leaky faucet on your own. If you decided to call in a completely inexperienced young girl to do it for you instead, that's your own problem from where I'm standing. Next time, just man up and do it yourself like you usually do."

Beyond infuriated by that point, Baxter slammed his door shut without another word. As soon as the reverberation stopped, Sonya and I both burst into unrestrained laughter. We were still laughing by the time I unlocked my apartment door and I gestured for her to come in. Sonya flopped onto the couch as I headed to the bedroom for dry clothes. She was flipping through channels on the TV when I reemerged looking a little less like a drowned rat.

"Just out of curiosity," I asked, searching for a way to get back at Baxter for venting his anger on me as he had, "what is Baxter's building assignment?"

A devilish grin spread wide across her lips as she instantly seemed to understand my motivation for asking. "Smoke detectors."

4: Worth Killing Over

On edge from the previous day's events, I hadn't slept well, which meant I'd overslept and was now in a hurry to get out of the building and catch the subway. I couldn't leave without stopping by Sonya's office, though. Hoping it would only take a second to check in with her, I bounded across the lobby and reached for the doorknob. The sound of raised voices made me freeze. Chances were, one of the crazy residents of this building were having their daily freak out about one thing or another. Even though I knew I shouldn't, I couldn't help listening in.

"I just need to get in for a few minutes!" a male voice shouted. "Some of my stuff is still in there and I need it."

"I'm sorry, Lucas, but you're not on your aunt's lease. I know you'd been staying with her for a few weeks, but you have no legal reason to be in the apartment, and even if you had, it's still a crime scene. Until the police say it's okay, I can't let anyone inside the apartment. You're just going to have to wait."

The sound of a hand slamming down on the desk made me jump. Sonya seemed to take it all in stride. "There's nothing I can do, Lucas. Contact the police. Maybe one of them can escort you in to collect your things. I. Can't. Help. You."

I scrambled back in surprise when the office door whipped open and a twenty-something, skinny as a scarecrow man came barreling out of the office. He didn't even notice me there, just kept stomping away, throwing the front door open and letting it slam into the wall as he stormed out. It took me a few seconds to recover from the whole incident.

Sticking my head into the office, I asked, "Everything okay?"

"Oh," Sonya said with drooping shoulders, "just more of the usual insanity of this place."

Not wanting to get involved at all, I changed the subject. "Did you get the batteries?"

Sonya's whole being lit up with glee. She yanked open one of the desk drawers and grabbed out a handful of nine-volts. "Not the most common battery type, but I managed to scrounge up enough from the residents that we can get started."

"What if they're not low enough that the smoke detectors start making that annoying beeping sound?"

"Oh, it'll work," Sonya said with a laugh. "The toys and electronics these were in would barely even turn on. As soon as we pop one of these into the smoke detectors, residents will be calling Baxter nonstop until he gets it fixed."

"And then we replace another one with a dead battery," I laughed. Driving Baxter more insane had become my sole goal in life, and with Sonya's help we were going to make this good. Of course, there was the slight concern that Baxter would figure out I was involved and his ridiculous temper would lead to me being the next body carted out of here by the police. I tried not to think about that as I took the batteries from Sonya.

"What time will you be home today?"

I ran through my schedule in my head. "Uh, I think my classes end at three today. I've got to start looking for a job soon, but we can get started on this first."

Maybe accidentally flooding Baxter's bathroom should have been enough as far as revenge went. I had a feeling that with Baxter, it would never be enough.

Rushing off after a quick goodbye to Sonya, I raced for the subway entrance. I nearly tripped over some guy sitting on the steps, or maybe he was sleeping there. It was hard to tell. I caught myself on the handrail, but then wished I had just taken the fall when my hand came away covered in gum. Staring at it in disgust, I cursed my luck. It could have only been stuck there a few minutes earlier to still be sticky. Of course I would grab the rail in that exact spot! Not knowing what else to do about my horrible luck, or the gum, I just held my hand out from my body and kept going. Being late on the first day of real classes probably wouldn't make me stand out in a good way.

Getting through the turnstile was interesting with only one non-gum-covered hand, but I leapt onto the subway at the last minute, barely managing not to get my sweater caught in the doors. I got more than one weird look standing there with gum stuck all over my fingers, but I was too nervous about starting classes that I didn't have much left to put toward focusing on it. It was a relief to get off the train and dash through the crowd toward sunlight again.

Of course, that didn't solve the gum problem, but it did get me away from the smell of sweat and urine. I shivered. What a pleasant array of smells to be surrounded by on my way to culinary school. It seemed unlikely I'd be able to smell anything but the subway for at least a few hours.

Shortly after bursting into the campus building where I had classes that day, I spotted a bathroom and ran for it. Getting the gum off was more difficult than a simple handwashing, but I managed to scrape the mess off with paper towels and scrub away what was left with about a gallon of foaming soap. Knowing I was cutting it close had me sprinting from the bathroom to where I was pretty sure my first class was being held.

I barely stopped myself before slamming into the door. Haste made me sloppy and I yanked the door into my foot instead of open wide. The squeaking sound of my tennis shoe being shoved across the floor drew several heads to turn in my direction. Being shoved out of the way as someone barreled past me drew a few more.

"You're in the wrong class," the rude guy snarled.

"What?" I asked. Trying to right myself, I only got a chance to look at him once I peeled myself away from the wall. His coat and chef's hat made me cringe. "I mean, what did you say, chef?" Was that right? Was that how I was supposed to address all the instructors?

Glaring down at me, the man jabbed a finger in my direction. "You are in the wrong class. Get out. This is International Cuisine, not Fundamentals. You have no business in this room."

Glancing past him, I realized I didn't recognize a single person from the previous day's orientation. "Sorry," I mumbled. "I must have gotten turned around."

He made a shooing motion before turning his back on me. A couple students snickered. One, a brunette girl who looked younger than me, covertly pointed me in the right direction before turning her attention to the angry chef taking up position at the front of the room. Offering a hasty smile, I ducked out of the room and ran in the direction she'd pointed. Still uncertain of where I was going, I was relieved to see the super tall guy who'd sat next to me during orientation. I picked up my pace and slid into the room behind him.

"I was wondering if we'd scared you two off, yesterday," a less hostile voice said. He still seemed annoyed we were late, but at least wasn't being an ass about it. "Find an empty station quickly. The rest of us are ready to begin and I won't repeat myself if you miss instructions."

Believing him, I hustled over to an empty prep station and dropped my backpack at my feet. A few seconds later I had a notepad and pen ready for notes. I knew this course would go over all the fundamentals of what a professional chef needed to know, but I wasn't completely sure what to expect. Noticing that most of the other students were sitting on stools, I looked around and found mine in the alcove where I'd shoved my backpack. I pulled mine out and sat, glancing around for anything else I might have missed.

"How many of you have ever had food poisoning?" the chef asked. I tried to remember his name, in case I needed to address him, but came up blank. He looked around the room at the hands slowly raising. Mine shot up when I realized he was looking at me. Nodding, he motioned for everyone to put their hands down. "That is exactly what we want to avoid. Today's lecture will focus on food safety and sanitation. You will be expected to keep your stations clean and safe. If you do not, you will not pass this class. Not making your patrons sick is an essential part of being a successful chef."

I spent the next four hours taking notes on bacteria, temperature requirements in cooking and refrigeration, proper disposal and cleaning techniques, and horror stories that made me want to puke even without having food poisoning. By the time we broke for lunch, everyone's appetite had been thoroughly ruined.

After pawing at a salad for an hour as I reviewed my notes, I checked my map and successfully made it to my next class. As soon as I walked in, I felt myself release a held breath. The cold kitchen class hadn't sounded terribly interesting, as sandwich and platter production wasn't flashy, but the smiling chef at the front of the classroom put me at ease.

"Good afternoon, class. I'm Chef Lauren Cadence. This class is going to focus on all the basic cold dishes you'll be asked to prepare in many restaurants. Pattes and sandwiches may not sound all that exciting, but banquets and parties are a big part of catering as well as restaurant production. The right salad sets the stage for diners, and is often your first chance to impress a patron. I'm going to make sure you're all capable of making that first impression a good one."

She was still smiling as she launched into the finer points of garnishes. I thought I was going to finish out the day on a high note until she took us on a tour of the pantry. While discussing the intricacies of choosing the right type of onions for a Sicilian salad, she looked around the shelf we were all standing in front of and put her hands on her hips.

"Where did all the Vidalia onions disappear to?" she demanded. "They were here yesterday."

"Um, Chef," the tall guy behind me said in a thick South American accent I couldn't quite place, pointing above her head.

Chef Lauren was not a tall woman. The bag of onions perched on the top shelf were well beyond her reach. Huffing, she turned back to the guy who'd spoken up. "Raphael, right?"

He nodded, but hesitated. "I usually go by Rapha," which he pronounced as Haffa, then explained, "It's Brazilian. R's make an H sound."

Chef Lauren's eyes lit up. "Brazil, huh? Wonderful culture for food. Perhaps you can share some recipes with us later. But for now..." She gestured at the onions. "Could you please get those down for me? They do not belong up there."

Rapha, who was taller than anyone else in the class, easily had the reach to rescue the onions. He had them in hand, but as soon as the mesh bag left the shelf, half a dozen sweet onions came spilling out from a hole in the bag. I ducked, but I was standing right in front of Rapha, exactly below the bag of onions. The first one hit before I could react. The other five followed.

Somewhere in the middle of being pummeled by onions, I tried to step away. So did everyone else, which made me stumble, which put my foot directly on top of an onion, which was round, which rolled. I yelped as I fell, but it was either too comical, or too fast, for anyone to help me. Landing on my backside, and Rapha's foot, I was too shocked to do anything but stare at the onions rolling around on the ground with me.

"Are you okay?" Chef Lauren asked. She was in my face a moment later, brushing onion skins out of my hair. "I am so sorry! I don't know who's been messing around in here, but I am definitely going to find out."

She held a hand out for me and I took it about the time Rapha's hands slipped under my arms. He did most of the lifting, almost toppling Chef Lauren when she tugged on my arm to help me up and found little resistance. The entire class was staring at me once I was back on my feet. In that close of a space, it freaked me out and I backpedaled right into Rapha. One hand gripped my hip to keep me from tripping over his foot, and the other one landed on my shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, sorry." Blushing, I took a quick step away from him.

Taking charge and drawing attention away from me, Chef Lauren said, "I will have this all cleaned up by next class, and make sure it doesn't happen again." She muttered something under her breath that didn't sound complimentary, but I didn't catch who it was directed at. "We'll wrap up a few minutes early today, but please look over the next section in your textbook. We'll be working on prepping vegetables next class."

Most of my classmates went straight for their stations to collect their backpacks. Rapha lingered, but that might have been because I was in his way. Before I could move, Chef Lauren was in front of me, apologizing and making sure the onions hadn't done any real damage. I practically had to run away to escape her concern.

Hurrying out the door and into the hall, I fell against the wall and rubbed at my head. I wanted to go home, take a bath, and have a glass of wine. My plans to get back at Baxter pushed into my mind and I shoved away my wallowing until later. Revenge before dinner. Wine and a bath after.

"Are you sure you're okay?" a voice asked, startling me into jumping.

Spinning in the direction of the voice, I tried to come up with an appropriate response. Words seemed a million miles away as I stared at him. I couldn't even remember his name. Which was seriously a shame. I'd noticed him the day before. His dark blue eyes had never once met mine, and I would have bet he hadn't even known I existed. One corner of his mouth turned up as he waited for a response.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine."

His smile grew. "Really? Because you look like you've got a headache from getting brained by onions."

"Nothing aspirin or a strong drink can't fix."

"A drink," he said as his dark eyes brightened. "I might be able to help with that. There's a great pub not too far from campus. It's a little early for dinner, but I didn't eat much after Chef Harper's disgusting lecture."

Was he asking me out? Panic squeezed my entire body. Maybe a little excitement, too, but mostly panic. I hadn't been on a date in, well, forever. This guy was definitely not unattractive, but his invitation scared me. Why was he interested? Entertainment? Attraction? Boredom? Grasping for a reason to tell him no, Baxter came back to mind.

"Maybe another time," I said, hoping he couldn't hear the relief in my voice. "I have to meet a friend in half an hour."

I was pretty sure he thought I was lying. His teasing smile was more than enough of a clue. He stepped toward me. Panic took over then, and I flattened myself against the wall. I didn't know what to do when his hand reached for my hair. He paused when I sucked in a breath and stopped breathing, smiling even wider at my reaction. He had to know he was freaking me out, but he closed the distance between us with another step.

"Before you meet your friend," he said, his fingers gliding through my hair and sending a shiver down my spine, "you might want to get the rest of the onion skin out of your hair." He pulled his hand back, offering several dried bits of the skin as proof. He chuckled at the blush racing across my face.

Maybe the blush told him I needed a little space. It might have been the fact that I still hadn't taken a breath, too. Either way, he stepped back but kept his smile. I finally took another breath.

"I'm Sean, by the way."

He offered his hand, though it seemed a little late to be so formal. Shaking it, I said, "Eliza." I meant to shake briefly and break away, but the way he held my hand did something to me. His grip was gentle and strong at the same time. It felt something like safety, but not without a hint of danger in there somewhere. I found my hand still in his when we'd both stopped shaking.

"Eliza," he mused. "I like that." Slowly, his hand slipped from mine. "I'm going to hold you to that raincheck on dinner and a drink."

"I, uh, okay." My head felt fuzzy. Did I just agree to go out with him somehow?

Sean grinned. "This weekend?"

Now he wanted a firm date? Scrambling for a way out, even though I wasn't sure I really wanted one, I latched onto the only valid excuse I had. "I don't know. I'm trying to find a job this week."

"A job?" He looked at me more closely. "You're planning to work during the program?"

"I have to. I won't be able to pay my rent if I don't."

Sean's charm-oozing posture eased up for a moment as he considered this. "This program isn't easy. Working, it will make it even more difficult. You might want to consider taking out student loans instead."

"Is that what you did?" I asked as politely as I could manage. Like I needed him to tell me there were easier ways to get through school. I'd always known it was an option I might have to turn to, but not one I was eager to pursue. Checking out of modern society for five years didn't exactly build credit. Getting a loan would mean finding a cosigner. I wouldn't turn to my parents for help, ever. Bernadette would do it in a heartbeat, but she'd already done so much. Asking for more seemed ungrateful.

Nodding, Sean said, "Yeah. I have a lot riding on this program. I don't want to screw it up working the night shift as a fry cook and having no time for homework or practice."

He had a good point, but I wasn't ready to give in quite yet. I shrugged, not really feeling the need to justify my decision to him. He seemed to think I was being intentionally difficult. Sighing, he took a pen from his pocket and grabbed my hand. Before I could ask him what he was doing, he was writing an address on my palm. A phone number followed.

Poking the palm of my hand, Sean said, "If you're intent on finding a job, try this place and tell Saul that I sent you." His finger trailed across my skin, less antagonistic and more seductive. "And this, is my phone number. For this weekend."

Swallowing hard, I nodded. I wasn't sure if I was just acknowledging what he'd said or officially agreeing to a date. I mostly just hoped he'd leave me alone now so I could jumpstart my brain. Slowly, Sean did move back, smiling with each step.

"See you tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

Sean chuckled and I felt my face heat up. I needed to get out of here.

By the time I stepped off the subway and made it back up to ground level, I'd almost managed to put my encounter with Sean behind me. I intended to ask Sonya for advice as we swapped out batteries in the smoke detectors. Usually Bernadette would be my first choice for advice, but I knew what she would say. Don't get involved. Focus on your classes. I knew she would be right, but a small not-as-frightened-as-I-should-have-been part of me didn't want to listen and hoped Sonya would have something different to say.

All thoughts of dating crashed into one another as I turned onto my street and spotted another cop car in front of the building. It was just one this time, not a whole squad, but I felt my heart rate rise as I picked up my pace. When I reached the car, I found it empty and rushed into the building with a dozen questions on my lips.

Stymied when I found Sonya's office door locked, I glanced around the lobby. It was surprisingly quiet. Figuring the next logical place to find both Sonya and the officer was upstairs in Ms. Sinclair's apartment, I sprinted up the stairs two at a time. Hope that there hadn't been any other murders was repaid with relief when I reached the second floor landing and saw Ms. Sinclair's door partway open and the police tape pulled away on one side.

For a second, I worried someone might have broken into the apartment. Sonya's voice filtering out of the door put away the last of my panic and I took a deep breath. Pretending I hadn't been snooping, I shortened my steps and casually made my way down the hall. I was just crossing in front of the door when it opened the rest of the way and I froze.

"Eliza," Sonya said happily, "you're back! Give me just a minute to finish up here and I'll meet you at your apartment, okay?"

I started to nod, but another voice cut me off. "I think we're done here. No need to make Ms. Carlisle wait."

"Officer Williams," I said, trying to sound civil when all I really wanted to do was slap him. There was absolutely no reason for him to keep me at the station for three hours when I had absolutely nothing to say about anything. Baxter, I could understand wanting to keep an eye on him. If for no other reason, he deserved the hassle. I hoped the good officer would move on, but no such luck.

"Sonya mentioned that you witnessed Mr. Renfro's outburst this morning."

"Who?" I asked. "Is that the guy trying to get into Ms. Sinclair's apartment?"

Sonya nodded. "He took my advice and called Officer Williams to set up an escort so he could get the last of his stuff from her apartment, but he never showed up." Shrugging, Sonya seemed ready to pass it off as an inconvenience.

I didn't know if Officer Williams really thought it was more mysterious than that or if he just wanted to annoy me, but he folded his arms across his chest and eyed me. "Did you happen to see anyone near this apartment last night or this morning? Someone who might want into the apartment?"

"No. Why?"

"Just being thorough." He worked his jaw back and forth. "Do you believe it might be possible for someone to get into the apartment without any of the neighbors knowing?"

Glancing over at Sonya, I noticed her biting her nails, not looking at the officer. Suspicious, I turned my attention back to Officer Williams. "Did someone get into her apartment?"

"Why would you assume something like that?" he demanded.

"Because you're being really weird about it." I crossed my arms, too, annoyed this guy got under my skin so easily. "I have no idea if someone could get in. I suppose if they knew how to pick locks, maybe. I have no idea. If you're trying to find out if someone was in there last night, ask Baxter."

Officer Williams' eyes narrowed. "Why? You think he had reason to be in her apartment?"

How had this guy become a cop? "No," I snapped. "I'm just saying he would have heard someone moving around in there if it was last night. Can I go now? I really have nothing to say about this."

"Imagine that," Officer Williams said with a scowl. Apparently, he didn't have any more stupid questions to ask. After a crisp goodbye to Sonya, he stalked back down the stairs and disappeared.

We watched him go until the front door hid him. Only then did Sonya finally relax. Grabbing my arm, she commanded my whole attention. "Someone was definitely in there, and I didn't give anyone a key." Biting at her bottom lip, Sonya glanced back toward the front door. "I think he thinks I let someone into the apartment, but I didn't."

"Don't worry. He's an idiot. I'm sure he's just frustrated he can't figure out how someone got in. It's not like it's all that complicated, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Sonya asked. Still flustered from dealing with that moron, she bit her bottom lip again.

Shrugging, I said, "Well, whoever killed her had a key, right? They didn't exactly leave it behind after they killed her. Whoever killed her must still have it."

I said it without passion, merely stating the facts. My own words hit me a few seconds later. Sonya seemed to process them at about the same time, because we grabbed for each other with perfect synchronicity. She found her voice before I did. "The killer was here again!" she squeaked. "In this building!"

"It could have just been her nephew, couldn't it? He had a key, too, right? Maybe it was him."

Sonya shook her head. "Ms. Sinclair refused to give him one. She was too paranoid. Even if he had somehow convinced her to give him a key, why set up an appointment with the cops if he planned to sneak in?"

Pleading for this to be the right theory, I said, "Distraction? If they knew they were meeting him here at three, they wouldn't have any reason to be here earlier, right? Even if they needed to check something, they'd just wait until the appointment."

Sonya nodded seeming relieved at my answer. Then her face paled and she squeezed my arm more tightly. "If it was Lucas, why didn't he take any of his stuff?"

Disappointment mixed with fear. I thought that must have been the reason Officer Williams had known someone had been in the apartment. Lucas wanted his stuff, he might have had a key—though that seemed unlikely now—and there was evidence the room had been breached. It all should have fit. So why wasn't it that easy?

"Maybe he was coming back for something more important," I said, concerned about what that something might have been.

Sonya bit her lip again, so hard I thought she might puncture right through her dark red flesh. "Maybe you're right. The mattress and couches, they were all cut open."

"What?"

"Yeah, it freaked me out when I saw it."

Her gaze darted back to the open door and she rushed over to lock it. I couldn't help noticing how careful she was not to step on the patch of carpet still covered in dried blood. When she turned back, she was even more worried than before. "Lucas was adamant about getting back into the apartment for his stuff, but if he needed to get something incriminating or important, wouldn't he know where it was? Cutting everything up like that seems unnecessary."

It really did, but I didn't know what else to say. Either Lucas trashed the apartment in search of something, or the killer did it for the same reason. An equally important question was "what" was wanted from the apartment, not "why" they wanted it. I had even less ideas about that. Whatever it was, the murderer thought it was worth killing over. That led me to wonder whether or not they found what they wanted or if they would be coming back.

"I need a drink," Sonya said, reading my mind. She breathed out slowly and shook her head. "Batteries first, though. Baxter will be back in an hour."

Happy to not think about murderers or their possible return, I asked, "Where should we start?"

"I've been thinking about it all day," she said. "I say we start with easy spots and move to progressively harder areas to get to."

Given that I had no clue where any smoke detectors were, aside from the one in my kitchen, I gestured for her to lead the way. "Whatever will annoy him most."

The easiest spot to change the battery in a smoke detector in a common area turned out to be in the basement, on a wall opposite the scariest looking furnace I'd ever seen. I wouldn't have been surprised to learn it ran on coal. It looked original to the building. Calling this the easiest spot was a bit of a misnomer, because it entailed me climbing over three piles of random junk, up a few shelves on an ancient shelving unit I thought would splinter under my weight, and stretching out as far as I could to reach the plastic cover.

All my hard work and risk of life and limb paid off when the obnoxious, incessant beeping started up as soon as I slipped the rundown battery into place. I scaled the shelves and junk in reverse and landed on two feet, covered in cobwebs and dust. Dusting myself off, a thought occurred to me, more than a little late.

"Will anyone even hear this down here?"

"Oh yeah," Sonya reassured me. "This is where the laundry facilities are. Claudia Fitzpatrick does her laundry every Tuesday night like clockwork, and she hates Baxter. The second she sets foot down here, she'll have him on the phone demanding he drop whatever he's doing to come fix this."

Grinning at my accomplice, I was glad we'd become friends so quickly. Not only did she lessen the scary, weird vibes this place gave off in droves, her knowledge of the residents made her the perfect accessory.

"On to the next one?" I asked. Sonya nodded gleefully.

Feeling better than I had all day, we made our way back up to my apartment half an hour later for that promised drink and some takeout. We were opening a bottle of wine and discussing dinner options when the sound of Baxter yelling at someone carried through the walls. Not more than a minute later, his door slammed and Sonya and I burst into laughter.

"So, how was your day?" Sonya asked when we stopped laughing. "Anything interesting happen?"

"Nothing as interesting as your day, but I did nearly get knocked out by a bag of onions, and I may have agreed to a date this weekend."

"May have? You aren't sure or you told him it was a maybe?" Sonya asked, interest making her eyes bright.

That was the question I'd been asking myself since getting on the subway. "Both? I don't know. It was a little overwhelming. He told me about a job I need to check out, so it might come to nothing anyway."

"No, no, no," Sonya commanded. "You don't get to bail before I even hear about this guy. Is he hot?"

Just thinking about Sean's dark eyes and defined body mere inches from mine made heat blossom in my core. It raced upward to pool in my cheeks and Sonya grinned. Sean was attractive, not to mention devilishly charming. His smile made promises I was sure he could keep, and that scared me.

"I don't think he's the kind of guy you have a lasting relationship with," I told Sonya.

Brushing off my worry, she rolled her eyes. "Please, you sound like your sister. That girl never dated a guy more than a few times. No one was serious enough or perfect enough for her. Not every relationship has to be about happily ever after. Sometimes you just need to have a little fun."

Fun. I wanted to laugh. When was the last time I had fun? Not since before I left home. That was the last time I dated. Last time I let a guy get as close as Sean managed to get today. Ben and I had fun, but it felt like more, like something that might last, at least for a while. We talked about going away to college together, but it never happened. I ran away from life when his ended. My friends tried to tell me it wasn't my fault. My parents didn't. Neither did his. Two weeks before graduation, I stood at his funeral long after everyone else had gone home.

It felt wrong to think about having fun now. Going out with Sean was probably stupid. He wasn't looking for a girlfriend, but I wasn't looking for a boyfriend, either. Fun. Could I really do that? Did I deserve that sort of thing? I knew what my parents' answer would be. What Bernadette's would be as well, though her advice would be tempered by concern for my safety rather than blame. I didn't know what my answer was, so I asked Sonya instead.

"If it were you, would you go out with him, knowing he was only in it for a good time?"

Pouring me a glass of wine and handing it to me, Sonya regarded me seriously. "Absolutely."

5: Connected

Tuesdays and Thursdays were my early days. I was out of class by three o'clock, which left me with three hours to follow up on Sean's job lead before I was required to show up for my first dinner with my eccentric landlord. I should have just gone Tuesday, but between changing the smoke detector batteries, dealing with Sean, and running into Officer Williams again, I couldn't force myself to go.

When I put the address Sean had given me into my phone, I was surprised to find it near the campus. As unfamiliar as I was with Manhattan, I'd been afraid it would be half the city away. I walked into the diner and scanned the area. Only a few of the tables were filled. I had been hoping to avoid interrupting some kind of rush by coming right after class, and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw how slow it was.

Before I could look around for someone to talk to, a waitress appeared from behind a pair of swinging doors and sized me up. "Table for one, or are you waiting on someone?" Her smile was cheery enough, but there was definitely an edge to her voice.

"Actually, I was hoping I could talk to Saul...about a job."

The slight hostility I thought I'd heard when she greeted me moved to her eyes as they narrowed. Sugary sweet as she spoke, she said, "Sure, no problem. Let me go grab him."

I couldn't imagine what this girl's problem was, but I needed a job. If I had to put up with a witchy waitress in order to pay rent, I would. Besides, I'd be in the kitchen all night anyway, right?

A tall, broad shouldered man emerged from the same doors the waitress had. His smile was much more genuine as he approached and stuck out his hand. "Eliza, right?"

"Yes," I said, surprised he was expecting me. "Did Sean tell you I was coming?"

Saul glanced over at the waitress and chuckled. "Yes he did." Turning his attention back to me, he asked, "You're in culinary school with Sean, right?" I nodded and he rubbed his chin. "Any other experience? I'm willing to train someone, but it's always nice to find a person who knows their way around a kitchen."

"I've never worked in a restaurant," I admitted, "but I've been working as a baker the last five years. I brought a résumé with me." Letting my backpack fall from my shoulder, I quickly dug out the résumé and handed it to him. Saul looked it over as I held my breath.

After a minute or two, he nodded. "I'll have to train you on some of the equipment and go over a few recipes unique to my diner, but I think you'll pick it up quick enough. Can you start Monday?"

Blinking a few times, I stuttered over a response. "You're hiring me? Just like that?"

Saul laughed. "Why not? You have more experience than anyone else who's applied, and Sean said you were easy to work with." His gaze darted over to the waitress again and it looked like he was holding back a sigh. "I like you. It's my diner. So you're hired."

"Oh. Okay." There was no way I could back out on Sean's promise of fun now. The guy had gotten me a job almost singlehandedly. Sure, I had baking experience, but not a clue about using an industrial fryer or pumping out burgers during a rush.

"Can you start Monday, then?" Saul asked, grinning at my reaction.

"Yes. Absolutely. Thank you."

Saul chuckled. "Thank me after the first week. I'm sure you'll learn the ropes fast, but it's going to be a long week. Especially with Danielle managing the floor," he muttered.

"Does she work nights?" I asked. Being there at three in the afternoon, I assumed she was the day waitress. Knowing we would be crossing paths made me want to watch my back.

"Not anymore. She switched to days at the beginning of the semester, but my regular night waitress can't come in until seven because of classes. Danielle's been covering until Gwen gets here. She's a real queen bee, but works hard and gets the job done. I put up with her moods as long as she keeps the customers happy. Try to ignore any nasty looks or comments she might throw your way," Saul said. "She's..."

Sighing, I filled in the blank the same way I had all week at the apartment building. "Always like that?"

Shaking his head, Saul sighed and chuckled at the same time. "Only since Sean broke up with her."

Ah, that explained a lot. Great. Just what I needed. I had kind of agreed to one date with the guy and already had his ex-girlfriend wanting to claw my eyes out. Why hadn't I just listened to common sense, and my sister, and told Sean to take a hike. I didn't need distractions, and Sean had a flashing neon sign floating above his head labeling him as exactly that.

"She'll cool off eventually," Saul promised. "I've got to get back to the kitchen, but I'll see you Monday at five-thirty."

"I'll be here," I said. That barely gave me half an hour after my last class, but I would do whatever it took to keep Saul happy. It had been a long time since I'd taken this much control over my life. I wasn't about to give it up just because things got hard.

Deciding I better make a run for it before Danielle came back, I made my exit and found my way back to the subway. It was nearly five o'clock before I made it up to my apartment. I'd spent the day prepping in my cold kitchen class and honing my knife skills with my cranky fundamentals instructor, but being in my own kitchen was relaxing rather than stressful. Bernadette didn't have near the setup I was used to, but I wasn't planning anything fancy. I wasn't even planning to turn on the oven.

By the time Sonya knocked on my apartment door, I was putting the finishing touches on a candied pecan and mandarin orange salad. It was one of my favorite salad recipes, and I hoped it would help the residents not hate me. Making friends outside of Sonya seemed highly unlikely. Not gaining any other enemies was the best I could hope for around here.

"Ooh, that looks great," Sonya said as she peeked at the salad. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I can be," I said. Faking enthusiasm was only possible thanks to Saul hiring me. I was sure Sonya could see through it, but maybe her grandma would take my plastic smile at face value.

Holding her own dish of something that looked like it was supposed to be a seven layer dip of some kind, Sonya led the way downstairs to a door tucked away behind the main lobby. Knowing many of the residents would be attending the dinner, I expected noise as we approached. The quiet slowed my pace. Had everyone gone on Tuesday? Could we possibly be the only ones who would show up? I dreaded the thought of sitting around with Sonya's weird grandma for an hour. Taking a deep breath as Sonya reached for the doorknob, I told myself it was only an hour.

When she pushed into the room, I followed, and stared at the crowd with a sinking feeling. I wasn't exactly sure how many total residents there were in the building, but it had to be against some kind of fire code to have so many people crammed into one place. Mr. Piper was sitting on a chair in the corner, happier than the last time I'd seen him as he slurped at a bowl of soup. I didn't see the mom of the marker-wielding kid I'd met the first day, but there were a few other familiar faces I'd seen in passing over the last week.

Everyone present looked not only bored, but uncomfortable and irritated. The only interactions going on were people shuffling around the food tables and passing plates or serving spoons back and forth. No one was talking, except Sonya, I realized. She seemed to be talking to me, but I'd missed the majority of what she had said. In the middle of a story about her grandfather, I tried to listen as I watched the other residents shuffle around the room.

Sonya jabbed me in the ribs and I realized she was trying to get my attention. Looking over at her, I tried to remember the last thing she'd said and came up blank. Tilting her head to the side, she smiled a slightly strained smile, and said, "This is my grandma. She's been excited to meet you."

"Oh," I said as I set down the salad and extended my hand. "It's so nice to meet you..." It was then I realized I had no idea what her name was and quickly shook her hand to distract from my lack of manners.

As far as appearances went, Sonya's grandmother looked like any other old lady. Her makeup was a little too thick and creased around her eyes and mouth. The purple tint to her hair reminded me of my own grandma before she passed. There was a slight tremor in her hands and smile as she regarded me, but seemed genuinely nice. Gold bracelets clinked on her wrist as she shook my hand with both of hers.

"I'm Mrs. Osgood," she said. "Bernadette is such a sweet girl. I hoped you would be, too. Sonya said you've been a delight to have around." She patted my hand, still holding onto it.

"Oh, well, it's been great getting to know Sonya, too."

Her head bobbed up and down as she continued to smile and hold onto me. "She's a sweet girl. A little too lax about the rules, but a good girl."

She said it like Sonya wasn't standing two feet away, which made my friend roll her eyes. I was trying to figure out how to get my hand back when a small disturbance broke out near the door. The jam-packed room made it difficult to see what was happening. Sonya craned her neck around a few people before shaking her head.

"What's going on?" her grandmother asked. "No one drew on the walls again, did they?"

"No, Grandma," Sonya reassured her. "It's just Baxter."

She clucked her tongue at that. "He's a handsome one, but he's always stirring up trouble."

"No he's not," Sonya argued, surprising me. "He's perpetually in a foul mood, but it's usually the other residents who are the ones causing him trouble."

Turning to Sonya, I eyed her with disbelief that she was defending him. She shrugged, then noticed her grandmother was still latched onto my hand and sighed. "We're going to grab some food, okay?" It wasn't really a question, mainly a distraction so she could peel her grandmother off me. "We'll be back later. Eat your dinner."

Sonya pushed me toward the food before I could say goodbye. Glancing back at the old woman, I felt a little bad that she was sitting there all alone. Sonya kept pushing, though, and I found my attention caught by a strange assortment of dishes. Clearly, there were no guidelines on what to bring. Everything from microwaved meat pockets to homemade empanadas filled the table. More than a few takeout containers dotted the spread, and someone had dropped a bag of baby carrots haphazardly on a pile of plastic forks. I wasn't sure I wanted to touch half of what was on the table, but Sonya grabbed a plate and started spooning things onto her dish.

"Go ahead," she said, "just pick what looks good. Most everyone brings something halfway decent. I'd just avoid that casserole dish on the corner. I've yet to figure out what Mrs. Holman is attempting to make, but if it tastes as bad as it smells you'll probably keel over after the first bite."

Steering clear of the casserole, I grabbed a large helping of the salad I'd brought, and filled the empty spaces on my plate with an egg roll, some kind of potato dish, and a handful of cherry tomatoes. They seemed safest. I was about to turn away in search of something to drink when a pizza box dropped onto the table next to my plate, nearly spilling it and making me jump.

"If you think I'm not well aware of the fact that you and Sonya are behind the rash of smoke detector failures lately, you're a fool," Baxter snarled from behind me. "I just replaced all the batteries a month ago."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said. My gaze darted around for Sonya, but she'd been swallowed up by the crowd of unhappy people. I started to spin away from him, but he grabbed my arm. It wasn't hard and didn't hurt, but it startled me all the same and I froze.

I felt his body heat at my back as he stepped in closer. "This isn't a game you want to start, Eliza. I have no patience for this sort of childishness, but if you insist, I will get you both back."

"I have no intention of playing any kind of game with you, Baxter," I snapped, though the quiver in my voice stole some of its bite. "Get away from me."

"If only it were that simple," he growled.

Scared because I didn't know what he meant by that, I tried to pull my arm out of his grip. It came free more easily than I expected and I stumbled into someone.

"Watch it," a tall, bulky man grumbled as he shoved me away without even looking at me. I wasn't tall or bulky, so his push sent me crashing into Baxter's chest. I thought I might get shoved again, but Baxter's arm came around my waist, holding me against his chest before I could land either on my backside or in the food.

"Shoving around girls half your size, Darren?" Baxter snapped. When the big man turned to face him with a scowl, Baxter's grip tightened. "She tripped. Quit being an asshole."

Darren sneered at Baxter, then let his eyes wander over my body in a way that was definitely not endearing or appreciated. "Sorry," he said. The leer in his voice said something different. "Next time you feel like falling on me, I won't object." His gaze flicked to Baxter, a challenge and a promise bringing fire to his eyes.

Baxter didn't back down and, for once, I was glad to have him around. "Leave her alone. She's not interested. She just tripped."

Scoffing, Darren turned away, but not before giving me another once-over that made my skin crawl. As soon as he wasn't looking in our direction again, I elbowed Baxter right in the gut. His physical reaction was barely more than an annoyed grunt, but his voice was cutting. "What was that for?"

"For shoving me into that creep in the first place!" I hissed.

"You're the one who yanked your arm out of my hand," he snapped. "I did not shove you."

Irritated that he was technically right, I wasn't about to admit it to him. "You shouldn't have been grabbing me in the first place. You and Darren can both just stay away from me."

Baxter's gaze flicked over to Darren and his jaw tightened. "Seriously, don't go near him. If he thinks he can get away with something..."

"Like I need you warning me away from some pervy guy with a domination complex." I grabbed my plate, wanting so badly to throw it in his face, and glared at him. "I may be new to the big city, but I am well aware of the horrible things people are capable of, especially when it comes to a seemingly naïve young girl."

More than done dealing with him, I spun away in search of Sonya, ready to lay into her for ditching me. Instead of finding my only friend in this ridiculous place, I spotted another of my least favorite people. He saw me as well and gestured for me to join him at the door. Trudging his way, I was ready to bite his head off by the time I came to a stop in front of him.

"Officer Williams, what on earth could possibly bring you here, again?"

Giving me a less than friendly grin, he folded his arms across his chest. "Well, since you were so eager to offer up suspects the last time there was a murder, I thought you might want to give it another go. Maybe get it right this time."

Suddenly, I was glad I hadn't actually eaten anything yet. My stomach flip-flopped as his words sank in. "Someone's been killed? Someone in the building?"

Why hadn't Sonya said anything? Where were the rest of the cops, the yellow tape, the forensic people?

"Not in the building," he corrected, "but connected to it."

"Who?" I only knew a couple of people, and didn't particularly like any of them, but even Darren the Creeper didn't deserve to die. Maybe monitored closely, but not murdered. What was going on with this place?

Officer Williams glanced around the immediate area, like any of the other residents might care what he had to say. They hadn't even cared enough to be bothered by the presence of a cop in their midst. After assuring himself no one was listening in, he said, "Lucas Renfro."

I felt sick. I'd seen him only a few days ago. I recognized him as the man who'd been yelling and giving Sonya grief, but that was par for the course around here. "And you're sure he was murdered? It wasn't an accident or something?"

"Who said it was murder? I'm just telling you that he's dead."

"You said he was. Right before you asked if I wanted to offer up another suspect," I snapped.

Cringing a little, he said, "Oh, well, it doesn't really matter. It will most likely be in the papers tomorrow. Plenty of people saw him. It's probably on YouTube already."

"Saw him...die?" My stomach roiled. Would someone really put that online?

"Saw his body," Officer Williams said, his tone clearly annoyed. "It was found in a nearby park, covered in newspapers so he looked like a vagrant. Probably so no one could see the way he'd been beaten up. It happened yesterday."

Taking a deep breath, I tried not to think about that. "Is that why he missed your meeting to get into his aunt's apartment?"

He grimaced. "Possibly. My guess is that he saw the killer hanging around the building and tried to hide." Pushing aside his own discomfort with the situation, he got back to work. "You never saw him after Tuesday morning, did you? Lurking around the building over the last few days, maybe?"

I shook my head. "That was the only time I ever saw the guy."

"Has there been anyone else hanging around the property that you've noticed?"

"No." I wondered why he was asking that, since Lucas had only been staying with his aunt for a few weeks while in between apartments. From what Sonya had said, he'd moved out right before I'd gotten here. Sonya didn't seem to know why he needed a place to crash, but now I wondered. "His death is connected to his aunt's, isn't it? Whatever the killer was looking for, it must have belonged to Lucas. That's why he was so hot to get back into the apartment."

Officer Williams' eyes hooded and he seemed to square up. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that sort of information with you."

I wanted to slap him, but I still felt sick and I had a plate of food in my hand. "Can you at least discuss the likelihood of whoever killed the two of them coming back to the building? The killer didn't seem to find what they were looking for."

"What makes you say that?" he demanded, probably afraid he'd accidentally divulged something he shouldn't have again.

"Well, if they had, they wouldn't have needed to beat Lucas up to try to get information out of him, right? They would have just killed him outright, and probably not in the middle of a park."

"Why not a park? It seemed to have happened in the middle of the night. It could have easily been made to look like a mugging," he argued.

Not even bothering to hide the roll of my eyes, I said, "A mugger who hid his victim's body under newspaper?" I couldn't tell if Officer Williams was being intentionally thick to irritate me, or if he really just wasn't much for logic. "It seems likely that when they ransacked Ms. Sinclair's apartment, they didn't find what they wanted, so they tracked Lucas down and tried to get the information by force. Maybe they were too rough, or maybe he didn't know and they killed him for it. Either way, I don't think they got the information they wanted. Which means, they might come back."

He seemed to think about my theory for a moment before giving in and nodding.

"Well?" I demanded. "What are you going to do to protect us?"

I was not comforted in the least when Officer Williams shrugged.

6: Hiding

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Sonya asked.

"What? Going out with Sean, or just going out?"

She twisted her hands together and jumped when the smoke detector beeped, then glared at it. "Remind me again why we had to change the battery in this smoke detector? It's going to drive me nuts."

"Because Baxter knows it's us."

"And you think this will throw him off?"

Scoffing, I said, "No, but it will make him doubt just enough to get him to shut up for a day or two."

Sonya had been on edge since the previous night when Officer Williams told me about Lucas's death. Like me, she believed the killer would come back, but Officer Williams hadn't been able to offer up any sort of protection more than to have a patrol car drive by once in a while. The detective heading up the main investigation didn't think the killer would come back since they'd already tossed the apartment and come up empty. As far as they were concerned, Lucas was the main target, not his aunt, though no one could tell us what made Lucas so important.

"I don't think you should go out tonight," Sonya said, "with or without Sean. What if they're watching the building?"

"If they are, they've seen me coming and going all week." I sounded more sure than I really was. "Besides, I've barely been here a week. I'm the last person they'd think might be connected to whatever this is."

Sonya bit her lip. "Still..." Another beep made her flinch.

In truth, I was worried about being out in a city that was much bigger than I was used to, which I didn't know very well, with a guy I'd known for all of a week. But Sean had helped me get a job, and he'd been extremely nice and helpful since we'd met. I didn't feel right about blowing him off, but I wished I could invite Sonya along. If she'd been dating someone I could have passed it off as a double date, but no such luck. Not that it was Sonya's fault. She was sweet and pretty with her tanned skin, dark curly hair, and bright smile, but spent the majority of her waking hours dealing with the building's residents. It didn't leave much time for dating.

"I'll be fine," I said. "If anything happens, I have Officer Williams' phone number. Sean knows the city, too. He grew up here. We're just going to dinner, anyway."

Unconvinced, Sonya rolled a pencil back and forth across her desk. The longer I sat in her office, the guiltier I felt. It wasn't just about me possibly being in danger if I went out. Sonya was scared of staying here without someone to keep her company, and who else was she going to hang out with? Baxter? Reconsidering my plans, I jumped when my phone chimed in my hand.

Just pulled up. Ready?

"Sean's here," I told Sonya as I sent a quick text back that I was ready. "Why don't you come out and meet him? It'll make you feel better."

Sighing, Sonya pushed back from the desk and stood. "Fine." When she reached me, she asked, "You're just going to dinner?"

"Two hours tops. Then me and you can hide out on my couch and discuss danger and dating all night."

Offering up a half smile, Sonya nodded. Together, we made our way to the front door. I expected Sean to wait for me outside, and was surprised when I opened it to find him about to do the same thing. Normally he saw me in worn out jeans, a white chef's coat that was a little too big, and my hair pulled up in a ponytail. The grin that spread across his lips said he didn't mind seeing me in a dress and curls.

"I knew you were holding out on me," Sean said teasingly. "You look great."

Attempting to fend off a blush, I took the compliment in stride and turned to where Sonya was standing next to me with her mouth half open. "This is my friend Sonya."

"Checking up on me?" he asked her as he extended his hand.

Sonya surprised me by accepting his hand with a smirk that was both confident and just a little bit seductive. "Just curious," she said as they shook. "Eliza's new to town and I wasn't about to let her wander off with just anyone."

Sean held his hands up, offering himself for inspection. "Well, do I pass?" He was grinning as she eyed him.

"You don't seem like a dirtbag," she said.

"Ah, but looks can be deceiving, right?" He winked before chuckling. "I'll take care of her. Promise."

Sonya's expression faltered for just a moment. "I'm going to hold you to that," she said more seriously than any of her other comments.

If Sean noticed the change, he didn't react to it. Instead, only raised his right hand like he was taking the oath in a courtroom. Turning back to me, he asked, "Ready to go?"

"Yeah." I was about to say goodbye to Sonya. Baxter burst through the front door wearing his usual scowl and interrupted my thoughts.

As soon as he saw the two of us, he leveled an accusing finger at Sonya. "If you think I'm changing the battery in your smoke detector when you and Eliza are the ones switching them out for dead ones in the first place, you have another thing coming. I have hit my limit with you two."

"If you don't change it, I'll write you up," Sonya said with a huff. I doubted she would really do that, and I think Baxter probably knew her well enough to know she was too nice to follow through, but he still looked pissed that she would even suggest it.

"Don't push me, Sonya. It has been too long of a day to deal with idiotic demands from two little girls with nothing better to do than act like ten-year-olds," he snapped.

He was totally right about us, of course, but that didn't stop either of us from pointing accusing fingers at him with nasty retorts on our lips. I had plenty of things to say to Baxter about idiotic demands, but Sean proved to be the only voice of reason between the four of us.

"Uh, I can change it if you need help. We have time before our reservation." He glanced between Baxter and Sonya, confused but also somewhat entertained.

Whirling around, Baxter's glare could have burned a whole through a lesser man. "Who they hell are you?"

Holding up a hand in uncertain greeting, he said, "Uh, Sean DeLacey. And you are?"

"You have nothing to do with this," Baxter snapped. He looked like he was about to tear into me next, but his left eye twitched and his gaze refocused back on Sean. "Reservations?"

"Yeah," Sean said, pointing at me. "For dinner...with Eliza." The look on his face asked the unanswered question of whether or not Baxter had a problem with that. Even if he did, I doubted Sean would care. I thought he was more curious than anything else.

Baxter's hard gaze shifted from Sean to me. I couldn't really explain why I squirmed beneath it, but suddenly holding still was impossible. "You're going out with this guy?" Baxter demanded.

"Yeah, so?" Not much of a response, but I was having a hard time focusing. Why would Baxter care in the least who I dated?

He didn't answer my question. He didn't storm off in an angry huff over Sean or the smoke detectors. Instead, he turned to face Sonya. "I'll fix the smoke detector, but this better be the last one." Then he did stormed off toward her office.

Sonya and I looked at each other and shrugged. Sean asked, "Who was that, exactly?"

Sighing, I said, "Baxter." What I wouldn't give to know what was wrong with that guy. "Never mind him..."

"He's always like that," Sonya finished with a giggle.

I laughed before giving her a quick hug. "I'll text you when I get back, okay? Go make sure Baxter doesn't sabotage your office out of revenge."

Looking much less worried than earlier, Sonya waved goodbye as she headed for her office. When I turned back around, Sean was giving me a look that begged for answers. "Anyone else I need to meet and get approval from before we go to dinner?"

"Trust me, you don't want to meet anyone else who lives here. Let's go."

Sean didn't wait for another chance to be interrupted. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me out of the crazy house and kept hold until we were on the sidewalk standing next to a motorcycle. Balking, I pulled my hand out of his and pointed at the bike. "Is that yours?"

"Yeah, why? You don't like motorcycles?" Sean asked.

I'd never been on one, so I really didn't know, but I didn't admit that. "I'm hardly dressed for riding one." I gestured at my dress. "It will fly up while you're driving."

Sean grinned at me and leaned against the bike. "Afraid of showing a little leg?"

"To everyone we pass on the street? I'd rather not."

Pushing away from the bike, Sean was still grinning as he grabbed the hand I had parked on my hip. "If you're going to show that much leg to anyone, I'd rather it be me than all of Manhattan." Tugging me closer, his fingers curled around my hip with one hand as he handed me a helmet with the other. "Get on the bike. I'll make sure your dress doesn't fly up. Promise."

He sure made a lot of promises. Although, I thought maybe I had inferred a few promises he'd never actually voiced. Either way, I trusted him to keep them. Feigning more reluctance than I felt, I climbed onto the bike and settled my skirt around my legs. I don't know what I was expecting from Sean when he promised he would make sure I didn't flash anyone on the way to the restaurant. When he stepped up next to me and slid his hands down my thighs, I stopped breathing.

He knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on me as he tucked the skirt of my dress beneath my legs. I probably should have shoved him off when he finished and his touch lingered on my knees. By that point I was pretty much incapable of doing anything. Heat simmered in my core and my fingers were clenched around the edge of the seat. I could barely remember the last time I'd felt like that.

Sean's fingers finally left my skin. I shivered at the loss, glad he had to face away from me when he climbed onto the bike in front of me. I didn't think I took another breath until he was seated and reached back to tap my thigh. "Hold on," he said.

My brain must have been on autopilot as I wrapped my arms around his waist, because coherent thoughts sure weren't responsible for it. Sean tugged my arms around him a little tighter before starting the bike and revving the engine. I tried not to react and expose my inexperience when he pulled into traffic, but I found myself flattened against his back and squeezing him nearly in half as a cab sped past us. I didn't let go until he pulled up in front of the restaurant. It took me a minute to realize Sean was laughing at me.

"I am tempted to pick you up for class every morning just so I can feel you pressed up against me like this."

Fire raced straight to my face. My head fell against his shoulders, even though that was exactly what he was teasing me about. His body rumbled against mine as he laughed.

"Why didn't you tell me this was your first time on a motorcycle?"

"Who says it was?" I asked. He probably had a hard time hearing me with my voice muffled by his back.

Turning halfway, Sean laughed. "You said it was when you grabbed me and didn't let go for fifteen minutes." I tried to look away, but he caught my chin and pulled me closer. "Don't hide because you were scared. You tried something new even though it scared you. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

A different kind of heat spread through me at his words. He knew nothing about me or my past, but all I had been doing for years was hiding. Hiding out of fear. Riding a motorcycle was a small thing, but it had scared me when I saw it. Yet for some reason, I got on. I let Sean drive me across town as cars whipped past us, sometimes only a few feet away. He had protected me, and laughed at me, and told me I was brave. I hadn't been brave in a very long time. Slowly, the corners of my mouth curled up in a smile.

"Holding out on me again," Sean said as he leaned toward me. "You have a beautiful smile. You shouldn't hide that either."

My heart started racing as Sean leaned in to kiss me, but not out of fear this time.

7: Not-So-Funny Farm

The bike slowed as we neared my building. This time, I was still holding onto Sean, but not to the point he could hardly breathe. He flicked the kickstand into place with his foot and the bike settled to the side. I waited for him to climb off the bike before following suit. He took my hand when I stepped up next to him and gave me a sly smile.

"So, will your report to Sonya keep her from meeting me at the door the next time I pick you up?"

"Next time, huh?"

Sean's hands slipped onto my hips as he eased himself in close. "Don't try to play hard to get. You had a good time tonight. Admit it."

Smiling, I said, "I did, but you don't want any distractions and I'm going to be working nights starting on Monday."

"When did I say I didn't want any distractions?"

"When you told me you weren't working through school." Frowning, I pressed my finger against his chest. "What you forgot to tell me is that the lead you were giving me was for your old job, and that your ex-girlfriend still works there and already hates my guts."

He had the decency to look at least a little chastised, but he was still smiling. "Danielle will cool off after a while, and you'll love working at Saul's."

"Why did you leave, then?"

Losing some of his mirth, Sean said, "I told you, I have a lot riding on this program."

"So you quit your job and break up with Danielle because you don't want anything to keep you from graduating, but you're talking about next time with me. Why?"

Sean sat back down on the seat of the bike and pulled on me until I stood between his knees. "First of all," he said, "I didn't break up with Danielle because I thought she was going to be a distraction. I broke up with her because she was sending half naked pictures of herself to a guy in one of her classes. Secondly, I'm not proposing marriage here. You're fun to hang out with, a good kisser, and I think we can make getting through this program a little more enjoyable if we stick together. If you're expecting more or less, say so now."

"I'm not expecting anything, Sean. I came here to go to school to become a chef, not to find a boyfriend or get wrapped up in a murder case."

Blinking several times, Sean cocked his head to one side. "What murder case?"

"My neighbor," I said with a wave of my hand, "and her nephew. The cops are useless, but that's beside the point. What I'm trying to say is that I have a lot riding on this program, too. If you want to hang out and blow off steam or whatever, once in a while, that's great. I'm sure we'll both need it. I don't have the time or inclination for anything more."

Sean shook off talk of murder, I was sure tucking it away for a later conversation, and stood with his body barely an inch from mine. "Sounds to me like we're on the same page."

I exhaled, more than a little relieved. "Good."

"Definitely good," Sean said before kissing me hard and fast. When he pulled back, I tilted forward, following the warmth of his body and the heat being near him inspired in me. He grinned and squeezed my hand. "Walk you to your door?"

I nodded, feeling infinitely better about getting involved with Sean than I had earlier that night. This wasn't the type of relationship I was used to. Who was I kidding? I'd only ever had one serious relationship...one relationship period. I was nowhere close to being ready for or wanting that again. There was a good chance this whole casual thing could blow up in my face, but I came here to take a few risks and start living again.

Sean opened the lobby door for me and made a questioning gesture for where he should go next. I'd really only expected him to walk me to the main door. A bubble of anxiety formed in the center of my chest at the thought of him walking me all the way to my apartment door, but I pointed toward the stairs anyway. It was relatively quiet as we walked up the steps, which was surprising, and the halls were completely empty, which wasn't surprising. This wasn't the type of building where neighbors stood around chatting in the halls.

"This place is kind of creepy," Sean said when we reached the second floor landing. "Why is it so quiet?"

"The people who live here try to avoid each other as much as possible. Less chance of breaking the rules that way, although yelling at each other certainly doesn't seem to be a problem. Only physical violence."

Sean stared at me. "What?" He shook his head. "Were you serious about your neighbor getting killed? Did someone in the building do it?" His gaze darted up and down the empty hallway. "That guy from earlier..."

I waved him off feeling vindicated. "Believe me, that was my first guess, too, but no. He was at work." See, I wasn't the only one who thought Baxter came off as homicidal. So there, Bernadette. "Her death seems to have something to do with her nephew, who's also dead now, but nobody knows what. It's got everyone on edge more than usual."

"I can understand why," Sean said.

We were approaching Ms. Sinclair's apartment, and even in the dim light the bloodstain was noticeable. The cops wouldn't let Sonya have it cleaned yet, in case they needed to gather more evidence or whatever. It made my stomach turn every time I walked by it. Making her leave it there really seemed unnecessary.

Sean noticed it as well and pulled back in revulsion. He turned, looking toward the lobby and the way out of this not-so-funny farm. "Is it safe for you to be here? I really don't think..."

The door didn't burst open like you might think. The handle turned quietly, but quickly, and before I could process what was happening, a black-clad body was halfway through the partially opened door. The intruder was so quiet, Sean didn't even turn around before the man saw me standing there and lashed out. My knees buckled instinctively, before a conscious effort to duck could save me. The heavy duty flashlight meant to take my head off crashed into the side of Sean's head and he dropped to the floor next me.

Pressing myself against the railing, I stared up at the man, convinced I was about to die. The hoodie he was wearing darkened his features, but not enough that I couldn't see his brown eyes spearing straight through me and his chapped lips curled up in a snarl. Scared nearly witless, I did the first thing that came to my severely scrambled mind.

"Baxter!"

In my head, I had no real hope that Baxter would be able to do anything in time. I wasn't the only one surprised by his door bursting open half a second later. I doubted Baxter had any idea why I'd screamed his name, but he looked less than happy about it as he burst into the hallway looking like he was going to kill someone, for real this time. Anger morphed into shock when he saw the big man standing over me with his flashlight raised for another swing. Our two bodies on the floor were probably a little unsettling as well, though he might not have been all that concerned about me after the smoke detector pranks.

Regardless of his animosity toward me, Baxter reacted. Sprinting down the hall like a linebacker, the look on his face said he'd take out all the anger and frustration he carried around on a day-to-day basis on this guy, regardless of the situation. While the intruder seemed like a giant from my floor-level perspective, Baxter equaled him in height and build. Even though my attacker had a pretty effective weapon, he sized up the situation quickly and decided to bolt.

Baxter gave chase.

"Call 911!" he shouted at me as he ran past.

The two of them bounced off walls and railings in their mad flight down the stairs, but the intruder made it to the main door first and disappeared into the night. Baxter disappeared after him, but was back at the entrance to the building a few seconds later. Seeing him standing there looking like a wild man, snapped me out of my shock, and I realized I hadn't called the police. Scrambling for my phone, I tapped out the digits and hit send frantically. Baxter was bounding back up the stairs by the time the call was answered.

"Emergency 911. What is your emergency?"

"There was an intruder in my building. He knocked my friend out, and my neighbor scared him away, but I think Sean's hurt. He's unconscious," I said as it finally sank in that my date was still lying on the floor unmoving. I started shaking. Not just my hands. My entire body broke down into uncontrollable trembling. "He's not moving," I whispered. I reached out, but couldn't bring myself to touch him. What if he was dead?

Jumping in fright when Baxter dropped to the floor at my feet, I didn't protest when he ripped the phone out of my hand and took over. I just sat there on the floor with my arms wrapped around my middle as Baxter checked Sean for a pulse. I nearly burst into tears when he told the operator Sean was alive. Baxter had to grab me and practically yell at me to find out if I was hurt. I shook my head and sank against the railing.

I didn't think I moved or said a single word until Officer Williams was suddenly kneeling in front of me sometime later. "An ambulance is on the way for your friend. Are you hurt?"

"She's just in shock," Baxter said, sounding less nasty than usual. There was still a hint of irritation in his voice, though, like it annoyed him I wasn't stronger. Thinking that might be what was going through his head, tears welled in my eyes. It was unfair. He didn't know what I'd been through. He couldn't judge me without knowing that I'd seen Ben die, that it had happened right in front of me.

I wanted to be tough and show Baxter I could be strong, but my lip quivered when I asked, "Is Sean okay?"

"He may have a concussion, but the paramedics will take care of him," Officer Williams said. I moved to reach for Sean, to make sure for myself, but he pushed me back. "Just sit tight. Baxter's looking after Sean. You worry about yourself."

Looking at Sean's form, I saw that Baxter was kneeling over him, watching him for signs of waking up while he spoke to the emergency operator. I watched Sean, too, willing him to blink and sit up. The flashlight he'd been hit with had been one of those long-handled ones that had some weight to it. I'd heard the crack and knew it wasn't a glancing blow. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I realized this was my fault.

Officer Williams tried to comfort me, an awkward pat on my shoulder, but I kept crying until the paramedics arrived. Sonya came running up the stairs after the paramedics and crashed into me. She was in her pajamas and had mascara smeared beneath her eyes, probably from falling asleep in the middle of a movie. She didn't care and held onto me while I dried my eyes. "Baxter texted me," she said. "I nearly died when I saw it and ran straight up here! Are you okay?"

I nodded, but kept staring at Sean. I gasped when he groaned and tried to roll onto his side. One of the paramedics held him in place and asked him to stay still while they examined him. "What happened?" Sean asked groggily.

"You were hit on the head by an intruder trying to escape the building," Officer Williams said.

Sean blinked as he processed the information, then jerked away from the hands trying to keep him in place. "Eliza? Is she okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, pulling out of Sonya's grip and reaching for his hand. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

Sean opened his mouth to say something, but Baxter beat him to it. "Don't be stupid. It's nobody's fault. Bad timing." His lips pursed and his gaze narrowed at Sean, who was still lying on the floor. "Although, if you hadn't felt the need to go out with a stranger..."

"He's not a stranger," I snapped.

Baxter rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, you've known him for all of a week. Not even that. There's a killer running around and you decide to go out on the town with a guy you barely know, who you were bringing back up to your apartment. Never mind, maybe this is your fault. Him getting clocked, anyway."

Everyone stared at Baxter. Sonya was wide-eyed while the two paramedics shot glances at each other that clearly said Baxter was just about the world's biggest ass. Officer Williams was the only one who said something.

"Look, I don't think anyone needs you pointing fingers or placing blame. This was an unfortunate incident."

"Which might have been prevented if the police would get off their asses and protect the remaining citizens of this building from potentially being murdered!" Baxter shouted.

"I was patrolling the area," Officer Williams retorted.

"Yeah," Baxter said, "lot of good that did."

Pulling back from Sean, I stood and stomped over to Mr. High and Mighty, anger rising with every step. "Would you please just shut up?" I barked. "Nobody in this entire building cares what you think about anything, let alone the people in this hall. It is none of your business whether I go out, or who I go out with. And if I want to bring a guy up to my apartment, I will! I don't know why you even ran out here to help me. I'd think you'd be more than happy to get rid of me!"

For the first time since I'd met him, Baxter didn't have a response.

Spinning away from him, I stomped my way back to Sean and plopped down next to him. Seething, I didn't say a word as the paramedics went back to work. Their movements were the only sounds in the hall, the only sounds in the building, practically. Sean watched me warily as he took my hand and squeezed it tightly. It took me a few seconds before my shoulders relaxed and I took a deep breath. I was still spitting mad, but I didn't care to think about Baxter anymore and put my full focus into Sean.

Once the paramedics finished going through the concussion protocol, they helped Sean up to sitting. "You're not showing signs of a concussion, but we still recommend you stay awake for a few hours. You're going to have a pretty bad headache, but if it gets worse, or you experience any nausea or vomiting, go to the emergency room immediately. It would really be best if you'd let us take you now, just as a precaution."

Sean started to shake his head, then winced. "I just want to go home. I'm fine. This isn't the first time I've taken a hit."

Tucking that bit of information away for later, I scrambled to follow when Sean moved to stand. I helped him up, but panicked at the idea of him leaving. "I really don't think you should ride your motorcycle after getting hit like that. Maybe you should stay here."

Sean scoffed. "No offense, but I think I'll be safer at my place." His eyes narrowed and his gaze flicked behind me to where I was sure Baxter was probably standing. "In fact, I think you'd be safer at my place, too."

"She is not—" Baxter's words cut off with a grunt that sounded like it might have been induced by an elbow to the gut—courtesy of Sonya.

Sean's offer was tempting, and not because I was looking to hookup. Being in this place was really starting to freak me out, but I could almost feel Sonya's anxiety behind me. "I think I better stay here with Sonya, but I do want to make sure you get home all right."

"I can drive him home," Officer Williams offered. "My shift ended half an hour ago, anyway."

Considering the offer and my reluctance to go with him, Sean frowned. "Fine, sure. I'll pick up my bike in the morning, okay? Maybe we can grab breakfast."

"That would be nice," I said.

I felt guilty not going with him. It irked me to admit Baxter was right that I barely knew Sean. That was as much a part of why I refused his offer as not wanting to leave Sonya here, scared and worried. As freaked out as I was, if I was going to cozy up with anyone tonight, Sonya came in at the top of my list. We were both scared, and I didn't have to worry about being chewed out by her or ending up in a situation I wasn't ready for. Somehow I doubted Sean had a guest room for me to stay in.

Walking with Sean down to the front door, I gave him a hug before handing him over to Officer Williams. "I've already called in for someone to sit on the building for the rest of the night," Officer Williams said. "I doubt anyone will come back tonight, but I don't want to risk it."

Now he didn't want to risk it. "Thanks," I said, holding off with an I told you so.

After he took all our statements, they disappeared into the patrol car and I wrapped my arms around myself tightly as worry set in. The paramedics shuffled out with all their gear soon after, the older of the two stopping next to me by the front door. "You gonna be okay with him?" he asked, tipping his head in the direction of Baxter's hulking form watching from the second floor landing.

"I'll be fine," I said, "but thanks for asking."

He looked unconvinced, but left me to deal with Baxter on my own. I shut the door behind them and flicked the deadbolt closed. It wasn't required to be locked until after ten at night, but I didn't think anyone would complain if I locked up a few minutes early. Sonya, who'd been waiting at the base of the stairs, linked her arm with mine when I reached her and we trudged back up to the second floor together.

Baxter met us at the landing, arms crossed with a determined look on his face. I was so not in the mood for him. Holding up a hand, I gave him a sharp wave of goodbye. "Thanks for the help. Feel free to keep the lectures to yourself next time. I'm going to bed now." Turning to my friend, I asked, "Want to have a sleepover?"

Relief flooded Sonya's expression. "Girls' night sounds perfect."

Honestly, I was as relieved as she was. I didn't want to go back to my apartment alone. I tried to step around Baxter, but he moved with me. "What?" I snapped.

"You two are not spending the night alone. Are you insane?"

Gesturing between myself and Sonya, I said, "We're not alone." I held back on any name calling, but only because I did not want to get into another fight with him. I was exhausted.

Baxter rolled his eyes. "Two girls alone all night while someone keeps breaking into the building and nearly killed your boyfriend? Does that really sound smart?"

"For one," I said, "we are not girls. Quit treating me like a twelve-year-old. Two, Sean is not my boyfriend, so get off your high horse about that, too. Besides, what else do you expect me to do? Call Officer Williams and ask him to stand outside my apartment door all night? No thank you."

I tried to push past him again, but he refused to let me by. "You have two options. Either the both of you stay at my place, or I stay at yours."

"What?" I laughed. "Not going to happen, Baxter. I'd rather take my chances with the intruder, thank you very much."

Shoving him hard, I dragged Sonya around him and down the hall to my door. I was jamming my key in the lock when I felt him step up behind me. "Go away," I said through my teeth.

I had just gotten the door unlocked and was planning to slip through and slam it in Baxter's face when he said, "You saw his face."

Freezing, his words slid across my skin like a blanket of frost.

Baxter closed the distance, a brick wall behind me. "Whatever's going on here, it's serious, Eliza. These people aren't afraid to kill. You saw his face and that makes you a target."

"You saw him, too," I said, though I wasn't sure if I was trying to argue or just point out that he was in danger as well.

"From a distance," Baxter said. "You were barely a few feet away from him. Officer Williams may be too idiotic to reason out the full implications of what happened tonight, but I'm not, and neither are you."

I swallowed hard, knowing he was right, but unable to keep from being irritated by that merely on principle. "Fine," I whispered.

"Go inside, lock the door. I'll change and be back in a few minutes." He started to pull back, then leaned down so his mouth was right next to my ear. "Oh, and Bernadette gave me a key, so don't be stupid and try to keep me out."

Resenting the implication that locking him out of my apartment would be stupid, I spun around with a snotty response on my lips. I forgot what it was when I met his gaze and saw the heat in his eyes. I couldn't even begin to figure out whether it came from anger, fear, or...something else entirely, but the intensity stripped my mind bare and all I could do was stare at him.

I didn't object when he gripped my shoulder and pushed me into the apartment. He closed the door and I locked it without thinking. Lack of oxygen finally overpowered my stupor and I sucked in a shaky breath, still staring at the door. I turned around, trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

"Did you finally boot Baxter back to his apartment?" Sonya asked from where she was sitting on the couch. I hadn't even realized she'd slipped in ahead of me.

I shook my head, making her frown. "He's coming back." I glanced at the couch. My lips pursed as I considered my options. All I had as far as sleeping arrangements went were a couch and a bed. I knew which one Baxter was not going to be invited to use. Glancing back at Sonya, I asked, "Mind bunking with me? Baxter can have the couch."

"Uh, sure, no problem," Sonya said. Even though I hadn't known Sonya for long, she had become like a surrogate sister practically from the moment we met. I had no problem with her staying over. Baxter was a different story, but I wasn't sure I even knew why anymore.

I was in the middle of brushing my teeth when a knock sounded on the door. Sonya was already in bed, so I spit and dropped my toothbrush on the counter. It took me longer than it should have to reach the door. "Baxter?" I asked.

Instead of some smartass response, like who else would it be, all he said was, "It's me, Eliza. You can let me in."

I hesitated for just a moment, then flipped the deadbolt and opened the door. I felt myself sinking even further into confusion when I saw him standing there in loose sweat pants and a white t-shirt. He looked tired and frustrated, and as usual, a little bit annoyed. Despite all of that, he was waiting for me to let him in.

Pulling the door open, I waited for him to pass through before closing and relocking it. He was already standing next to the couch when I turned around. My gaze bouncing between him and the couch, I frowned. "I don't think you're going to fit."

Baxter half laughed, half scoffed. "I'll be fine. Go to bed, Eliza."

I was more than happy to comply. For some reason, I found myself slowing as I approached the couch. Baxter looked up when I didn't pass by, expectant and on edge for another argument.

"He was just walking me to my door," I said without thinking. "I had no intention of inviting him in or sleeping with him tonight."

It was none of Baxter's business who I slept with, and there was absolutely no reason I should have been explaining myself to him, but I found myself standing there, waiting for his response.

"And what were his intentions?" Baxter asked with a sigh. He lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket I had left there over his body. His eyes closed, blocking me out of his sight, and likely out of his mind. Baxter exhaled slowly and settled into the couch while I stood there like an idiot.

"Go to bed, Eliza," he mumbled. "I won't let anything happen."

His words melted the tension from my body, confusing me even more, but taking away my fears.

8: A Shrieking, Angry Princess

Hustling down the street, I burst into the diner with only a few minutes to spare. I didn't want to be late for my first day at Saul's. Of course that meant class ran long. Composing myself while still breathing hard from my sprint from the school, I slipped through the moderately busy diner to the kitchen where I hoped Saul was waiting and Danielle was nowhere to be found.

"Are you ready for this?" Saul asked cheerfully. The way I was standing there with my backpack in one hand and a startled expression on my face must have been answer enough. He laughed. "You can put your backpack in the room over there, then we'll get started."

Taking a deep breath, I moved in the direction he'd pointed. The room was barely more than a closet. Papers and extra supplies were piled on top of shelving units. On the shelves were a purse, a few pairs of shoes, cell phones, and various other employee paraphernalia. I had to squash my backpack to make it fit, but it worked well enough. Tightening my bun and tucking in stray pieces, I made my way back to Saul.

Without looking at me, he pointed to a row of hooks. "Grab an apron, wash your hands, and come join me."

The aprons looked like they were meant to fit Saul, who was taller and wider than me. Shrugging, I pulled one down and wrapped it around my body, looping the ties around my waist twice to make them manageable. The hem hung several inches below my knees. I felt as if I were twelve, but excitement to get started pushed me over to Saul.

"Now, the main dinner rush usually doesn't start for another hour, but that's not a lot of time to show you everything, so pay attention and if you forget something, just ask," Saul said. I nodded and he jumped right in.

"On the grill, I try to keep things separated. Burgers over here, chicken breasts in the middle, things like bacon, chile, onions, that sort of thing are on the side so the flavors don't get on someone's burger who doesn't want them." He gestured at each section and what they already held. "The fryers are divided, too. French fries only in the first two, anything else in the others. Timers are on the front of each unit. Double check times before you walk away. Burnt onion rings will stink up the kitchen for a week."

I took everything in, not interrupting to ask how I was supposed to know the cooking times for different foods that needed fried. By the time the thought occurred to me, he was already going over the condiments they offered and the vegetable prep area. I felt lost without my notebook. In class I was expected to take notes and refer back to them when needed. I couldn't exactly do that in the middle of the dinner rush. Cataloging everything I could, I followed Saul around the kitchen until we ended up back by the grill.

"So, you're ready to go, right? I can head home to my wife?"

I know my eyes doubled in size, not just because I nearly died of panic, but because Saul broke out in a loud burst of laughter. Continuing to chuckle, he shook his head. "Go on," he said, "I need three plates prepped for these burgers."

Reining in my nerves, I took a deep breath. Prep plates. I could do that. Maneuvering around the kitchen, I grabbed three of the standard ceramic plates you found in most casual diners and set them on the prep counter. I marveled at how Saul seemed to know exactly where I was and what step I was on without looking at me. He called out what condiments and toppings each plate needed, pausing only when a timer went off on the fryer and he sent me over to take it out of the oil.

"Bring me those plates," Saul said, then watched from the corner of his eye as I loaded one into the crook of my elbow and held the other two. He nodded, offering a quick smile that I was coordinated enough to manage all three. He had me hold them while he topped each one with a patty and the requested toppings of bacon, caramelized onions, and on the last one, an onion ring from the batch I had just taken out of the oil.

"Now, they go up on the window and you hit the bell," Saul explained. "Try not to put up the plates until the whole order is finished, unless something's holding up one of the dishes. During a rush, it gets confusing if partial orders are being served and someone's meal ends up getting missed."

I nodded.

Reaching up, Saul pulled a ticket from where several were hanging from a metal carousel. "Once the full order is up, pull the ticket and set it with the plates so it gets sent back to the table. Customers pay the cashier, not the waitresses."

I nodded again, feeling like my head might fall off by the end of the night.

"Great, now it's your turn," Saul said with a grin.

"What?"

He gestured at the grill. "I've got the next two orders started. Linnea's on her way with a new ticket. That one's yours. Ready?"

No, but I said, "Sure. Yeah, I'm ready."

Saul grinned at me. I was sure he knew I was lying, but he took it in stride. I felt anything but ready. The bakery I worked at before coming to Manhattan wasn't your typical food service experience. I got up at four in the morning, alone, had a huge industrial kitchen to myself for three hours, then disappeared before the main kitchen staff showed up to prep for breakfast. There was no rush, no tickets to keep track of, no patrons to worry about. In other words, it was the exact opposite of what I was telling Saul I could do.

A tall, sturdy brunette glided up to the window and smiled. "Hey, I'm Linnea. You must be the new fry cook. Eliza, right?"

"Yeah. It's nice to meet you."

"You too," Linnea said. She slid the ticket into one of the clips and spun it around to me. "Good luck tonight. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks," I said, doubting I would get the same offer from Danielle. Luckily, she was concentrated on the two older gentleman sitting at the counter.

Grabbing for the ticket, I looked it over and sighed in relief. One burger, classic, and one grilled chicken sandwich with honey mustard dressing. Both with fries. Nothing fancy. I could do this. While I grabbed the meats from the fridge, Saul slipped back into place at the grill and served up the next round of burgers he'd started. He walked me through cooking times for the patty and chicken, and explained how to work the plate prep in between needing to flip patties or attend to the fryers. I managed to serve up my two sandwiches and hit the bell without any major slipups.

"See, not that bad," Saul said. He glanced out the window to the dining area and surveyed the guests. Nodding, he looked back at me and said, "It's pretty dead out there, so I'm going to slip out for a minute and grab a bite to eat in the back. If you need anything, just yell."

Panic slithered into my gut, but I nodded as calmly as I could manage. It was just after six o'clock. From what Sean had said, the evening rush would start any time now. It was a Monday, so it would be less busy than when it got toward the weekend, but more than one order at a time seemed overwhelming at the moment. Apparently, Saul thought I could handle it, because he took the last burger he'd pulled off the grill and headed for the cramped breakroom. I stood at the grill, not sure what to do.

Knowing I would forget half of what he told me, Saul had taped up reminders around the kitchen as well as stuck a menu over by the buns. I pulled it out, hoping I could at least look it over before anyone else showed up. I'd barely cracked it open when I heard the carousel squeak as it turned. The back of Danielle's head disappeared as I stared at the ticket she'd left.

Gulping, I walked back over to the window and pulled the ticket down. Looking at it did not help calm my nerves at all.

#3 in the hay w/ frog sticks

GAC & fruit cup

#5 86 K ring one

What? I felt my breathing speed up, because Saul hadn't told me about any of this! Then I remembered it was Danielle who'd dropped off the ticket. She hated me. She wanted to make me miserable, make me quit. Remembering who I was dealing with forestalled hyperventilation, but didn't exactly help me figure out what in the world I was supposed to be making.

If I'd had my phone with me, I would have put up with having to rewash my hands in order to Google whatever slang Danielle was using. Everyone else's phones had been lying on the shelves in the breakroom, so I'd left mine in my backpack. I wasn't sure what other options I had, aside from interrupting Saul's dinner.

Determined not to be a nuisance, I attempted to puzzle out Danielle's challenge. Hay could be onions. It would make more sense if they were French fried onions, which we didn't seem to have. I looked around for anything else that might work. Shredded lettuce? I had no clue what GAC stood for, though fruit cup seemed basic enough. Maybe. It could be a trick. I hadn't a clue whether 86 K ring one was one term, four different ones, or a combination of several. 86 seemed familiar, but I couldn't remember what it might stand for. K...K might be Ketchup, or kraut?

Grasping for something, I figured the numbers should be easy enough to figure out. I snatched up the menu and scanned, but found no numbers anywhere. There were no combos, only dishes listed by names under different headings. It could have been chicken, burger, sandwich...I had no idea. I couldn't even start the meat without risk of screwing up.

The carousel squeaked again and I jumped. Linnea froze at my reaction, her hand poised above the ticket she'd just released. "Everything okay?" she asked.

I hesitated. I didn't want her to think I was an idiot, or had no idea what I was doing—even if it were true. But I had no one else to ask. "Do you know what this means?" I shoved the ticket at her, fingers crossed.

"Uh..." She stared at the ticket with a frown. "We don't use that sort of lingo usually." She squinted at the order. "I think maybe the first one has fries and the last one has onion rings, but I don't know about the rest, and I'm only like seventy percent sure on the sides. I remember Saul joking about making us all learn to speak diner lingo, but he wasn't serious. It's a total waste of time."

She handed the ticket back with a shrug. "Sorry. Just go ask Saul. He'll know."

Sighing, I knew I had to do it. Danielle wanted to make me look stupid and she was succeeding.

"What'd you do to piss Danielle off, anyway? You've only been here a few hours," Linnea said.

"Sean hooked me up with this job."

Linnea's eyebrows rose. "Is that the only thing he hooked you up with?" Her gaze darted back toward the dining room. "Just looking at Sean is usually reason enough for her to hate someone. But I thought they broke up."

"They did," I said, sighing and wanting to kick both Sean and Danielle. Mostly Danielle. "And Sean is just a friend. We're in culinary school together."

"And that's it?" Linnea asked. "Sean is a hottie. If I hadn't been afraid of Danielle murdering me in my sleep, I would have pounced on him a while ago."

"We went out once," I said, trying not to sound defensive.

A hand slapped down on the counter and Danielle's fierce eyes were suddenly boring into me. "Are you ever going to start that order?" she snapped. "How about you stop fantasizing about someone you haven't even got a chance with and do your job?"

She span around and stormed over to the cash register where a couple was waiting to pay their bill. Linnea looked over at me, eyebrows sky high. "I think she heard that mention of going out with Sean." She shook her head. "Better watch your back, girl."

I already had a murderer I had to watch out for. Now I had a shrieking, angry princess out to get me? I wasn't sure how many more threats to my life and wellbeing I could take, but I was strangely more worried about Danielle than Ms. Sinclair's killer. And I was probably going to get fired on my first day. Way to go, Eliza.

"So," Saul said slowly, "how's it going?"

I spun around, holding the ticket in front of me as if it were a shield that would somehow stave off losing my job. My gaze darted back to the one still hanging on the carousel. "I...uh, there's...I don't know..."

Giving me a funny look, Saul plucked the ticket from my hands and scanned what it said. Rolling his eyes, he sighed. "Danielle?" When I nodded, his eyes narrowed as he spotted her through the order window. Whatever was going through his mind, he didn't share it with me.

Saul came over to stand next to me and pointed at the first order. "Single burger with sauerkraut and fries. Grilled American cheese sammy with a fruit cup. Double burger, no Ketchup, onion rings as the side. Got it?"

I nodded furiously.

"All right, get started. I'll help you plate."

After throwing three patties on the grill and locating the sauerkraut, I grabbed Linnea's order—which was blessedly written out in plain terms—and started on that one as well. After that, the rush started and I didn't have another coherent thought for at least two hours. Somewhere in the middle of what seemed like a million burgers and a truckload of fries, Danielle scurried out before Saul could corner her and Gwen arrived to take her place. The cryptic diner lingo tickets disappeared with Danielle and I started moving a little faster. It was almost nine o'clock before the dining room went back to a few random couples or singles and I was able to take a deep breath.

"You did good," Saul said. His hand came down on my back a little too rough and I nearly pitched forward into the dishwater. "I'll talk to Danielle about the lingo when she comes in tomorrow, but you were actually picking it up pretty fast in case she does it again. You did all right."

"Thanks," I said, sure the praise would make me happier if I wasn't ready to collapse.

"Gwen's in charge of locking up, but if you think you'll be okay for another two hours, I'm going to head out. Shouldn't have more than a handful of customers come in before closing."

Swallowing my panic, I forced myself not to have a meltdown. "I'll be fine." I sounded less than convincing, but Saul only laughed and clapped me on the back again.

Part of me was proud he felt comfortable leaving me here to handle the last few customers. The rest of me thought he was crazy. I put on a brave face when he said goodbye and disappeared out the back door. Linnea swept through a few minutes later with her goodbyes as well. Feeling somewhat abandoned, I went back to washing dishes and tried to convince myself everything would be fine.

The swinging doors to the kitchen burst open, startling me, and Gwen strode through. "Looks like it's just you and me now." She smiled and leaned against the counter. "Sounds like Danielle was being her usual charming self tonight."

"Yeah, she's a peach."

"Try not to let her get to you," Gwen said. "She hates not being the center of attention. Sean dumping her made her go into monster mode, and you being all cute and smart just knocked her down a few more notches. It annoys her to no end that Saul likes you so much and hired you pretty much on Sean's recommendation."

I wanted to argue that I wasn't completely inexperienced in the kitchen, but I had barely hung on by my teeth all night and wasn't fooling anyone.

"Anyway, no guarantees Danielle will ever quit being such a...what does Saul like to call her? Queen Bee?" Gwen laughed. "I could think of much worse terms. Just ignore her, though. Without Sean here, she's bound to quit eventually and put us all out of our misery."

The bell on the main entrance rang, and Gwen looked out the circular windows to catch sight of a young couple walking in. "Better get back out there," she said before pushing away from the counter. She was all smiles as she sat them.

Drying my hands, I went back to the grill to wait for the couple's order. It didn't take long before Gwen handed over the slip of paper. "That guy was totally—"

The bell sounded again and we both turned to look at the door. Gwen sighed at the interruption while I nearly fainted at the sight of the intruder.

9: Pink Pepper

Ducking out of view, I told myself to breathe. Keep breathing. Don't panic. Don't draw attention to yourself.

"Are you okay?" Gwen asked as she leaned over the counter.

If I told her the guy that just walked in broke into my apartment building over the weekend in order to sneak into my dead neighbor's place, and that it was quite possible he had killed her, too, that would not stay between us. If it got back to Saul that I was a big time liability, he might fire me. I'd fire me. Some scary, possibly homicidal killer was standing in his dining room right now.

"I just, uh, whacked my knee on a drawer handle." I stood slowly, careful to stay out of view.

"Ouch, I've done that," Gwen said. "Anyway, I better seat that guy, but remind me to tell you about that weirdo at the other table. Total creeper!"

She darted away then and I scurried off to the side where I was almost positive no one could see me. It took me a few minutes before I remembered I had to cook the creepy guy's order and got back to work. Every few seconds, I glanced up at the window. I was keeping my head down, but the grill was right in front of the window and made it impossible to stay completely out of view. Hopefully he couldn't recognize me just from the top of my head. I'd never been so thankful I wasn't tall before.

My heart was pounding as I hit the bell for the order and Gwen picked it up. I had this irrational fear that he'd know I cooked it, know I was back here. The entire time I was cooking his burger, I wondered what the odds were that he randomly stopped at Saul's. Maybe he came in here all the time. It could have nothing to do with me.

The odds of that being true were worse than the odds of Danielle baking me cookies tomorrow and wanting to be best friends.

Double checking to make sure there were no other orders that might come in, I raced to the breakroom and grabbed my phone out of my backpack. My fingers were shaking as the screen came to life. I intended to call Sonya and ask her to come pick me up, but I saw a text from her first and tapped on it.

At the hospital with Grandma. Chest pains. Happens a lot, so I'm sure it's nothing, but I'll be here for a while. Call me when you get off work. I want to know how it went with Queen Bee.

My stomach sank. My next thought was Sean, and I was dialing before I finished contemplating whether or not I wanted to involve him in this. I was likely to lose him as a friend if he ended up hurt again because of me. The call went straight to voicemail. Hanging up before leaving a message, I considered my next option. Officer Williams!

I wasn't keen on the idea of him showing up here and making a scene, but he was better than nothing. My chances of making it home on the subway with a possible killer on my tail were not something I wanted to think about too hard.

"Hello?" a voice yelled. I pulled the phone away from my ear. The yelling and the blaring music made me cringe. "E...liza, that...you?"

Groaning, I realized Officer Williams wasn't working at the moment. In fact, it sounded like he was at a club, well on his way to a hangover. "Are you drunk?" I demanded.

"It'smy night off," he slurred. "Whatchyou want?"

"Nothing," I said before hanging up on him. Fat lot of good he was. Ever.

Standing there with my phone in my hand, I struggled to come up with someone else I could call. The police had abandoned watching the building after only two nights, and cleared Sonya to have the blood and the rest of Ms. Sinclair's apartment cleaned up that morning. All their focus was going toward Lucas and whatever sketchy business he might have been involved in. The apartment had been discounted as a source of help, which meant nobody was all that concerned about protecting it. I could call and tell them the guy who attacked Sean and me was sitting in the diner. Maybe that would work.

Rushing back to the kitchen, I slid to a stop near the swinging doors and peered out the circular windows to scan the dining room. Creepy couple. Check. Possible murderer...gone. I stopped breathing. It felt like I was choking. About ready to go into full panic mode, I just about keeled over when Gwen pushed through the door next to me looking ready to burst.

"There you are," she said, grinning. "I have got to tell you..."

"Where'd that last guy go?"

"What?"

"The guy who ordered the guacamole burger. Where did he go?" I demanded.

Gwen shrugged. "He decided not to stay, so I put his food in a takeout box, and he left. Why?"

Struggling to breathe normally, I shook my head. "Just wondering. He was kind of scary looking."

Gwen considered my comment, then shrugged. "The guy you should be worrying about is the one who came in with that skanky girl. Seriously nasty guy. He practically forced her to sit next to him and he had a hold of her ass the entire time I was leading them to their table. Then, when I delivered their order, he had his hand up her skirt when I walked up. Guy is a total perv."

She went on talking about the skeezeball and his date while I only half listened. My mind was whirring, wondering if I had just been freaking out over nothing. I was ninety-nine percent sure it was the same guy, but I supposed I could have been wrong. It seemed incredible that he would pick this diner completely by chance. His leaving abruptly made me think even more that he'd seen me and decided to bolt. Maybe he'd only come in to make sure I was here, then took off to find a place to grab me as I walked to the subway entrance, at eleven o'clock at night, alone.

Trying to tell myself it was good he was gone fell pretty flat. I was more scared now than I had been before. There was only one person left I could call. I didn't want to do it. In fact, it kind of pissed me off that I didn't know anyone else in this entire city that I could call. I had no other choice, but Gwen was still talking. How she didn't sense I was on the verge of losing it, I had no idea. I nearly collapsed in relief when the bell rang, announcing hungry diners, and Gwen scurried out to meet them.

Knowing Gwen would be at least a few minutes getting them seated and filling drink orders, I brought up Baxter's number and hit send. One ring. Two. Three. My heart threatened to give out on me. Four rings. Fi—

"Eliza? Why are you calling me at ten at night?"

It would have been awesome if I'd been able to pull off casual. Tell him who I saw calmly and ask for a ride home so I didn't die between here and the apartment building. It would have been absolutely fabulous if I had sounded like I was a strong, competent city girl who wasn't afraid of the dark and what it held. Instead, I lost it.

"He was here, Baxter. In the restaurant. He saw me, maybe. He left. He ordered to eat here, then I tried to call Sonya and when I came back he was gone, and Gwen said she boxed up his food and he took off. What if he's waiting for me? I think maybe he is. It would be too weird if he showed up here by accident after sneaking into Ms. Sinclair's apartment, right? I don't think I should ride the subway home, but Sonya's at the hospital with her grandma and Sean didn't answer and Officer Williams is drunk, and even though you don't like me, I'm scared and I need you to pick me up from work, okay?"

Silence.

More silence.

"What?" Baxter demanded. "Who saw you and why do I need to pick you up from work?"

"The guy who broke into the apartment and hit Sean!" I hissed.

"What?"

I thought it was mildly ridiculous that he hadn't heard me that time, since I practically yelled it right in his ear. "The guy who..."

"I heard you," he snapped. "I was surprised, not asking you to repeat yourself."

And how was I supposed to know that?

"Do not leave the diner until I get there. Do you understand me?" When I didn't answer right away, he got even grumpier and snapped at me. "Did you hear me? Eliza! Stay in the diner."

"You'll come?" I asked, surprised even though I had been crossing my fingers and toes that he would.

Baxter sighed. "Yes. What time?"

My legs felt limp. "Eleven."

"Fine," he said. Then he hung up.

Resting my forearms and head on the counter, I sucked in a long, ragged breath. I wasn't going to die tonight. Hopefully. Baxter wasn't exactly a guarantee. It was a much better idea than me going home alone, even if it meant I'd be subjected to lectures on who knew what on the way. I was certain he'd find reasons this was my fault, too. Everything was my fault in his eyes. He probably blamed my moving into the building for Ms. Sinclair getting killed. Upset the precarious balance or whatever.

I didn't care by that point. He could lecture me all he wanted on the drive home, so long as he got me back to my apartment safely. It wasn't like listening to him would be any worse than talking to Bernadette lately. She, at least, didn't blame me for the rash of violence in the building, but I got the impression she thought I'd brought some kind of bad juju with me. I couldn't help resent that a little, since she was the one who pushed me toward leaving my life of safety behind and reentering the real world, as she put it.

It was too late, and I was too tired to care what either of them thought. I just wanted to go to bed. My arms ached, my back hurt, and my feet were numb. Sighing, I trudged back to the grill when I saw Gwen's head bouncing toward me through the window. She handed over the ticket and went right back to talking about something or other. I nodded and half-listened as the patty sizzled, mumbling something incoherent as I stepped away to prep the bun and dish out fries.

Looking at the clock when she sauntered away with the order, I felt even more tired when I realized I still had an hour to go. What if Baxter fell asleep? I couldn't hang out here forever. Saul hadn't given me a key to lock up, so I would be out on the sidewalk when Gwen was ready to head out. I tried to shove the what ifs away and focus on cleaning the kitchen.

The dinner rush had left bits and pieces of dropped bread and toppings scattered on the floor, and grease had popped enough that there was a dull sheen on the counters surrounding the grill. There was a small stack of dishes that still needed to be washed, as well.

Hoping no one else would come in, I set to work cleaning up the mess. Saul had shown me where the mops and brooms and other cleaning supplies were kept earlier, so I headed for the small closet behind the racks of buns. A few minutes later, I was armed with soapy water, mop, broom, dustpan, and grease-melting cleaner in a spray bottle. My mind slowly numbed as I worked.

The counters and grill were sparkling clean a long while later, and the floor was clear of debris, but still sticky in a few places. Dragging the mop bucket into the center of the room, I began sloshing water around the floor. The rhythmic back and forth was calming. I felt my breathing settle into a similar pace, and even though my shoulders and arms were exhausted, it felt good. Until a hand landed on my shoulder and my heart stopped.

Pure panic fueled my movements as I spun away and made a ridiculous attempt to get the mop handle out in front of me to fend off an attack. All I really accomplished was throwing myself off balance so I tripped over the mop end and stumbled back, knocking the dirty water over and landing in a puddle. Baxter stood over me with his eyebrows in his hairline. He shook his head and sighed.

"It's pretty much impossible for you not to make a mess out of whatever you're doing, isn't it?" Scrubbing a hand over his tired face, he pressed his eyes closed before reaching a hand out to me.

Burning with embarrassment and anger at his uncalled for comment, I ignored his hand and crawled over the tipped bucket so I could get back on my feet without his help. Hurt tangled my words and I couldn't even tell him to shut his damn mouth like I wanted to. Bernadette's inferences that chaos and danger followed me, and I had brought it to the building, haunted me. Baxter's words added to the feeling of suffocating inadequacy I didn't think I could ever escape.

"Eliza, I was just..."

I spun away before he could finish and hid everything churning inside me by righting the mop bucket and pushing it back toward the supply closet to refill it. He was still standing in the same place when I came back with fresh water. "What are you doing back here?" I asked, my voice pleading, begging him to disappear and not be witness to my humiliation.

"The girl out front, she sent me back when I said I was here to pick you up."

"Well I'm not finished cleaning yet," I said, embarrassment making my words harsher than necessary. "Go sit at one of the tables until I'm done."

Baxter huffed and turned on his heel. I didn't look back at him, but listened closely for the whoosh of the swinging doors to settle. It took everything I had not to sit back down and pout in the dirty water slowly swirling down the drain in the middle of the floor. The last thing I needed was to take too long and have Baxter barge back in here and see me crying. So I sucked it up and finished mopping without a single tear shed.

My clothes were still wet when I pushed the mop and bucket back into the closet. Not interested in having an argument about whether or not Baxter would let me in his car with wet clothes, I dragged myself into the breakroom and fished around in my backpack. In the last week of classes, I had spilled vinaigrette on my pants, had a dish of oily sundried tomatoes dripped into my hair by Rapha the Giant, and had a blender explode in my face because I'd grabbed the wrong lid. After the tomatoes, I'd started keeping an extra set of clothes on hand.

I really needed to do laundry, so the extra clothes I'd crammed into my bag were a pair of black leggings and an old softball shirt that had once been Bernadette's. Closing the breakroom door, I stood right in front of it so anyone trying to get in would hit me with the door before getting a look at anything, and shimmied in and out of my clothes in record time. After tossing the wet ones into a plastic bag I found on a nearby shelf, I grabbed my things and headed for the front.

Inhaling and then exhaling, I braced myself for more humiliation as I pushed through the swinging doors. Baxter sat at a booth by the wall, his head propped on his hand, eyes closed. Unsure of what to do, I glanced around the dining room for Gwen. Wondering where she had gone, I spotted her near the register, closing out the night's receipts. When she saw me, she gestured me over with a huge smile parked on her lips.

"Why on earth are you bothering with Sean when you've got this hunk hanging around?" she whispered. "He is gorgeous, and so sweet. Seriously, you're crazy if you're not all over that."

"Sweet?" I scoffed. "Baxter is the worst. He's mean and grouchy and he blames me for everything bad that happens in our building, and he made me fix his sink!"

Gwen cocked her head to the side, not understanding half of what I said. "Well, I thought he was very nice."

"You ask him out then," I grumbled. "Maybe he'd be less of a prick if he had a girlfriend."

I could hope, anyway. Somehow I doubted having a woman in his life would improve Baxter's temperament. Just looking at me made the vein on his head bulge. He seemed to be more of the perpetual bachelor type, though not so he could party and sleep around. More so he could be left alone and not bothered by silly girls needing rides home or almost getting her head knocked off in the hallway.

"If he's so awful, why'd he come pick you up from work?" Gwen challenged.

Shrugging, I really didn't have an answer. "Guilt?"

Gwen laughed, her gaze flicking back to where Baxter was still sleeping. "You have to admit, though, he's nice to look at."

That was one thing I didn't have to think about. The first time I'd met Baxter, he'd burst into Sonya's office yelling and waving papers around. Even with the excitement, I had noticed his clear green eyes and strong build. Portions of his dark hair were sticking out a little right now, and his mouth was half squashed by his hand, but Gwen was right. "Yeah, he is."

We both sighed, though probably for different reasons. I tried to imagine facing two murders, an assault, and the continued threat those resulted in with a guy I knew I could count on to keep me safe and wrap me up when I was too scared to go to sleep. Sean was only going to help if it didn't complicate his life, and Baxter only turned up to blame me for disturbing everything. Saving me seemed like a side note for him. One that only put him in a worse mood than usual.

"Well, I guess I better wake him up so we can get out of here. Do you need help with anything before I go?" I asked.

Gwen shook her head. "No, I'm almost done here and then I'm headed out, too."

"Do you take the subway?" I questioned, worried about her walking the distance alone.

"Oh no, I have my car parked out back. I'll lock up the front and just head out that way."

Shifting to my other aching foot, I asked, "Do you want me to wait for you?"

She waved me off. "I'm fine. My car in literally two steps from the door. Don't worry about it. Go home and get some rest." She grinned and tipped her head toward Baxter. "Preferably with that one, if you can."

Rolling my eyes, I gave her a quick wave and headed for Baxter. I paused when I reached the booth, not sure how to wake him without pissing him off. I settled for a timid tap on the shoulder. Baxter startled, jerking his head away from his hand and blinking several times. I jumped back, hoping he wouldn't yell at me.

Instead of being angry, Baxter's eyes focused and he stared at me. "Ready?" I nodded and watched as he scrubbed his hands over his face. "Good, let's go."

I nodded again and followed him like a puppy. Gwen locked the front door behind us and waved goodbye before heading back to finish her task. It was a short walk to the car since Baxter had parked right in front of the entrance. The lights flashed and the car chirped as he unlocked it with the key fob. Not that I was expecting Baxter to get my door or anything, but it annoyed me that he didn't even consider it or offer. Maybe he was just too tired.

I slid into my seat and shoved my backpack and wet clothes down by my feet. Baxter eyed the plastic bag, then looked over at me. "Are you the laundry girl as well as the fry cook?" His voice always sounded insulting when he spoke to me, but he seemed more confused than anything, so I ignored his tone.

"I didn't think you'd want me getting into your car in wet clothes," I said.

"Oh." His gaze swept over me, making it clear he hadn't noticed my wardrobe change earlier. "Thanks."

My brows perked up. Had Baxter just thank me for something? That was definitely from being too tired to think properly. Glancing away from him, I sank into the seat and didn't look at him. An uncomfortable heat settled in my chest. I hated feeling as if I was beneath Baxter, but I didn't know why I cared, either. Baxter was nothing to me, not really. If he thought I was a stupid, ridiculous girl, why should that bother me? It shouldn't. But it did. A lot.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Baxter grumbled. "For scaring you and then saying what I did. I was joking, but it...came out wrong."

Completely at a loss on how to respond to that, I said, "Thanks for picking me up."

"Well, it sounded like no one else could," he said, irritation making his words sharp.

"I tried to get someone else," I said more quickly than I needed to. "I didn't want to bother you like this."

"It's not a bother," he snapped. Shaking his head, he tried again. "If you need help, call me. I'd rather it was me who came than you and Sonya both being at risk. Officer Williams seems to be trying to get you killed, and I wouldn't trust Sean as far as I could throw him."

Startled by his offer, I was still annoyed by his comment about Sean. "What is your problem with him?"

Baxter glanced over at me, an incredulous expression on his face. His gaze flicked back to the road and his fists tightened on the steering wheel. "My problem with him is that you stick out like stripes on a kangaroo in this city. Anyone who talks to you for more than five seconds knows you're not a city girl and have no clue about the dangers of living in one. I can't believe Bernadette dragged you out here and then took off without getting you settled or teaching you the ropes, but that's beside the point. Sean knows damn good and well that you're naïve and an easy target. He wants a little fun and comes on all charming and helpful to trick you into thinking he's a decent guy you can trust. When he gets bored or decides you're too big of a distraction, he'll bail."

That was the most amount of words I had ever heard Baxter say without yelling. After that thought drifted away, his words settled in. "I know," I said.

Baxter's head jerked over in surprise. "What?"

"I already know that about Sean. In fact, he pretty much said the exact same thing that night we went out. I meant it when I said he wasn't my boyfriend. He's not interested in that and neither am I." I risked glancing over at him, studying his expression. The mixture of surprise and relief didn't completely make sense. I watched as it morphed into something darker.

"Have you ever been in a relationship like that?" Baxter asked.

I tried not to squirm, unsure of what Bernadette might have told him about my past. I doubted it was much, but she seemed to really trust him and might have told him the basics. Even still, I didn't appreciate his unsolicited advice. "What does it matter to you?" I asked.

Shaking his head, Baxter didn't look directly at me. "Look, it's just not as easy as it sounds. You think you won't get hurt, that it won't mean anything, but that's not how most people work."

After hearing that, I was dying to ask him how he knew that, if he was the one who hurt or got hurt. I didn't really want to know. Neither answer would make me feel better. It was easy to take out all my frustration on Baxter, which seemed to be a mutual thing, so I didn't want to think of him as this injured puppy. I didn't want to think of him as the kind of guy who went around tearing women's hearts out, either. I wasn't sure which was worse, but considering either one made my head ache.

The rest of the drive passed in silence.

When we pulled up to the building, I got out and shouldered my backpack while clutching my bag of wet clothes to my chest. It wasn't much as far as protection went, but I wasn't worried about being attacked. It was protection from Baxter I wanted. He confused and frightened me, though not in a way that made me fear he'd hurt me. I didn't have the first clue why he was such a jerk all the time. I wasn't about to ask, either. More than that, I didn't know why he seemed to hate me, yet picked me up tonight and sounded pretty pissed off at my sister for not preparing me for all this. Why care?

Baxter unlocked the door to the building and held it for me. I slipped through with my eyes down and made for the stairs as he followed and locked the door behind him. Thinking he'd be glad to be rid of me, I didn't expect him to appear next to me a few seconds later. He looked exhausted, yet he'd hurried to catch up. A quick glance in his direction showed nothing in his expression but a stark weariness. It wasn't until we passed Ms. Sinclair's empty apartment that either of us spoke.

"Your place or mine?" Baxter asked, his voice sounding as enthusiastic as my drooping shoulders looked.

I glanced over at him in surprise. "What?" I shook my head. "I just needed a ride. I'll be fine in my apartment. Alone."

Baxter rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Did the guy see you tonight?"

"I...I'm not sure." I wanted to say no, that I was going to be completely safe in my apartment all night. The words stuck to the roof of my mouth like a poorly balanced PB&J sandwich. "Maybe," I admitted. "He ordered his food to dine in, then packed it all up and took off." I shrugged, wishing I had a better answer.

Nodding, Baxter gave me a push down the hall. "You're staying with me tonight. Your couch is way too small for me to sleep on."

"I'll be fine," I argued, my heart rate speeding up at the thought of not only being in Baxter's apartment, but spending the night there.

Baxter turned on me. "Would you please stop arguing with me?" he snapped. "You are not safe on your own, and Bernadette's couch is just about the most uncomfortable thing I've ever slept on. I told her to get rid of it a year ago." He waved his hand in frustration, shaking his head to refocus his thoughts while I wondered why on earth Baxter had been sleeping on my sister's couch a year ago.

"I'm tired," Baxter growled as he unlocked his apartment door and shoved it open, "and I have another long day tomorrow, so can we please stop arguing about stupid things and just go to bed?"

"Look, I appreciate the ride home, but I don't expect you to babysit me," I said. "I've caused enough trouble for you already. I'll be fine at my place, really."

Looking up at the ceiling as he shook his head, when he turned back to me his gaze was hard. "If this guy comes back, it won't be to cut up any more mattresses. It will be to make sure you can't identify him. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, but..."

"You may be a pain in the ass to have around most of the time, but having one neighbor murdered is plenty. I do not want to wake up in the morning to police banging on my door, asking me if I know who killed you," he said. "Now get inside and go to sleep, please."

Baxter turned toward his door and pushed in without waiting for me. Maybe my being murdered would be nothing more than an inconvenience to him, but to Bernadette it would be crushing. If the intruder came back to finish me off, I'd be safer with Baxter than anywhere else in the building. It was because of what my death would do to my sister that I gave in. Stepping into his apartment quietly, I shut and locked the door behind me.

Baxter was already halfway across the apartment. He disappeared into what I assumed was his bedroom if the layout matched my apartment. I just stood there with my hands gripping my bags. Had he gone to bed? Should I ask him for a blanket or lie down on the couch and not bother him? Not bother him, right? Like I needed Baxter to be more pissed off at me than he already was.

Tiptoeing toward the couch, I set my backpack and clothes down quietly and picked up a throw pillow. I set the pillow against the armrest so I'd have something to lay my head on. Baxter's couch did look much more comfortable than the one in my apartment. I couldn't stop thinking about why Baxter slept on Bernadette's couch. It occurred to me that they might have been seeing each other at one point, but why would he have been on the couch instead of in bed with her? I shivered at that thought. I did not want to consider my sister and Baxter sleeping together in my bed. Gross.

"What are you doing?" Baxter demanded as I started to lie down on the couch.

I jumped up and stared at him. "Just, laying down," I said slowly.

Baxter sighed and shook his head. He dropped the blanket he'd been carrying onto the cushion next to me. "I'm not making you sleep on my couch." The words sounded chivalrous, but his tone certainly wasn't. "Get up. I'm taking the couch."

Even knowing how much it annoyed him when I argued, I couldn't help myself. "I'm not sleeping in your bed."

Baxter grabbed my arm and started pushing me toward his bedroom. "I'm not leaving you out in the open. If someone were to break in, they'd get to you first out here." He gave me a final push into the bedroom and pointed toward a door at my right. "There is an extra toothbrush on the counter for you. Go to bed."

His fingers gripped the doorknob and yanked it closed. I stood there staring at the door. Curling my shaking arms around my body, I wondered what to do. Baxter might kill me himself if I tried to argue with him again. Really, all I could do at that point was brush my teeth and get in bed...Baxter's bed. The next time I saw my sister, I was going to strangle her, after asking a few burning questions.

I hadn't considered until Baxter brought it up, the fact that Bernadette had taken off before I arrived and left me to fend for myself in this city. At the time, I was so focused on starting school and moving, and all the excitement and fear that entailed, that when she told me she had to leave for Spain before I would arrive, I didn't look at it as a good or bad thing. I was nervous, but she had to leave and I had to finish out my two weeks' notice at the bakery. It was what it was. Now, I was a little irritated at her about that, too. Especially given the insanity she'd left me to navigate on my own.

Feeling slightly calmer, I did as Baxter commanded and brushed my teeth. I tried to ignore the sound of Baxter's voice filtering through the thin walls. He sounded angry, quietly yelling either to vent his frustration at me, or to someone he might have been speaking to on the phone. I didn't want to know which it was.

I was standing next to his bed a few minutes later, contemplating actually getting into it when the doorknob started to turn. Panicking, I sprang onto the bed and yanked the sheets up over my bent knees. I hardly looked natural sitting there like a posed mannequin when Baxter burst in. He didn't notice as he stomped through to his closet. Only when he reemerged with a pillow did he seem to see me.

His steps slowed, then stopped all together. He stared at me, the irritation in his expression mellowing. The hand holding the pillow dropped to his side. "Are you scared?" he asked.

I didn't want to admit any weakness to him. He already thought me incapable of surviving on my own. I wasn't even sure I was afraid of the intruder finding me in Baxter's apartment...unless he watched him pick me up from work. If he tried my apartment and didn't find me, this would be the next logical place to look. Even still, I felt protected here, for some strange reason. There were other things that scared me, though, and eventually I nodded.

Tossing the pillow on the end of the bed, Baxter reached for a padded wing-backed chair sitting next to the wall that seemed out of place with the rest of his décor. It was pale blue, but looked too soft for his rough personality. He dragged it over next to the bed without comment and sat down. "Go to sleep," he said again, this time with less hostility. "I'll stay here until you fall asleep."

Instead of arguing with him again, I slowly pushed myself down in the bed, tugging the blanket up to my chin as I lay down. Baxter watched, making sure I obeyed him, I guess. Only once I was settled did his eyes close. I highly doubted he'd last long enough for me to fall asleep, but I had to admit it was comforting to have him nearby and within sight. Feeling some of the tension leech out of my body, I relaxed into the pillow.

The scent of cedar and pink pepper enveloped me. Hints of peppermint and nutmeg were there as well, mixing with more subtle scents that reminded me of some of my favorite recipes. It lulled my fears and made me forget why I was sleeping in Baxter's bed. I nestled deeper into the pillow and breathed in the scent of the man who couldn't stand me, but had saved me more than once. Everything else slipped away and I slept.

10: Assaulting a Witness

I woke slowly, not wanting to move or leave the comfort of my warm bed. My eyes fluttered open slowly, greeted by the false dawn creating rich shadows. The creamy yellow walls of my apartment seemed darker than usual. I couldn't figure out why until I shifted and Baxter's sleeping form came into view. I froze, staring at him sitting uncomfortably on the high-backed chair, his head propped awkwardly against one of the wings.

He must have fallen asleep like that. Knowing he would wake up with a terrible crick in his neck and an even worse mood, I wondered if I could slip away before he woke and I had to listen to him blame me for this, too. His alarm clock shone sickly green, telling me it was barely five in the morning. I didn't need to be up for another hour, at least, but there was no chance of me falling back asleep. Sliding my legs out from under the blankets, I swung them over the bed and touched them to the floor soundlessly. I crept past him to the living room where I'd left my bags.

Seeing my phone sticking out of the pocket on my backpack, I slid it out quietly and checked for a message from Sonya. I found one saying everything had been fine with her grandmother and that I should call her. There was one from Bernadette, too. I clicked on that one after replying to Sonya.

Call me as soon as you wake up!

She was getting to be as bad as Baxter. I debated leaving it for later, but instantly felt bad for such a catty response. Sighing, I tapped on her number and listened to it ring as I looked for my shoes. She picked up before I found them.

"Why didn't you call me last night?" Bernadette snapped. It wasn't often she got angry with me, and even though her raised voice would have usually inspired guilt, I'd already had enough of that from Baxter and instantly went on the defensive.

"I had a long night and I was tired. It's not like I have to report in every twenty-four hours, Bernadette. You're not my boss, and if you're worried about me being in the city, maybe you shouldn't have taken off like you did." My words came out sounding harsher than I'd meant them to, but as I spoke them, I realized my frustration was real and justified.

"You've been talking to Baxter, I see," Bernadette snarled.

She was the one who told me to trust him, that he was a good guy and would help me out if I needed it. Now she wanted to be judgmental? I wandered into Baxter's kitchen, hoping to keep my voice from waking him. "What is your problem, anyway? So I didn't call last night to tell you about my first day at the diner. Was it really that time sensitive?"

"Oh, you mean telling me that the guy who attacked your friend showed up at the diner? That wasn't time sensitive?" she shrieked. "Are you serious? Why would you not tell me that?"

I didn't respond right away. I remembered hearing Baxter's raised voice as I brushed my teeth the night before, thinking he was probably just complaining about me ruining his night. Had he been yelling at Bernadette? About her leaving me here alone? I didn't understand why he would do that. Except, maybe he was blaming her for him having to step in and rescue me so often. I knew good and well he didn't appreciate that.

"I was worn out, and freaked out," I said in defense. "It didn't occur to me, okay? I just wanted to go to bed and forget it all, so quit yelling at me."

Bernadette started to say something else, but her voice cut off abruptly when I yelped in fright at the feel of a hand on my shoulder, pushing me aside. Baxter didn't seem to notice or care about my shock. "Next time, if you're the first one up," he grumbled, "start some coffee."

Next time? Why on earth would he think there would be a next time? Or that I'd want to stick around and have breakfast with him? Not really in the mood for an argument, I said, "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I was actually leaving."

"Leaving?" Baxter asked. He closed the lid of the Keurig machine and turned to face me. "Why are you leaving at five in the morning? Why are you even awake? Why are you waking me up at five in the morning?"

I pulled my phone away from my ear, and looked at it as I tried to think of a response that sounded more grown up than I was fighting with my sister over whether or not I was obligated to tell her everything that happened in my life. It took me a minute to realize Bernadette's voice was pouring out of the phone. I put it back to my ear and instantly wished I hadn't.

"...at Baxter's all night? What are you thinking? There better be a perfectly good reason, Eliza. I am too stressed out worrying about you with this murder spree to add in you getting involved with Baxter. What is wrong with you? Do you even realize Baxter is..."

I stopped listening and pulled the phone away from my ear to stare at it. What was wrong with me? What was wrong with her? That was what I wanted to say. She talked me into moving here, told me to trust Baxter, insisted I could handle being on my own in a big city. Now she was yelling at me like I was twelve again, because she didn't like my choices?

Baxter watched in silence as my expression went from confused to angry. Putting the phone back to my ear, I interrupted my sister's rant with one of my own. "You left me here by myself," I snapped. "I am doing my best to navigate school, this city, and not getting myself killed. I'm sorry you're worried, but not everything is about you, Bernadette. I'm the one living in this nuthouse while a killer is on the loose. I'm the one scared out of my mind that I'm going to be the next victim. I'm the one who showed up here, not knowing a soul, and got shoved into the middle of a basketful of chaos. You're worried? You're worried? Well, guess what? So am I!" I shouted.

"If I want to stay the night at Baxter's because I don't feel safe alone in my apartment, I will! If I don't want to report my every move to you, I won't! I am a grown woman, Bernadette. You may not think I can handle things on my own, and Baxter may think I'm a clumsy, weak little girl who screws everything up, but I'm stronger than both of you think." I clenched my fingers around the phone, wanting to throw it at someone. "If you were so concerned about me being here without you to hold my hand, you should have stayed long enough to do it."

Ripping the phone away from my ear, I ended the call and shoved the phone into my pocket. I'd pretty much forgotten Baxter was in the kitchen with me until he pushed away from the counter and grabbed his now-full mug. Silently, he tore open four sugar packets and poured them into the strong smelling coffee. I was still standing in the same place when he turned around and met my gaze. For a moment, we stayed like that, him calm while my heart raced from the fight with Bernadette and the intensity of him looking at me.

Taking a step forward, Baxter continued on his way until he came up even with me. "I don't think you're weak," he said before walking past. I kept standing there, not sure what to do or how to respond. I heard him pull out a chair from the kitchen table and sit down before he spoke again. "The coffee is in the cupboard above the machine if you want to make yourself some."

After standing there for a few more seconds, I realized I did want some coffee. Maybe it would jumpstart my brain. Baxter didn't say a word as I waited for the machine to brew. Even when I sat down across from him at the table, he was more interested in his phone than what I was doing. I sipped at my coffee, slowly relaxing more than I had any right to.

I was nearly done with my cup when banging startled me into jumping and almost spilling what was left all over Baxter's table. The banging came again and I looked toward my apartment. Baxter's gaze followed mine and he frowned. It took a few seconds for my adrenaline to scale itself back enough that I could think. When my brain started functioning, I set down my cup and stood.

"Eliza," Baxter warned.

Rolling my eyes, I said, "Anyone intent on killing me isn't going to knock on my door and announce themselves to the whole floor."

I stepped away from the table and heard his chair scrape across the tile as he moved to follow. The pounding came again as I unlocked the door and stuck my head out. Confusion set in as I stared at a disheveled Officer Williams raising his hand to pound again. Fearing one of my neighbors would jump out and throw something at me for disturbing everyone this early in the morning, I rushed out after him. Baxter's hand grabbed at mine, but I slipped through his grasp and rushed to the hungover cop about to bang on my door again.

"What are you doing?" I snapped as I yanked his hand down. "It is way too early for you to be pounding on people's doors. Don't you have any common sense?"

Officer Williams stared at me with bloodshot eyes. "You called me. It sounded like you were in trouble."

"Yeah, last night, you idiot. What are you doing here now?"

"To make sure you're okay," he said. He rubbed at one eye, then stared at me like he was expecting some kind of praise.

"Well, you're a little late, but thanks for the effort, I guess." I pushed him away from my door with a shake of my head. "Go home and sleep off your hangover. You look terrible."

"Wait," he said, grabbing my arm and yanking me to a stop.

Facing Baxter as I was, I saw him bristle and take a step forward. Officer Williams didn't seem to notice. When I tried to pull my arm out of his grip, his fingers tightened and he yanked me back toward him. "Why did you call me last night?"

"Because I needed help," I spat. I tried to yank my arm away from him again, but his grip only tightened even more. Beginning to fear he might hurt me, I opted for stillness in the hopes that his grip would relax enough for me to get away. "You were too drunk to be of any assistance, though, so never mind."

He pushed in closer, pressing me against the wall. "Why did you need help?"

Fear kept my mouth shut. The way he was acting scared me. I never believed he was competent enough to solve this case and protect me. Now, there was a hard edge to his gaze, one that spoke of strength and intellect. I might have been imagining it, but icy fear twisted my gut and I balked at telling him anything.

"Why?" Officer Williams hissed.

He barely got the word past his lips before his hand was ripped away from me. I stumbled forward, unprepared for the sudden loss of pressure. Baxter caught my shoulder to keep me from falling while still twisting Officer Williams' wrist in a way that was clearly painful. Once he was sure I wasn't going to fall over, Baxter took his hand from my shoulder and grabbed a fistful of the cop's rumpled t-shirt. He leaned in close, scaring him and me.

"Leave, before I call your sergeant and report you for assaulting a witness."

"I just wanted to talk to her," Officer Williams snarled. He flinched when Baxter pulled him closer, even though they were close to equal in height and the cop had about twenty pounds on him.

"She doesn't want to talk to you."

"She called me," he argued.

Baxter twisted his shirt, putting them nose to nose. "The situation's been handled. Your help is no longer needed. Leave."

Shoving the officer away from his body, he sent him stumbling down the hall, away from me. Officer Williams was livid, but he righted himself and took another step back. Yanking his shirt into place, he glared at Baxter. I didn't move or breathe until he turned around and stormed back down the stairs. We listened to his angry exit as the front door slammed closed behind him. A huge breath of relief rushed out of me at the sound and I had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing.

"Why didn't you tell him about last night?" Baxter asked, still looking down at the front door.

I had to pull in a deep breath to steady myself before speaking. "I don't know. Something about the way he was looking at me...I didn't trust him."

Baxter nodded slowly. "Don't ever call him for help again."

I wanted to roll my eyes. Like he really needed to tell me that. I planned on avoiding Officer Williams for the rest of my life if I could possibly manage it. Even so, I nodded so Baxter knew I would obey yet another of his unnecessary commands. His temper was hardly the biggest motivator. I reached for my arm and rubbed at where I'd been grabbed.

Before I realized Baxter had moved, his hands were on my arm, pushing up my half-sleeve and inspecting the red marks left by Officer Williams' abuse. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he ran his thumb over the slightly swollen flesh. My gaze followed his movements, matching the ripples of gooseflesh his touch inspired. Warmth melted away the fear still lingering in my chest.

"I'd say you should report him for this," Baxter said, oblivious to anything but his own thoughts, "but I think you're right not to trust him. He should have shown up here worried you'd been hurt if he was really concerned about your safety. Instead, he was angry you wouldn't tell him what had happened. Something isn't right about him."

All I could do was nod in agreement. Baxter was still cradling my arm in his hand. I couldn't think with him distracting me like that. Either he noticed my silence or my stalled breathing, and came out of his thoughts enough to look at me. Calculating eyes regarded me for a half-second before widening. He backed away and dropped my arm.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to crowd you after what that jackass just pulled."

"It's...okay," I said. "You weren't scaring me. It...uh..."

Baxter looked back to his open apartment door. "I'll get you some ice for that. Come on."

He didn't wait for me. I followed slowly, shaken by more than just Officer Williams' belligerence. When I crossed the threshold back into Baxter's apartment, he was already filling a sandwich bag with ice. He stood and pressed the zipper closed as he shut the bottom-half freeze door with his foot. Focused on his task, he didn't look in my direction as he wrapped the bag in a towel. He barely even glanced at me when he handed over the covered ice.

"I need to shower," he said on his way out of the kitchen. "Don't leave."

I pressed the ice to my arm and walked over to the couch. As I sat down, I willed my brain to wake up. There were things I needed to figure out, but I wasn't firing on all cylinders. Questions swirled in my mind. How had the intruder known where to find me last night? Why was Officer Williams so hell bent on knowing what happened, and angry when I wouldn't tell him? Baxter was a mess I didn't even want to attempt unraveling, but as I held the ice against my arm, another question occurred to me.

One of the building rules demanded the lobby door remained locked from ten at night to seven in the morning. Residents had to use their keys to get in and out of the building during that time period. At the most, it couldn't have been any later than five-thirty by that point. Cold that had nothing to do with the ice spread through my body as I wondered how Officer Williams managed to get up to my apartment without a key.

11: Crazier by the Day

I'd come to a decision while showering. That was quite an accomplishment given that Baxter was sitting in the living room the entire time, distracting me to no end. What I had realized while rushing through washing my body and hair was the same realization I had come to five years ago. The police weren't going to help me. If I wanted to survive long enough to finish my first semester of culinary school, I needed to figure out why someone kept breaking into Ms. Sinclair's apartment and was now watching me. Before they upped the ante to killing me.

Bernadette called twice before I got on the subway. I had another missed call when I got back to street level. I didn't return any of her calls, but I did text Sonya, telling her I would call during my lunch break. I didn't mention a word of this to Baxter. He'd yell at me for being stupid enough to get involved and tell me to stay out of it. While that may have been the most responsible thing to do, I feared it would be what got me killed. Sonya was the only person I trusted to help me.

Sean slid onto a stool at the station next to mine and said, "Sorry I missed your call last night. I had my phone off so I could study without distractions. Did it go okay at Saul's?"

Hesitating for just a second, I made a split decision and smiled. "Yeah, it was great. Danielle tried to sabotage me, but I made it through."

"Sabotage you?" Sean asked. He shook his head, clearly imagining her capable of such a thing. "What did she do?"

"Wrote out all her tickets in diner lingo." Filled with too many other competing concerns, I couldn't dig up the same anger from last night.

Sean closed his eyes and sighed. "Sorry, I didn't even consider she might do that or I would have prepared you." I crooked an eyebrow at him. He shook his head. "We used to do it as a game, late at night when things got boring. I should have figured she'd pull something like that. Sorry. I can teach it to you if you want."

"You better," I said. I was still somewhat annoyed at him over Danielle, but it was at the bottom of my list of concerns right now.

"Over lunch?" Sean asked.

I nodded, figuring I could step away to call Sonya at some point. I really didn't have much to tell her yet, aside from my distrust of Officer Williams after his assault and suspicion that I was on my own. Where to go with that, I really didn't know yet. Hopefully Sonya had a few ideas. For a moment, I reconsidered telling Sean about the guy who hit him coming into the diner. His comment about having taken hits before made me think he might know more about this sort of thing than either Sonya or me. Before I could decide, class started and my head was filled with safe cooking temperatures and types of disinfectants that could be used on food prep areas.

By the time three o'clock rolled around, I was anxious to continue the conversation I'd started with Sonya at lunch. I hadn't had time for much more than a quick rundown of my concerns and vague beginnings of a plan before someone from the building interrupted our call with a complaint about something ridiculous. I spent the rest of the break getting diner lingo lessons from Sean before spending two hours perfecting different styles of cutting vegetables in my cold kitchen class. I practically bolted out of the school and headed straight for the subway entrance. I was about to head down the stairs when that creepy crawly feeling of being watched sent a ripple of fear down my spine.

Snapping my head around, I scanned the area for the intruder. Foot traffic was lighter than it would be on my way back to work, but too many faces filled my vision to see everyone in detail. Something caught my eye to the left and I whipped my head around in time to see a figure disappear behind a bus stop shelter. It was the wrong build for the guy I was looking for, but something about the motion put me on edge. Could there be more than one person sent to watch me?

I thought it was likely, but something slimy seemed to seep into my skin as I watched the shelter for the man to reemerge. After several minutes, my limited time pushed at me. The man had either disappeared, or was content to wait as long as need be to avoid detection. I had to talk to Sonya before work. Standing there all afternoon would only put me at risk even more.

Ducking into the subway entrance, I hurried down the stairs. Subway platforms weren't the safest place when it came to being pickpocketed, but the crowd allowed me to hide more easily. I slipped up to the yellow line where it was busiest and kept my eyes peeled for any familiar or suspicious faces. It felt like ages before I made it back to the building and slipped inside to its relative safety.

Sonya spotted me as soon as I came through the door and rushed out of her office. "I am so sorry I wasn't there to help you last night. My grandma thinks she's dying every time she gets heartburn." She threw her arms around me and I hugged her back, comforted by the gesture.

"It's okay," I said. "It all worked out. I'm glad your grandma is okay."

"All worked out?" Sonya said. She shook her head at me. "We must have different definitions of what that phrase means. Come on. Tell me about this plan of yours." She ushered me toward her office and shut the door once we were both inside.

By the time she was seated across from me, I had a starting point, at least. "The cops said you could clean Ms. Sinclair's apartment, right?"

"Yeah. They gave me a list of companies that specialize in crime scene clean up, but the earliest available appointment wasn't until next Wednesday." She shrugged, clearly disappointed at the delay. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of having to pass the bloodstain in the hall for another week, but it gave us time to do a little digging.

"So it's not a crime scene anymore, right?"

Sonya shook her head. "No, they cleared it and said I could do what I needed to. As far as I know, Lucas was her only relative. I'll have to go through her apartment to look for a will or phone number for any other family."

"Can I help?" I asked.

Surprised at first, Sonya caught on quickly. "You think the police missed something?"

"Given that Officer Williams was involved in the search, it's likely. More than that, whoever's following me hasn't found what they want, either."

Sonya frowned. "Maybe whatever they're looking for isn't in the apartment."

"Where else would she put it?" I asked. "You told me she hardly ever left the building. Even her groceries were delivered."

"Sure, but Lucas is the one who seems to have drawn trouble to the building, and he could have hidden whatever it was anywhere."

"Then why was he so set on getting back into her apartment when she died? He didn't even seem to care much that she was gone. He just wanted whatever he'd left here before someone else got it," I argued.

Frowning, Sonya considered what I'd said. "Officer Williams did mention that Lucas's apartment had been ransacked as well. He didn't think the guys who did it found what they were looking for there, either."

"Why not?"

"The entire place was trashed. If they'd found something, why continue to tear the place apart. Unless they found what they were looking for in the very last possible place, there would be some part of the apartment left alone, right?" Sonya said.

"He told you all that?" I asked.

She waved off the question. "Of course not. He said just enough to let me piece together the obvious. How that guy became a cop, I'll never know."

Nodding in agreement, I rubbed my arm absently.

"Well, should we start now?" Sonya asked. "I know you have to go to work in a while."

"Yeah," I said. "Let's at least look around and see if anything jumps out at us as odd."

Cringing, Sonya shivered. "There's a lot about her apartment that's odd."

Not sure what she meant, I followed her out of the office and up the stairs to where my meddlesome neighbor's blood still coated the carpet. When we reached the door, Sonya unlocked it and we took a wide step over the stain, like touching it might somehow mark us. I already had a target on my back. No need to make things any worse. We crept in on tiptoe and Sonya locked the door behind us. As soon as I turned around, I realized why Sonya hadn't looked all that excited or hopeful about searching the apartment.

A stack of old newspapers climbed the wall near the door. Unopened boxes of cereal and pastas lined another. Canned goods peeked out from beneath the upturned skirt of the ancient sofa. Packages of water bottles nearly buried a side table, and I could barely see the curved edges of a piano under the heaps of plastic bags stuffed inside other plastic bags.

"I have no idea what to do with most of this stuff," Sonya said with a sigh. "I really hope she has some other relative so I don't have to deal with all of this."

I glanced around the apartment, feeling bad for Sonya. The place was relatively clean, but so filled with junk and food it would take forever to clear out. Spotting the silver handle of a filing cabinet poking out from behind stacks of books on every topic imaginable, I tried not to make more of a mess as I moved the books aside and tugged on the first drawer. It didn't budge and I tugged again.

"It probably needs a key," Sonya said. She stepped over more stacks and navigated her way to the kitchen where a cutesy key holder hung on the wall. After searching through the sets, she tossed a simple pair of silver keys at me.

One quick turn and the top drawer opened. Eager to dump the responsibility of cleaning up this mess on someone else, Sonya bounded around hoarder paraphernalia and kneeled next to me. I pulled the drawer open all the way and scanned the labels sticking up from the top of each hanging folder. Most looked like tax information or receipts, with a few meant for recipes and old photos. Sonya grabbed out one labeled "personal documents," and started thumbing through it hopefully.

I reached for one labeled "clippings," curious about what a shut-in might want to cut out of the newspaper. Grabbing out a stack of papers, I noticed some were directly from the newspaper while others had been printed out and then clipped. The first handful all had one thing in common.

"What is with old people and obituaries?" I asked. I remembered sitting at the breakfast table at my grandmother's house during summer trips before she passed, watching her diligently peruse the names. "It's morbid, and creepy."

Sonya shrugged. "My grandma does it every morning. She doesn't get out much, and most of her friends are gone. The ones that are left, even if she doesn't see them anymore, it's important to her to send some kind of condolence to the family when one of them passes away."

It was a nice thought, in a way, but I still found it bothersome. Flipping through the obituaries, I wondered if Ms. Sinclair knew all of them. It was odd that they weren't just from one of the local newspapers. The ones printed on computer paper came from all over the country, and even one from Italy dated eight years previous, though the name sounded American.

Robert Porter, age 63, was found deceased by his maid in his Paris flat on Tuesday, of an apparent heart attack. He had no living relatives.

The other obituaries were more personal, giving small excerpts of their life history. Three of the seven clippings were from New York or the surrounding areas. Constance Michaels, Peter Denish, and Mark Little. Each died within the last two years of natural causes or diseases common to older populations. Phyllis Ormond died at her home three years previous in Pennsylvania from complications due to cancer treatment. A stroke claimed Elizabeth Escobar five years ago in Texas, and Elbert Cruz was killed in a car accident in Southern California just over two years ago.

I read through each tribute, finding nothing to connect the random people other than that they were all around the same age, and there was less than eight years separating the seven deaths. Considering that Ms. Sinclair must have known these people and hoping for a connection, I asked, "How old was Ms. Sinclair?"

Sonya frowned. "Sixty-nine or seventy, I think. Somewhere around there."

"How long has she lived here?"

"Forever," Sonya grumbled. When I gave her a questioning look, she shrugged. "I'd have to check her lease. I've always remembered her being here since I visited my grandma as a kid. She didn't used to be as crazy, though. I mean, she was never very nice, but she definitely got weirder as she aged. I hope I don't go senile like that."

"Like what?" I asked.

Sonya gestured at the stacks of random food and supplies surrounding us. "This only started about eight or ten years ago. She got meaner around that time, too. Harassing the neighbors for stupid things, getting into arguments with my grandma about every little problem. Then she became more reclusive. She still drove everyone nuts, but she rarely left her apartment except to hand out her unsolicited citations, and started having all her groceries delivered. That was a whole situation in and of itself."

"How so?" I asked.

"She didn't want to go out, but she was paranoid the delivery boy would...I don't even know. Like I said, she got crazier by the day. I don't know why she thought the delivery boy would care about which apartment she lived in, but she made me sign for her groceries and bring them up to her apartment." Sonya rolled her eyes. "It was ridiculous, but worth not having her pitch a fit about it."

I considered what she'd told me. "Maybe it wasn't so ridiculous." When Sonya paused her search and look up at me, not understanding, I waved at the apartment we were in. "Someone sure cared where she lived, and took her out."

"But," Sonya said, "it was Lucas they were after. Not her."

That was certainly the most logical explanation, but I had trouble accepting it. For one, it came from Officer Williams, who I didn't trust at all. Secondly, it seemed too simple. Kind of. The police wanted to point fingers at Lucas, but they hadn't come up with any solid reason to blame him. No sign of drugs, gambling, gang activity, nothing. He had moved into his own apartment the weekend before his aunt was killed, too. Someone watching that closely would have noticed, right?

"Maybe she knew about whatever Lucas was tangled up in," I admitted, "but maybe she really was the target."

"Then why kill Lucas?" Sonya asked.

I shrugged. I had no idea. Sonya went back to shuffling through Ms. Sinclair's personal documents. I set the obituaries aside and scanned the larger clippings they had been paired with. They made even less sense. They were random news articles about random people. I couldn't see any connection between a girl winning a spelling bee in the Bronx in the eighties and a brunette couple getting married a decade later. None of the names seemed to match the obituaries, either. Maybe Ms. Sinclair was just a paranoid, spiteful nut and none of this meant anything.

Sonya blew out a frustrated breath and tossed the file onto the ground. "She left everything to Lucas. No mention of any other relatives. Now what am I supposed to do?"

"I'm not sure," I said. I'd never dealt with something like this before.

"I guess I'll have to ask Baxter." She scrunched her face in dismay. "Hopefully he's forgotten about the smoke detectors and won't slam the door in my face."

I looked over at her, confused. "Baxter? Why would you ask him?"

"He's a lawyer. Didn't I tell you that?" When I shook my head no, she shrugged. "I'm pretty sure he does immigration law, but I bet he'd know what I need to do with her stuff. I'll ask him tonight."

I silently wished her luck with that. While he'd come through for me last night...and this morning...his reactions and temperament were too unpredictable to count on. Sticking the clippings back in the folder and tucking it under my arm to take with me, I asked Sonya, "Any ideas on how Officer Williams got in here this morning?"

Sonya's expression darkened. She had been upset when I told her about our run-in this morning. This neighborhood had been his beat for almost two years and she had thought he was nice enough, even if not the greatest cop in the world. Sonya knew her grandmother drove the residents she was in charge of crazy, but she did her best to keep them safe and as happy as she possibly could. Someone meant to protect them abusing his power got her hackles up like nothing else.

"I tried asking around to see who the last person to come in last night was, but you know how social and attentive people are around here. The only person who saw anyone said they saw you and Baxter coming in around eleven-thirty," she said. "Plenty of people are still at work, so I'll ask around some more, but the best I can come up with is that someone came in after you guys and forgot to lock the door. It happens every once in a while."

"I know we locked the door behind us. If we were the last ones in, he had to have had a key to get in." Something in my gut told me that was the most likely option, but I couldn't figure out where he might have gotten one.

Troubled, Sonya said, "Maybe someone left really early this morning and left it unlocked. Sometimes Jared McCarran gets called to the hospital in the middle of the night."

I nodded, hoping it was true, but doubting it. Somehow, Officer Williams got a hold of a key. Cold slid down my spine as a thought hit me. Ms. Sinclair's keys had never been found. Could it be possible Officer Williams found them in the apartment and kept them so he could get back in later? It seemed like a ridiculous thought. Why would he want to? Why jeopardize his career like that? It made no sense why he would keep the keys just to come intimidate me, but his harassment spoke of more than a professional interest in the case.

Standing, I started climbing over random stacks and boxes. I had to head back to the subway soon if I wanted to make it to work on time. Too focused on the half-dozen puzzles swimming around in my head, I stepped on a rolling cat toy and fell into the couch. Cans of green peas rolled out from beneath it and I pulled my foot back to avoid one landing on my toes. As the cans settled, I noticed something black peeking out from between the cans. I reached down and pulled out a cell phone.

A press of the power button did nothing, which wasn't surprising given how long it must have been there. Glancing around the room, I searched for a charger and found one half buried beneath an overturned pile of freeze-dried food packets. My fingers felt clumsy as I plugged it in and waited a few minutes for it to have enough charge to turn on. When the screen finally lit up, I was disappointed to see it required a password. A picture of Lucas and a friend served as the background image behind the lock screen, confirming who it belonged to. A text message notification blinked on the screen, the preview catching my eye.

Your aunt's cat sucks. I'd toss it out the window if it attacked me in my sleep. Call me about...

Apparently Baxter wasn't the only one who wasn't a friend to Ms. Sinclair's cat. I knew I should turn the phone over to the police, but I refused to call Officer Williams. One of the detectives in charge of the case could handle it, but I wanted a look at what was on the phone first. Turning to Sonya to ask her if she could hide it in her office tonight, I noticed the cat toy I'd tripped over. Then I thought about the text.

"Sonya," I asked, "what happened to Ms. Sinclair's cat?"

12: Playing Dress Up

"I'm going to pick you up from work tonight," Sean said.

My first reaction was to argue, purely based on the reasoning that I was sick and tired of people bossing me around. Officer Williams hadn't let up and had cornered me twice more this week while I was trying to get from the building to the subway. Baxter ordered me around every chance he got, though I had managed to stay safely in my own apartment for the remainder of the week. Sonya was even driving me a little crazy, panicking at every little thing since we hadn't been able to find Ms. Sinclair's cat or get into Lucas's phone.

"Pick me up for what?" I asked with a sigh. What I really wanted to do was go home, take a long hot bath, and drink the majority of a bottle of wine I'd picked up earlier in the week. Maybe I'd share some with Sonya. If she chilled out long enough to have a glass.

Stuffing the last bite of burrito into his mouth, Sean wiped his hands on a napkin. "A friend of mine is playing at a club in The Village tonight." When I frowned worriedly, Sean waved off my concern. "It's not that far away. About halfway between here and your building."

I could hear Baxter's voice in my head, telling me to say no, go home after work and hunker down in my apartment where I was safe. Where I wouldn't get into any more trouble he'd have to rescue me from. It was partly his annoyed, domineering voice that made me give in to Sean. "Fine," I said, "but I'm going to be exhausted, so I probably won't last more than a few hours."

"Their set's only two hours. It starts at eleven, so we'll miss part of it, but I told him I'd probably get there late." Sean smiled. "Besides, you'll forget you're tired once we get there. It'll be fun. You've been too stressed out this week."

I wonder why. I felt like putting my head down on the table and maybe banging it a few times. Resisting the urge, I reminded myself that Sean had no idea why I was on edge. He didn't know about Officer Williams, the guy at the diner, the cat, or the phone. Even Baxter didn't know all of that, especially not about Officer Williams' continued harassment. I had asked him about the cat, and his response had been that he didn't know and was glad the beast had disappeared and he wouldn't have to listen to it yowl anymore. I didn't tell him about the phone, guessing he'd make me turn it over, being a lawyer and all. Besides, he'd been busy trying to help Sonya figure out what her responsibility was in regards to Ms. Sinclair's stuff.

I realized Sean was telling me about his friend's band, and made an attempt at listening. It did sound like it would be fun, but anxiety over going out followed me as our lunch break ended and we headed back to class. It didn't occur to me until hours later, when I was in the breakroom at work, pulling my hair up into a ponytail, that I was in no way dressed to go clubbing. Stained, worn jeans, a t-shirt with a screen printed logo that had peeled and cracked so much I couldn't even remember what it was supposed to be, and sneakers that were starting to get a hole near my left pinky toe didn't exactly scream a fun night out on the town.

Pulling my phone out of my backpack, I sent Sonya a quick text asking if she had a free minute, could she raid either her closet or mine and bring me some clothes. I sent a second text, asking if she wanted to come to the club as well. I figured Sean wouldn't mind, and we could always just take Sonya's car and meet him there if he showed up on his bike again. I didn't get a chance to wait for a response before Saul hollered for me to hurry up and help him with an order that had just come in.

The rest of the night was a blur of patties, milkshakes, and a never ending stream of fries. Danielle had given up on the diner lingo after realizing Sean had taught me what everything meant. She'd moved on to holding three or more orders and delivering them all at once, followed by constant falsely sweet reminders that I needed to hurry up. Saul rolled his eyes, but didn't step in. I smiled back every time she asked if I was done yet, planning a new way to ruin the dinner she took home with her every night. White pepper hidden between the grilled chicken breast and lettuce should send her into a coughing fit that would leave her throat raw for a good long while.

Saul headed out after the dinner rush, shaking his head at both of us, but wisely choosing to let this play out until a winner was crowned. Danielle might have thought she was a princess, but I intended to win this battle and steal her tiara as queen of the diner. It was no one's fault but her own that Sean dumped her. If she wanted to take out her failings on me, she better be prepared to get it in return.

I surprised myself by my ruthlessness as I cut tomatoes. Petty games like this were something I had avoided very adamantly in high school. My fight with Bernadette earlier in the week had sparked something in me. I loved her for taking care of me for so long, but I couldn't live like that forever. Fighting my own battles scared me, a lot, but it gave me a strange sense of confidence as well.

Besides, when you're dealing with murderers and stalkers, a witchy diner waitress seemed like small potatoes.

"Hey," Gwen said through the order window, "there's some girl out here looking for you. Said she brought you some clothes or something."

"Must be Sonya," I said. "Sean's taking me to some club his friend is playing at tonight."

Gwen gave me a once-over and curled her top lip. "Yeah, you definitely need something else to wear."

Especially now. A smear of Ketchup ran down the side of my shirt that hadn't been there earlier. Shaking my head at myself, I started to untie my apron. "Hey," I said, "do you want to come with us?"

Grinning, Gwen looked excited by the prospect. "You sure Sean won't mind the company?"

I rolled my eyes. "We're not dating. He just wants to burn off some pent up energy after being in class all week. Come on, it'll be fun."

Shrugging, Gwen smiled. "Sure, why not? It's been a while since I've just gone out and had fun."

"Great." I grinned at her, pleased she'd accepted. We'd become friends over the past two weeks, chatting and keeping each other company in the dead times before closing. I hadn't brought up any of what was going on back at my apartment building. It left our conversations casual and relaxed, which I needed.

Hanging up my apron for a few minutes, I headed out to greet Sonya. She stood when she saw me. Excitement lit up her features, and I wondered how long it had been since she'd slipped away from her grandmother and the responsibilities of the building. Given the way she was practically bubbling over with glee, and that she'd shown up two hours before we closed, I figured it hadn't been any time recent.

"Okay, so you seriously need to go shopping, because there was nothing even remotely appropriate for a club in your closet. I brought you a few things to try on, though. You're taller than me, but we're pretty similar in build, so I think they'll work. Is there somewhere you can try them on?" she asked, all in one breath.

Glancing around the diner, the three groups still there were all happily munching on their burgers and chicken fingers. Gwen was standing next to us, though slightly off to the side so as not to crowd in. "Go," she said, "I'll yell if someone comes in." She turned to Sonya then, and extended her hand. "Gwen. Eliza invited me to tag along, if you don't mind."

"Of course not!" Sonya said. "It's been forever since I've escaped the building and let loose. The more the merrier."

Motioning for Sonya to follow me before she explode into a rainbow of gumdrops and glitter, I headed for the little breakroom. She followed dutifully, practically skipping. Hopefully Sean didn't mind I'd invited them. Being that he was after letting off steam, I figured his attitude would be similar to Sonya's, just less bouncy.

Digging around in her bag, Sonya moved pieces of clothing back and forth before pulling one out and shoving it into my arms. Then she dove back in. I had a stack in my arms before she finally came up for air. "There's two different outfits there. Try them both on and tell me which one you like."

"Okay," I said, staring at the mass of clothing uncertainly. None of what she'd thrown at me looked like something I'd normally wear. I didn't usually go to clubs, though, so what did I know? I pushed into the breakroom and dumped the clothes on Saul's office chair.

I knew I wouldn't have much time for playing dress up, so I tried to figure out what two outfits the clothes were supposed to be compiled into and started stripping. The maroon skirt was too tight for my hips and I shimmied back out of it quickly. The patterned tights that seemed to go with it weren't really my style, anyway. Opting for something a little less see-through, I pulled on a pair of black, pinstriped leggings and considered which top they were supposed to be paired with. The white peasant blouse with sheer rosettes along the neckline didn't look long enough to cover everything I wanted it to, so I grabbed for a shimmery, deep blue tank top instead.

It slid on easily and touched the tops of my thighs. The coolness of the fabric felt good after being in the hot kitchen all night. It hung loose enough to let me move freely, but in a way that accented my curves rather than blurring them. I glanced in the mirror, feeling pleased, with the exception of most of my makeup having been sweated off and tendrils of my hair sticking out from my ponytail. Wasn't much I could do about that, though.

"Eliza," Sonya said though the door, "Gwen just brought back an order ticket. Did you find something that works?"

I opened the door and waited for her comments. She clapped happily.

"You look great! Okay, change back so you can go cook. I have shoes for you in my satchel and I brought your makeup bag, too. I'll do what I can about your hair." She shooed me back into the room and I heard her rummaging around in her bag as I swapped clothes again.

When I reemerged to get back to work, she had a pair of black ankle boots out of her bag, and said something about changing into her outfit so she could help me later. I left her to it and whipped up a BLT and tuna melt for the new arrivals. By ten-thirty, Gwen told me to go ahead and start getting ready. We rarely had anyone come in that late.

Sonya was already looking simultaneously adorable and sexy in a pair of tight skinny jeans, glittery camisole, and black cropped jacket. She was so eager, she pretty much shoved me back into the breakroom with a command to hurry up. I barely had my top settled when she burst in to start taming my hair with the news that Sean had arrived. Reapplying makeup while she yanked on my head wasn't fun, but she managed to corral the wild pieces back into a slick ponytail that somehow looked much more sophisticated than when I did it.

She was shoving the extra clothes back into her bag while I finished my makeup with a fresh coat of mascara. Sonya hustled out a moment later saying she was going to put everything in her car. Sean popped his head in almost immediately after. He looked like he was going to say something, but his mouth mellowed into a relaxed smile instead.

"So I guess this is a group thing now?"

Glancing back at him, I dropped my mascara into the makeup bag. "You don't mind, do you? I needed Sonya to bring me clothes, and Gwen seemed like she needed a night out, too." I grimaced. "I should have asked you first. Sorry."

Sean shook his head. "I don't mind at all. Actually, I like it that you felt comfortable enough to invite Sonya, and Gwen's great. We never hung out except at work because of Danielle, but I'm glad she's coming."

Relieved, I zipped the makeup bag closed and tucked it under my arm. "Thanks."

Shrugging, Sean picked up my backpack. "You look great, by the way."

For the first time, I looked at him more than out of the corner of my eye. The gray Henley he wore, unbuttoned a good way down his chest, showcased a strong set of shoulders and arms. He was wearing jeans, but his weren't worn and sporting holes like mine had been. No, his were fitted enough to make anyone who glanced in his direction not regret it.

"You look nice, too," I said, swallowing hard. I had no doubts about his honesty in regards to what kind of relationship he was after. I was more than happy with friends, but I was pretty sure Sean had no problem being friends with benefits. Baxter's voice chimed in, telling me it wasn't as easy as just hanging out and sleeping together every once in a while. I was really sick of his advice.

"Ready?" Sean asked. There was a glint in his eye that implied there was more to the question than having everything I needed before we left.

I breathed out slowly. "Yeah. Let's go."

13: Beacon for Disaster

I dumped my bag and dirty clothes into the backseat of Sonya's car and was about to climb in beside them when Sean caught my hand. "Ride with me," he said. It wasn't quite a command, but the insistence in his voice made my heart speed up.

Pushing the door closed, I told Gwen to sit up front with Sonya and let Sean pull me away. I didn't miss the look that passed between my two friends. Neither one of them believed Sean and I weren't more than we were. There wasn't much I could do about that. Sean handed me a helmet before I could think about it, and ended up having to help me get it on over my ponytail, chuckling at me the whole time.

He climbed onto the bike first, and when I settled behind him, he pulled my arms around his waist tighter. It left me belly-to-back with him, like I had been the first time he took me out. This time, it wasn't fear that kept me pressed against him. Sean didn't inspire the same feeling of safety that being bossed around and rescued by Baxter did, but I wasn't looking for that right now. I wanted to forget what had been weighing on me all week and enjoy the fact that I was a young, single girl in a big city. Sean could give me that.

The engine revved and Sean pulled onto the largely empty street. The girls followed, and twenty minutes later we pulled up to a club that looked a little sketchy, but not so much that I worried about letting go of Sean. He led us to the entrance and shook the bouncer's hand. They clearly knew each other and he didn't hesitate letting us into the club in front of the others waiting in line.

I'd felt the bass's intensity as we'd walked up. Now, it reverberated in my bones, shaking away my fears and anxiety. I felt my shoulders relax for the first time in days. Sean tugged me toward the stage, and I glanced back to make sure Sonya and Gwen were following. They made their way through the crowd behind us, yelling at each other over the music like they'd been friends for years instead of hours.

"Case!" Sean shouted, waving to get someone's attention. I didn't realize who until one of the stage crew guys wearing a headset spotted him and gave Sean a thumb's up. That was it. Then Sean pulled me back into the crowd dancing in front of the stage.

"Who was that?" I asked, my mouth next to his ear so he could actually hear me.

"Band's manager," Sean said. "I just wanted him to know I'd made it so Puck knows to look for me when they're done with their set."

I glanced up at the stage, having nearly forgotten why we'd come. The two lead singers were all over the stage as they sang, one a redheaded woman who seemed too pretty to be in a band with the rest of the rougher members. Her partner wore ragged black jeans, slim but so long they bunched up at his ankles. The drummer's brown hair was in his eyes while the bass's blonde hair was cropped close to his head, his button-down shirt open to a black tank top that seemed to be nice quality. The guitarist and keyboardist were too shadowed to get a clear look at from my position, but the odd group sounded great together and I found myself smiling as I finally listened to their sound.

"Which one is Puck?" I asked.

Sean pointed to the bassist. "What do you think of the music?"

"They're great. It's a really unique sound," I said, still not sure whether to classify what they were playing as some sort of folk/rock blend or a new version of alternative. Whatever it was, I liked it.

Grinning, Sean pulled me into the crowd of moving bodies. I glanced around for Sonya and Gwen, worried they'd gotten lost or were annoyed I'd accidentally abandoned them. I was surprised to see both deep in the mass of dancers, laughing and enjoying themselves. Sean pulled me up against him and my thoughts scattered.

I'd never been much of a dancer, but Sean made it effortless. Keeping me pulled in close, our bodies moved together. I lost myself in the music and the feel of his body against mine. Heat from the club mixed with the fire growing in my core. Our discussion about friends and fun did nothing to curb the hunger in his eyes when he looked at me. I responded, running my hand up his chest to his hair. When he leaned down to kiss me, I didn't pull away.

I didn't move from his side until the band finished their set and the crowd began to disperse back to their tables or the bar. Sean pulled away reluctantly when someone called his name. He started to turn toward the voice, then pulled me up against him and said, "We need to do this more often."

I gulped, biting my tongue before I agreed a little too eagerly. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but however long it was, it was the first time since arriving in Manhattan that I had felt completely free. Not resisting when Sean began pulling me across the dance floor, I attempted to gather my thoughts. It was a fairly hopeless effort, so when Sean introduced me to the band as his friend from culinary school, I just went with it.

"Hey. Nice to meet you guys. You sounded amazing."

We broke out in a round of names and handshaking, which began again when Gwen and Sonya found us. Somewhere in the middle of the introductions, the house DJ started the music back up and everyone was yelling again. I couldn't remember most of the band member's names, only Puck and Cordy sticking out. It wasn't until we found an empty table at the back of the club and Sean disappeared to get drinks, that I learned they were brother and sister.

"Your parents must have liked unique names," I said. I loved their names, but they weren't ones you came across often.

Puck laughed, shaking his head. "Not at all. Cordy's full name is Cordelia, and my first name is Edmond. Our last name is Puckett. It drives my mom nuts that everyone calls me Puck, and Cordy refuses to use her full name. Too old fashioned."

"I can relate to that," I said, "but I hated being called Lizzy, or Liza, so I stuck with my full name, even though it's a little old fashioned, too."

"Eliza's a great name," Puck said, his smile a little more than friendly. He shifted, bringing his body slightly closer to mine. Sonya and Gwen were having a ball with the rest of the band members. No one seemed to notice Puck's close proximity to me.

I felt my heart jump a little, but I wasn't scared. I didn't know what I was.

"So you and Sean go to school together, right?"

"Yep," I said, my breathing speeding up.

He picked up a strand of my hair that had fallen over my shoulder and stuck there, thanks to the sheen of sweat covering my shoulders. "What do you like to cook?" His gaze came up to meet mine. It wasn't just a question to distract me. He wanted to know, for some reason, the intensity of his interest making it hard to answer.

"I love baking," I managed to say. "Pastries, desserts."

"Ah," he said as his lips turned up. "Sweet things."

I swallowed again. "Uh huh." I tried not to give away how much he was affecting me, but I was failing miserably. I saw Sonya glance over at me, her head tilting in question as she noticed how close we were. I didn't know whether to allay her concerns or beg for help.

Before I could figure it out, Puck leaned forward to block my view and capture my attention. "Is me being this close bothering you?"

My lips parted, but no sound came out on the first attempt. "I...I don't know." My gaze darted away, looking for Sean.

Puck chuckled. "Worried Sean will get jealous?"

"We're just friends," I said. The way the corner of my mouth pulled down in a half frown gave me away, though, and Puck smiled again.

"I know what you and Sean are."

"Um, okay," I said. What was he expecting me to say to that? I was more than a little confused. I wanted to run away and catch my breath, but I also didn't want to move from this spot.

My head was still spinning when Sonya dropped onto the bench next to me. Puck pulled back slowly, a knowing smile on his lips. He didn't say a word, but Sonya did. "I've got to use the restroom. Mind coming with me?"

"Sure," I said, the relief in my voice making Puck's smile widen.

Sonya grabbed my hand and pulled me up from the bench seat, linking her arm with mine when we were both standing. She kept up her blasé attitude until we were out of sight of the table. "What was that all about?" she demanded. I couldn't tell if she was disappointed, excited, or confused.

"I have no idea." I took in a shaky breath and tried desperately to clear my head. I hadn't even had a drink yet and I felt like I was going to wake up with a splitting headache.

"Puck looked like he was ready to drag you off somewhere Sean couldn't see the two of you."

"He said he knew what Sean and I were."

Sonya frowned as we stopped at the end of the line for the restroom. "What does that mean?"

I shook my head. "No clue."

Our conversation shifted to the other band members she and Gwen had been chatting with. I listened until we finally made it to the stalls. The rest of the band sounded great, especially Jake, and when Sonya mentioned their invitation to see them play at their next gig in a few weeks, I was quick to agree. Maybe by then I'd figure out what Puck was up to. Finishing up, I washed my hands and called to Sonya that I would wait for her in the hall. It was too crowded in the bathroom with half a dozen girls reapplying makeup that the heat inside the club had melted away.

I stepped out, still feeling sticky, but less claustrophobic. The line for the bathroom had disappeared, leaving the hallway empty. It was a relief to have a moment to myself. I inhaled slowly, trying to psych myself back up to face Sean and Puck.

A hand clapped over my mouth, cutting off a scream, but not the wave of panic that swept through me. Before I could strike out, a muscled arm clamped down around my body, pinning my arms. I tried kicking, but I was pulled off my feet before I could do any damage. The salty taste of sweat made me gag when I tried to open my mouth and scream around his hand. Cool air swept over me as he pushed out a back door and real fear crashed into me so hard I started hyperventilating.

I couldn't fight back when I was shoved, face first, against the brick building. Weight slammed into my back. It knocked the breath out of me as my cheek ground against the rough surface. "You know what it is, don't you?" a man's voice growled. His hot breath pulsed against my ear as he spoke. "You've been in that apartment all week, searching. Maybe you haven't found it yet, maybe you have and are trying to hide it again, but you know what it is he wants!"

"I'm...I'm just...helping...clean," I gasped, barely able to catch my breath with the pressure against my body and the impact that stole it only a few seconds earlier.

"Stop lying to me! You know more than you pretend. Nobody's buying your country girl act," he spat.

Act? I couldn't imagine what had given this guy the impression I knew anything. "I just...moved here," I snapped, my anger matching his.

"So convenient," he growled.

"I came here...for school. Nothing...else."

He yanked me toward him then shoved me back against the wall, hard enough that pain blossomed across my chest and I lost my breath again. I groaned as my face scraped against the bricks and my ribs strained under the pressure. He pushed harder. "That apartment goes back up for rent in a week. Give him what he wants before then. I'll be watching, and waiting."

Rough hands yanked me away from the wall, and I panicked that he was going to drag me off somewhere. Instead, he threw me back into the wall so hard black spots erupted in front of my eyes and I fell to my knees. The sound of footsteps pounding down the alley rang in my ears. It was the only sound until the door burst open again and a round of gasps and growls of anger erupted. More footsteps sounded, but they died quickly and began again, coming back toward me.

"Are you okay?" Sonya asked as she threw herself at me.

Whimpering under the pressure of her hug, I was relieved when someone pulled her off me. Two sets of hands wrapped around my arms and gently lifted me back to my feet. "Was it the same guy?" Sean demanded as his fingers brushed over my injured cheek.

"Same guy?" Puck asked. "This has happened before?"

"Got me instead of Eliza last time," Sean grumbled. He turned back to me, concern in his features as I stared at him through blurry eyes. "Was it him?"

I started to shrug, but my chest hurt from the movement and I stopped. "I don't know. Never saw his face."

Sean rubbed a hand across his face. He took a step back and seemed to be considering what to do when Puck scooped me into his arms. I opened my mouth to tell him I was fine, and carrying me around was completely unnecessary, but the second I was off my feet, the pain in my ribs lessened and I kept my mouth shut.

"Where did you guys park?" Puck asked.

Shaking off her shock, Sonya pointed to where she'd left her car. There was no way I could ride back on Sean's bike, which to be honest, was a little disappointing. As scared as I had been to ride it the first time, I loved how it felt to fly through the city so freely. Puck started forward, but stopped when his sister spoke up.

"We need to get the equipment loaded up. Are you going with them?" There was no judgement or surprise that it was an option. Maybe Puck disappeared carrying random girls all the time. In this city, who knew?

"I'll wait with them for the police to show up. You guys go ahead."

Cordy nodded and the rest of the band filed back into the club to collect their instruments and gear. I thought maybe Sean would argue that Puck's sticking around wasn't necessary. Ben would have. He hadn't been the jealous type, but he used to get worked up when he thought someone was trying to take over or say he wasn't capable of doing something. Sean didn't seem bothered. He actually looked relieved.

He turned toward Sonya's car, and I realized he was on the phone, but I didn't think that was the reason he'd let Puck step in. Sean ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket. "The police should be here in about ten minutes."

It wasn't until then I realized who he'd been talking to. My entire body went rigid, making Puck slow and look down at me. "Who did you call?" I asked Sean.

He gave me a weird look and said, "911. Who else would I call?"

I felt like an idiot then. Officer Williams hadn't been handing out his cell number like candy on Halloween. He'd only given it to me after Sean was attacked because he thought the intruder might come after me since I saw his face. Of course Sean called 911 and not him.

"Never mind," I said quickly.

Sean shook his head and turned away to open the back door of Sonya's sedan. Puck set me down on the seat while Sean paced. His flirty behavior from earlier had disappeared, replaced by concern. "Who did you think Sean called?" he asked in a low voice.

"It's nothing. Forget it."

He gave me a skeptical look. "You're not a very good liar." When I tried to look away, his arms crossed over his chest. "Who did you not want Sean to call?" He clearly didn't intend to be put off.

"Officer Williams," I said, hoping he'd drop it if I just told him.

Puck's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Because that asshole attacked her outside her apartment earlier this week for not telling her about the intruder who hit Sean showing up at the diner on Monday," Sonya supplied as she dropped into the driver's seat. She put her hand on the steering wheel, wrapping her fingers around it even though the car wasn't on, in order to calm her shaking. "We're almost positive he's either dirty or involved. He could just be a douche bag, but it's hard to tell."

"Involved in what?" Puck asked.

"Our neighbor and her nephew were murdered. The cops don't know who did it or why, but someone wants something from Ms. Sinclair's apartment, and for some reason the guy who grabbed me thinks I know what it is."

"What it is?" Sonya asked. "Don't you mean where it is?"

I shook my head. "He said what." I sighed and fell back against the seat, making Puck's expression turn even more serious. "Whatever they want, they don't even know what it is they're looking for. All they seem to know is that she had something they want."

"They?" Sean asked. He was standing behind Puck, Gwen hugging herself tightly behind him. "There's more than one?"

I tried to ignore the anger in Sean's eyes, because I had a sneaking suspicion it had more to do with me causing trouble than me getting hurt. "The guy who grabbed me tonight, he said I better find what he wants before the apartment is emptied and rented out again. He was delivering a message for someone else."

"When does the apartment get rented out?" Puck asked.

Sonya bit her lip. "Next weekend. I already have a lease signed by the new family."

"That was quick," Sean said.

"There's a long waiting list." Sonya shrugged.

Shaking his head, Sean said, "Cheap rent is not worth living in that madhouse."

Puck looked a little confused by that, but didn't comment. We sat in silence, waiting for the police to show up. How many times had I done that since moving here? Police involvement in my life was starting to get a little ridiculous, honestly. I felt like I ought to have a direct line to them by now. Then I remembered, I did. To Officer Williams. The only cop I didn't want any help from.

Maybe Bernadette's unspoken accusations were right. Maybe I was a beacon for disaster. Why else would anyone think I was involved in this?

14: Accident Reports

Sonya unlocked the building door with her key. It was now after two o'clock in the morning after filing a report with the police and dropping Gwen back off at the diner so she could get her car. Most of the band members had gone home after giving statements to the police, which largely consisted of the fact that they hadn't seen who grabbed me or noticed anyone suspicious hanging around the club. Cordy waited in the van with their equipment while Sean and Puck walked to the door with us.

When Sonya opened the door, they stepped inside, but stopped there. Sean still looked pissed off, and the reason why finally came out when he said, "I can't believe you didn't tell me about all this other stuff."

"It wasn't your problem," I argued. "We're good as friends. I don't expect you to get involved or try to protect me."

Sean's shoulders bunched. "You didn't think I might like to know the guy who nearly took my head off is still hanging around, and the cop who took the report might be in on it?"

When he put it like that.... I cringed. "I'm sorry, Sean. I didn't think about how that might put you in danger, too."

He waved his hand angrily. "Clearly." He took a deep breath, forcing calm into his stance. "Would you please keep me updated on anything that might get either one of us killed?"

Nodding, I looked away before he could see the tears burning at the backs of my eyes.

"I need to get home," Sean said, less angry, but still not exactly pleasant. "Are you sure you're all right here?"

"Go. I'll be fine."

He nodded, pulled me into a rough hug, and left. Sonya watched him go, looking startled. She opened her mouth to comment on his hasty exit, but her phone rang and she groaned. "Hello, Grandma. What are you still doing awake?"

She stepped away to speak with her grandmother and Puck took her place. "Look, Sean can be a real asshat sometimes, but don't let it get to you. This culinary program has him under a lot of pressure and he's been something of a dick since he got accepted. He really is a good guy."

"Yeah, I know," I said. He'd told me he didn't want something complicated, and that was exactly what I'd turned out to be.

"Having said that," Puck said, "I don't think you should be dating him."

"We're not dating...but why not? You just said he was a good guy."

Puck nodded. "He is, but he's not the kind of guy you want to get involved with right now." I shook my head, not understanding. Puck moved in closer. "Sean wants simple, fun, and easy, the kind of relationship that can be entered or left on a whim."

"But him and Danielle..."

"Were exactly that. They hooked up and hung out when they felt like it. Sure, Sean doesn't sleep around with multiple girls at the same time, but he wants zero responsibility and commitment. When a girl does something he doesn't like, he cuts them off and walks away. Danielle sending topless photos to some guy pissed him off, but the truth was, he just didn't want to deal with her anymore. She kept pushing for more, and he got tired of it." Puck shrugged.

"Why are you telling me this? Maybe that's what I want right now. I have enough complications without adding a relationship."

Puck chuckled, making me tense up. I was clearly mad, but he pulled me closer to him and didn't seem to notice me wince in pain at the movement. "You," he said, "are not the kind of girl that does casual flings, despite what I saw of you and Sean making out on the dance floor." He tipped my chin up so I was forced to look at him. "You, Eliza, are someone who's been hurt, who thinks they want fun and casual because it's easier than opening up to someone. You're too much heart to ever make it work, though."

Shaking, I pushed away from him. "You've got some nerve telling me that after only knowing me for a few hours."

Unaffected by my acidic words, Puck held up his hands. He backed toward the door, pulling it open, but looking back before he stepped through. "Don't be a stranger, Eliza. Come to our next show. I'd like to see you again."

Crossing my arms, gently, over my bruised ribs, I glared at him. "What makes you think I'd be interested in someone who was hitting on his friend's date when he wasn't around?"

A grin spread across Puck's lips. "You and Sean aren't dating, remember? That makes you fair game in my eyes."

He slipped outside and disappeared before I could offer a rebuttal. Was it impossible to attract a nice, easy going guy? Scratch that. I didn't want to attract any guys at all. I just wanted to get through school and move on with my life. Was that really so hard?

Sonya was still off to the side, arguing with her grandmother about something. I debated telling her I was heading to bed or just trudging up the stairs alone. I yelped when a figure moved out of the shadows by the mailboxes. I nearly tripped over myself scurrying away as the shadow stepped forward.

"Are you starting a collection of frat boys now?" Baxter's voice asked a second before he came into view.

"Baxter," I hissed, "what are you doing down here?"

He held up the stack of mail in his hand. "Checking my mail, obviously."

"In the middle of the night?"

"I'm waiting for something and I forgot to check earlier."

"And it couldn't wait until morning?" If I thought he cared in the least, I'd think he was waiting up for me. Maybe he always checked his mail in the middle of the night so none of the other residents would bother him. I really had no idea. I could picture him doing something like that, though.

"I couldn't sleep," Baxter said, an edge to his voice that surprised me.

Sonya hurried over toward us, starting when she saw Baxter. Instead of asking where he'd come from, she shook her head and turned to me. "Sorry, Grandma keeps hearing things. I swear she's going senile. She said there's something in the walls that's keeping her up." Rolling her eyes, she threw off her grandmother's craziness. "You look exhausted. Why are you still standing here? Do you want me to stay with you tonight?"

I felt Baxter move closer without having to look up to see his approach. There was a certain pressure behind his presence, one I found difficult to ignore. Having company sounded great, but Sonya staying over wouldn't exactly make me feel safer. I'd be more anxious about her getting hurt because of me.

"It's okay," I said. "You get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Are you sure?"

Pulling her into a hug, I thanked her for the offer and sent her toward her own apartment after she locked the main door. When I turned for the stairs, Baxter was waiting. He didn't say anything as I started on my way up. I heard him shuffling through his mail as he fell in behind me. Only when we reached the second floor landing did he pull in front of me. He had his door unlocked and open by the time I made it there. Head down, I stepped inside and tried not to sigh in relief.

"I'll get a first aid kit," Baxter said. He tossed his mail on the counter and disappeared into the bathroom I had flooded what seemed like forever ago. Not sure what to do with myself, I sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the wall. I was too tired to do anything else.

I jumped when Baxter pulled a chair out next to me. I hadn't even heard him walk up. I watched as he set the kit on the table and sat down. He opened it and picked through until he found some antibiotic ointment, antiseptic wipes, and a few bandages. He left them on the table and gripped the sides of my chair. I reached for his arm to steady myself when he yanked me forward. My knees were barely an inch from smacking into his chair when he stopped, but he didn't seem to notice that or my hand on his arm. I slipped it away quickly.

Baxter's knees straddled mine as he leaned forward with a small wipe. I pulled back at the first touch, hissing at the sting. He sighed, grabbed my chin, and pulled me forward. I tried not to flinch the second time. Not that it mattered, because he had a hold of my face as he cleaned the dried blood off my cheek. His grip lightened, but didn't disappear as he applied the ointment. Setting the tube back on the table, Baxter's gaze met mine for a moment and the hand he was pulling away from my chin paused.

He looked away a moment later and tore the paper packaging off the bandage. Then, it was pressed against my cheek. I could only imagine how ridiculous I looked in that moment, but Baxter didn't crack a smile. "Where else are you hurt?"

I contemplated telling him that was it, but if he'd been watching my exchanges with Sean and Puck, he'd seen the pain I'd felt every time I moved my torso. "Ribs."

He didn't question me about what happened. I figured he would eventually, but was more interested in patching me up than hearing the latest installment of the Eliza Carlisle Accident Reports. Seeming to prove that theory correct, he pushed his chair back and disappeared into his bedroom. I sat there in silence, not thinking or moving. When Baxter reappeared, he was carrying a rolled up, brown elastic bandage.

"What is that for?" I asked.

Baxter gave me an annoyed glare. "Look, I'm not a doctor. If you wanted professional care, you should have gone to the E.R. I cracked a rib once and they wrapped my chest with one of these. I doubt you have anything that serious, but it helps keep you from twisting and bending too much."

"Okay," I said in defense. "I was just curious."

Grunting at my not-so-apologetic tone, Baxter focused on unclipping the metal fastener on the bandage roll. "It will be better if it's under your shirt."

"Oh," I said. "Sure, yeah."

I felt heat blossom in my chest at the thought of exposing that much skin to Baxter, but even more than that I dreaded having to raise my arms. My ribs ached from being squashed against and thrown into the wall. Having my arm wrenched behind my back left my shoulder sore as well. Not wanting to continue hurting like this trumped embarrassment and pain. So when Baxter gestured for me to lift my arms, I tried to do as he asked without complaining. I got about halfway before stiffness and pain stopped me.

"I'm sorry," I said to Baxter without meeting his gaze. "I can't..."

His warm hands spread across my sides. My breathing hitched, fearing pain but embracing the comfort his help brought. "Don't apologize," he grumbled.

He gently pushed my shirt up to the edge of my bra and asked me to hold it there with my uninjured arm. It was a relief to let my other arm drop, but Baxter pushed it back up a little and reached around me with the bandage. I groaned at the tightness of the first loop, then bit the inside of my cheek to stop from doing it again each time he wound the wrap. By the time he finished, it felt difficult to breath, but the pain of every little movement had dulled as promised.

"Thank you," I said, a little breathless. "That feels a lot better."

"What about your shoulder?"

"It's just sore."

Baxter stood and disappeared again. When he returned with what looked like a white cloth, I wondered what it was for. He peeled a clear layer away from the cloth and took his time placing it on my shoulder, smoothing it over the muscles surrounding the joint. I was pleasantly surprised when a prickly cold soaked into my skin and began easing away the tension.

"It'll turn warm in a little while. When that stops, you can take it off. They help a lot for muscle strains," Baxter said. He settled back into his chair, his bight green eyes piercing straight through me. "Tell me what happened."

He didn't get mad or yell at me, or tell me it was my fault this time. The only indication we were talking about something more serious than what he had for dinner was the strain he put his jaw through clenching it so hard. Surprised by his lack of yelling, I found myself telling not only the events of the night, but about all my suspicions as well. I even told him about the newspaper clippings and Lucas's phone. Surprisingly, his first question wasn't about either of those.

"Nobody knows where Mouser is, still?"

"Who?"

"The cat. Nobody's seen her since the murder?" Baxter asked. "I thought Sonya must have been taking care of her."

I shrugged. "Not that anyone's saying. Sonya hasn't seen her. We can only guess she slipped out when the killer snuck into the apartment."

Baxter rubbed his chin, then closed his eyes. "It's late. We both need some sleep."

He stood and offered me his hand. I hesitated a moment before taking it. I realized why he offered when I tried to stand and nearly gave up halfway through. Between the wrap and my body complaining, I would have preferred to sleep at the table. Baxter got me the rest of the way. He gestured toward the master bathroom and said, "Your toothbrush is still in there somewhere. Not the green one. That's mine."

I nodded, surprised he hadn't tossed it the second I left last time. Shuffling into the bathroom, I realized somewhere was in the toothbrush holder, with his. I thought that might be a little odd, but where else was he going to put it. Apparently he suspected I would need it again. Sighing, I wondered how long he would keep it, how long until his already limited patience with me ran out and he tossed me and my toothbrush.

By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, Baxter was pulling back the blankets on his perfectly made bed. I was halfway to the bed that I was eager to collapse onto when I noticed he was now wearing loose sweat pants and a t-shirt. I looked down at my dirty and torn clothes. Sonya's leggings were ruined, holes in the knees from when I fell, but the top might have been salvageable. I was too busy studying the pulled threads to hear Baxter walk up.

"Here," he said, making me jump, "you might be more comfortable in this."

My hands reached out on instinct when he tossed it to me. He was closing the bathroom door before I realized it was one of his t-shirts. I really could have used a shower after being tossed around in a gross alley, but a clean shirt sounded better than nothing. Figuring my top would be the most difficult, I started pulling my shirt over my head from the back. It was a method that required less arm movement if I leaned my head forward. It was going pretty well until the neck caught on my ponytail.

Tugging harder, I tipped my head forward a little more, hoping it would slide off. It didn't. Trying again, I thought maybe I could loosen the ponytail with my tugging. That didn't work either. So I was stuck inside my shirt, hunched over like Quasimodo, and swearing under my breath when I heard the bathroom door pop open.

I expected shouting. Instead, I got ridicule. "What are you doing?" Baxter said while having a good laugh at my expense.

Distracted by the rich tone of his laughter and the fact that I was pretty sure it was the first time I'd ever heard it, it took me a minute to respond. "I got stuck."

"No kidding," Baxter said, still laughing at me.

He was by my side a moment later, unhooking the neckline of my top from my hair and sliding it the rest of the way over my head. I didn't consider what Baxter helping me out of my jam would mean until I had the shirt in my hands and was standing in front of him in my bra...and the bandage. Wanting to die of embarrassment, I was too flustered to do anything about it.

"Are you going to put that on?" Baxter asked, pointing at the shirt he'd given me. His voice sounded as even as ever, but I could have sworn there was a hint of red creeping up his neck.

Scrambling, carefully, I snatched the shirt off the bed and quickly shoved my arms through the sleeves. I lifted my arms, got stuck about halfway, and felt my face grow red when Baxter stepped in once again. He had my shirt—his shirt—settled into place a second later. His hand pressed lightly to my lower back and he gave me a push toward the bed.

Message received loud and clear, I climbed into his bed and slowly leaned back to rest my head on the pillows. It was impossible not to breathe in the scent of whatever cologne or aftershave he wore. I wanted to ask him what it was, but didn't think he'd appreciate my prying.

"Do you want me to stay in here again?"

I started to nod without thinking, then shook my head with more tenacity. An emotional war burst to life and I stopped doing either. Logically, I knew how unlikely it was that someone would come after me here. My life had stopped being logical the moment I set foot in this place. Worse than Officer Williams grabbing me, worse than when the intruder hit Sean after missing me, being purposely targeted and dragged out to an alley to be hurt and threatened had terrified me.

Baxter saw it in my eyes. He moved toward the chair, but I shook my head. "That can't be comfortable." Saying I'd be fine without a babysitter was on the tip of my tongue, stuck there.

His gaze moved to the bed. "I don't think you'd be comfortable with the alternative."

"I trust you," I said without thinking. My eyes widened as the words hit my ears, but I realized they weren't untrue. Baxter could be egotistical and intimidating and infuriating, but he wouldn't hurt me. And I was scared to sleep alone.

For several long seconds, Baxter just stood there. I thought maybe he was going to tell me to grow up. Then, he walked around to the other side of the bed and turned off the bedside lamp that had been lighting the room. I wriggled out of my bra in the darkness to alleviate the way it was bunching up the bandage and pinching my skin. I shoved it under the pillow as I felt Baxter lay down on the bed. After that, I didn't move a single muscle.

"I think Mouser is still in the building," Baxter said, showing how far apart our minds were in that moment.

"Why?" I didn't know if he would hear me, my voice was so soft.

"She despised the outside world, same as her owner. If Mouser escaped the apartment, she wouldn't go outside." Baxter shifted, making me freeze. "That evil creature is still hanging around here somewhere."

We fell back into silence. I'd never even seen Mouser, let alone had the chance to debate her status on the spectrum of good and evil. I wasn't even sure it mattered where the little beast had gotten to. It was a curiosity, one of many. My eyelids began drooping, my thoughts wandering as exhaustion finally took over.

"You have a nice laugh," I told Baxter before succumbing to sleep.

15: Repentant Tone

I woke up alone. Clinking noises came from the kitchen, filtering in through the partially open door of the bedroom. The shades were drawn. In the half-light, I couldn't tell how early or late it was. What I could tell, was that I was no longer on the same side of the bed I'd started on. I froze, wondering how that had happened. If I'd somehow rolled myself over to Baxter to snuggle, I would die. If he had been the one to move...I wasn't sure what I thought about that.

Maybe I'd been in pain and he tried to comfort me. Maybe he just moved around a lot when he slept and that made me shift. It was possible I pushed him around. Bernadette always complained about sharing a bed when we were little. That could have been why he got up before me, to escape my kicking. I sank back into the pillow and groaned. Neither option was good, and liable to put Baxter in a terrible mood.

There was nothing for it except to face the music and make as quick of an exit as I could. Figuring I might as well get it over with, I tugged the twisted blankets off my legs and sat up. Well, I got about halfway before a high pitched squeal of pain burst out of me and I stopped moving. Baxter appeared in the doorway before my head hit the pillow again. The smirk on his face matched his crossed arms.

"Forgot about your ribs, huh?"

"Shut up."

Baxter leaned against the doorjamb. "Every time you open your mouth, you amaze me with how mature you are." He rolled his eyes. I stuck out my tongue.

Walking over to the bed, Baxter extended his hand. I reached for it, but when he took hold of me, he didn't pull me up. A calculating look spread across his features. "Curious how you fell asleep on that side and woke up on this one."

I could have burst into flames right then. A fiery blush erupted all over my entire body. Completely immobilized, I sat there with my hand in his, mouth open, and absolutely speechless. Baxter's smirk morphed into a smile that made my stomach sink. Please, please let me have kicked him relentlessly until I pushed my way onto his side.

"As hurt as you were, I didn't think I'd have to worry about you clobbering me in your sleep," Baxter said. His hand still held mine and I wasn't at all prepared for him to pull me to my feet in one swift motion. I fell against his chest. He didn't push me away. I righted myself and stepped back quickly.

I didn't think I could have been any more red or mortified to a higher degree, but then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned it toward me. I stared at the image of my arm looped over Baxter's chest, head on his shoulder, drool pooling on his shirt, and just the edge of my knee crossed over his hips. Baxter was clearly awake, reaching his arm up to take a selfie of the two of us. Embarrassment gave way to shock and dread.

"You took a picture? Why?"

He smirked and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. "Blackmail," he said. "Next time you get some bright idea to play a prank on me, I'm sending that to Bernadette."

I scrambled for a response. "She'd...she'd just blame you. You'd be in trouble. Not me. As much."

"Oh yeah? What about when I tell her about Sean on his way up to your apartment, or Puck feeling you up, or how about you making out with Sean on the dance floor." He shrugged, the movement clipped. "Anyone else you want to add to the list? I thought you came here for school, not to sleep around with every guy you meet."

For a moment, I was too stunned to say anything. Then, I was ready to kill him. "I haven't slept with anyone," I said, shocked he would say that to me. "Last night was the closest I've come to sex with anyone in...in five years. Not that I have to explain that to you, or justify it if I do sleep with someone. You are not my father, Baxter."

"Father?" Baxter said through his teeth. I stumbled back against the bed in the face of his sudden anger. He followed, toe to toe until he was so close I nearly fell back onto the bed. "Father?" he hissed again. "I am five years older than you, Eliza Carlisle. You may act like you're twelve half the time, but..." His teeth ground together and cut off his words.

"I wasn't talking about how old you are," I snapped. "I'm talking about you bossing me around and judging my every decision, blaming me for every bad thing that happens and watching me like I'm a little kid all the time. Bernadette keeps saying you're a good guy and I should trust you, but being around you just makes me feel like a stupid, silly little girl who should have stayed hidden away in her bakery where no one could hurt her like this or like the guy who threw me around last night."

It hurt, a lot, to shove him away from me. Swallowing the pain and tears begging to pour down my cheeks, I stormed across the room—which also hurt—grabbed my borrowed blouse off the floor and stormed out of the room. I only stumbled when I reached the kitchen and saw the breakfast table set for two. Eggs and toast, coffee with sugar and creamer set out. I didn't understand and balked in the face of so much confusion.

The squeak of a door sent me spinning around. The pain that rippled through my chest had me grabbing for the chair back. Baxter stepped forward, but my furious glare stopped him in his tracks. "Why?" I begged, gesturing at the food. "Why make all of this and then...and then show me that picture and say what you did?"

Baxter's expression looked pained, for once. "Bernadette, she...asked me to...look out for you, and..."

Realization hit me. Unreasonably devastated all of the sudden, I knew I was close to losing any sort of emotional control. "Okay," I said as I stepped back. "I get it. Fine."

"Fine what?" he demanded.

"You've just been trying to keep your word to her. I get it." I clutched my shirt to my chest a little tighter as I backed away. "I'm sorry you got more than you bargained for with that promise. Please...consider your word kept. I won't bother you again."

I ran. I spun around and bolted for the door.

"Eliza, wait!" Baxter called out, but I didn't.

I made it out of his apartment and to the door of mine before I realized I didn't have my keys. Afraid Baxter would try to follow me or say something, I switched directions and ran for the stairs. Sonya wasn't always in her office on the weekends, but it was on the way to her ground floor apartment. I was halfway down the flight of stairs when I saw her standing outside her office looking confused.

"Did you just come out of Baxter's apartment?" she asked when I hit the lobby. Her eyes widened as she closed the distance between us. "Are you crying? What did he do?"

Shaking my head, I said, "Nothing. I don't want to talk about it. I just want to work on the clippings."

Sonya stared at me, her eyebrows arched as high as they would go. She started to say something, then closed her mouth. Nodding her head, she wrapped me up in a hug before ushering me into her office. Closing the door behind us, she hesitated at the door. "Is that...Baxter's shirt?"

"Yes, but I didn't sleep with him. I didn't sleep with anyone, okay?"

Sonya held up her hands. "I'm not judging you if you did. I was just going to offer to send Puck after him if he hurt you in some way."

"Puck?" I asked, a confused laugh bursting out of me at the idea.

"Yeah Puck," Sonya said. "He would do it in a heartbeat. That guy's hot for you, and he's way tougher than Sean. After last night, I don't think Sean would do it anyway."

Dropping my head to the desk, I rolled it back and forth a few times. "I don't want to talk to, or see, any of them."

"All right, all right." Sonya took her seat behind the desk and put her feet on a nearby box of old leases she kept meaning to put into storage. "Random old newspaper clippings then?"

"I think there's a connection."

Sonya shrugged. She wasn't as convinced, but she wanted the killer caught as much as I did, and neither one of us believed the police would do it on their own. It had been too long and there were too many other bigger cases with more leads. Ms. Sinclair and Lucas were bound to fall through the cracks even without a possibly crooked cop on the case. There simply wasn't anything else for them to go on.

"Oh, hey," Sonya said, "I was talking to Jake last night and he thought he might be able to get into Lucas's phone for us."

"Jake?" I tried to pull my thoughts together, but last night had all become a jumble. "Which one was he?"

"Stocky brunette with the tattoo on his forearm. Really sweet. He produces the band's records as well as plays the keyboard. Very techy. When I told him about the password on the phone, he acted like it should be pretty easy to get into it," she said.

One corner of my mouth turned up. Not just because I really wanted to see what was on Lucas's phone, but because I remembered Jake now. He was pressed in close to Sonya at the booth we'd all squeezed into. Sure, we were all a little squished, but Jake certainly didn't seem to mind. "Maybe he was just trying to impress you," I teased.

Sonya grinned. "One could only hope." She giggled, then made an attempt at being serious. "He really did seem to know a lot about electronics and all that. More than us, anyway."

Honestly, that wasn't hard to accomplish. Sonya was knowledgeable enough. She kept the building's books herself and set up automatic payments for most of the residents. She used social media and all that, which was more than I could say. I had zero online presence and really only used the internet for research, recipes, and banking. Breaking into a locked phone was severely beyond my skills. For half a second last night, I'd thought maybe Baxter would help us figure this out. He'd been interested in the missing Mouser, at least.

Clearly, my brain hadn't been functioning properly at the time. Baxter was not going to help us.

"So, I asked Jake if he'd stop by today and see what he could do with the phone," Sonya said.

"Oh, great. The one text we could see part of made it sound like he'd been complaining about his aunt. Maybe he mentioned something that will help us." It was a longshot, but that was the only kind we had at the moment.

Happy for a distraction, I asked, "When is he coming?"

Glancing down at her phone, Sonya started to say something when the door handle squeaked behind me. I spun around, fearing another run-in with Baxter. Relief sent me sinking back into my chair when I saw Jake and Puck standing there instead. Jake's attention was focused on Sonya, who'd stood to greet them. Puck, however, cocked his head to one side and gave me a funny look.

"Did we come too early?"

I sucked in a breath as my eyes flew wide. I couldn't even imagine what I looked like right then. I could feel my ponytail from last night hanging sloppily off to the side. No doubt my makeup was smeared in who knew how many places, I had no shoes on, and I was in what accounted for pajamas. I frantically wondered if Puck could tell I was wearing a guy's shirt. His gaze darted lower for just a second and I realized he probably wasn't nearly as concerned with the type of shirt I was wearing as the fact that I didn't have on a bra. Oh yeah, I'd left that at Baxter's, too.

"Sonya," I asked without looking in her direction, "can I borrow the spare key to my apartment?"

"Huh? Oh sure. Let me find it." Rummaging commenced behind my back, but Puck kept his gaze on me. A smile crept onto his mouth as we waited. It felt like forever before Sonya tossed me the spare key and I leapt out of my chair.

My hasty exit was stalled when Puck caught my elbow at the door. I ducked my head, but he held me in place. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine. Just locked myself out on accident."

Puck gave me a disbelieving look. "Remember how you're not a very good liar?"

Heat spawned in my belly, both at being caught and by Puck's close proximity. "It's no big deal," I said. "Just an argument with a neighbor. Locking myself out really wasn't on purpose."

Puck nodded. He probably knew there was more to the story—when wasn't there with me—but it seemed to be enough to make him change topics. "How are you feeling this morning?" His thumb skimmed over the bandage Baxter had applied last night.

"Sore," I admitted, sounding a little shaky, "but otherwise fine." I pulled out of his grip before things could get any more...close, and backed into the lobby. "I need to change and shower."

He nodded, but continued to watch me until Sonya slipped past him. "Hey, it's a little cramped in here. Do you want to do this at your place? I'd say mine, but my grandma complains about noise when I have people over."

"Sure, no problem. Just give me a few minutes to get cleaned up, okay?"

Sonya grinned. "Of course. See you in a few."

I took that as my opening and headed for the stairs. I would have run up them if I could have. I settled for a quick, non-bouncy pace that got me out from under Puck's gaze and closer to not looking like I was half dead. I hustled to my apartment and slipped inside as fast as I could. Stripping off my socks, I tossed them in the direction of my bedroom to be picked up later. I wasn't sure how long Sonya would wait before heading up and was eager to get through my shower before anyone arrived.

Pulling my shirt up as I walked, I carefully felt around for the metal clasp that was holding the elastic bandage around my ribs. My finger brushed something cool on the center of my back and I may or may not have growled something unpleasant about my neighbor. It was high enough up on my spine that I couldn't quite reach it. My shirt getting in the way certainly wasn't helping. Grabbing the hem, I stuck it between my teeth and tried again.

A knock sounded on my door, sending my aggravation sky high. I couldn't imagine why Sonya thought I would be done so quickly, but I needed help. "Come in," I called through a mouthful of shirt, still trying to catch the clasp. The door creaked as it pushed away from the jamb. I was so close.

A hand pushed mine away and I knew instantly that it wasn't Sonya's. My body went still, my breathing hitching as I tried to suck in a breath. "It's just me," Baxter said. He unclipped the fastener and started unwinding the bandage. "I came to drop off the things you left, and to...apologize."

I couldn't breathe properly. I was angry, so angry at him, but the repentant tone of his voice ate at me. His hands were gentle as he unwrapped my ribs.

"I'm sorry for what I said." He unwrapped another loop. "I'm not trying to be a judgmental asshole. I just don't want to see you hurt."

Pulling the end of the shirt out of my mouth, which I should have already done, I held it tightly beneath my breasts. "You mean you don't want to have to save me or patch me up again."

"No," he growled. "I meant what I said. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Except by you," I whispered before I could stop myself.

Baxter's hands froze. There were still two loops around my ribs. I could get them off on my own. When I tried to pull away from him, his hand pressed against my abdomen. "Not by anyone," he said, "including me, especially me."

"You don't owe me anything, Baxter. Just because Bernadette..."

He spun me around, towering over me. Frustration and heat pulsed in his eyes. "This isn't about Bernadette."

"Then what is it about?" I demanded.

Baxter's lips parted, but then his gaze dropped and his eyes widened. I hadn't realized the last few loops of bandage had fallen away until he tossed the whole thing onto the table and stepped closer. I twitched when his hands moved toward my ribs. He slowed, but brushed his fingertips against my skin.

"Does that hurt?" he asked.

I wasn't sure. My brain was more focused on Baxter's fingers feathering across my skin than what his touch was doing to me. What else his touch was doing to me. My breath stuttered out of me as I tried to think. Baxter looked up, concerned at my lack of answer.

"Are you...in...pain?"

Was he speaking slowly, or was that just me? My head shook back and forth. "I, uh, need...to take a shower."

Baxter frowned. "But do your ribs hurt? They look awful."

Peeling my gaze away from his, I dropped my head and tried to see over my bunched up shirt. I gasped when I saw the angry purple splotches dotting my entire ribcage. Just looking at them made me hurt. It could have been in my head, but I was apt to think not feeling the pain earlier was what had been in my head. My ribs certainly hurt every other second.

"Yeah," I finally said, "they hurt."

"You should lie down, rest."

Why did I suddenly want to follow his advice, but only if he meant his bed? I tried to shove that sort of thought very far away. It was just the way his bed smelled...the way he smelled. No. It wasn't Baxter, at all. He was mean and scary and intimidating. Way too volatile for the simple life I really was trying to create and exist in. But his hands were still on my ribs, and it wasn't just the pain of breathing that was cutting my breath short.

"I need...to take a shower," I said again. My breathing picked up. I hoped that didn't sound like an invitation. Why couldn't I just shut up? Baxter's hands slid to my back. I couldn't figure out why until I was suddenly pressed against his chest.

"Breath deeper, Eliza," he commanded.

Had I started to faint? My head felt fuzzy. He smelled so good. I turned my face into his chest and his grip tightened, too tight. I whimpered at the pain that flashed through my chest. Baxter eased up immediately, and I think he might have said he was sorry again. Twice in one day. I was on a roll. No, I was a mess. As usual.

"Breathe, Eliza," Baxter said.

I nodded, determined to pull myself together. Drawing in deep breaths, my head finally started to clear. Around the time I could think properly, I realized I was still holding my, his shirt, in my hand and was clinging to Baxter like a life raft. "I'm..."

"Knock, knock. Hope you're decent, because we're coming..." Sonya's voice trailed off as she took in the scene. "Baxter? What are you doing in here? Where's Eliza?"

Realizing she hadn't seen me behind him, I hurriedly pushed my shirt down and took a step back from Baxter. I stared at him, silently begging him not to say anything about...well, any of it. Baxter's expression was back to his normal half scowl as he turned. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Jake and Puck. "She's right here. She needed help getting the bandage around her ribs off."

"And you just happened to be passing by?" Sonya asked.

Baxter glared at her. Sonya's eyes drifted to the pile of stuff Baxter had set on the table. Her boots, my purse and keys, my phone, her blouse I'd dropped at some point before running from Baxter's...along with a bra strap hanging out from between the folds of the shirt. She'd seen me hobble down the stairs wearing Baxter's shirt, and I could see her piecing at least part of the situation together.

"Or were you coming over to help us with the newspapers and phone?" Sonya asked. The two guys standing behind her looked confused, and in Puck's case, suspicious.

"I have to go in to work for a few hours this morning," Baxter said, "but Eliza and I were talking about Mouser, and I think she's still in the building. Let me know if you guys come up with anything else."

He looked back at me for just a moment, then bailed. Sonya jumped out of his way, and Jake moved with her. Puck didn't stand in Baxter's way, but he watched him leave. Then they all turned to look at me. Sighing, I said, "I'm taking a shower. Feel free to start without me."

As I rinsed the soap from my body a short while later, I remembered Baxter saying whatever was going on between us wasn't because of Bernadette. Then he saw my badly bruised ribs and got distracted, never answering my question. If his constant rescuing, yelling, and confusion wasn't because of Bernadette...what was it about?

16: Another Layer to the Puzzle

I didn't bother with makeup, and only piled my hair up in a sloppy bun. I did, however, put more thought into my clothing. I went with jeans and a lightweight, long sleeved t-shirt that was dark enough there was no chance of anyone seeing my bruises through it. Basically, my whole look translated into hands off. I didn't want to deal with anyone else's hands on me, violent or...not.

When I walked out of my room, Sonya, Jake, and Puck were at the kitchen table. Heads bent, they all seemed to be looking at something. I walked closer and peered over Jake's shoulder to see Lucas's phone in his hand. It took me a minute to realize he was scrolling through text messages.

"You got it open?" I blurted out.

Sonya jumped in surprise, but Jake just nodded. "Yeah, his phone hasn't been patched for some of the new security bugs yet. Most of the carriers are pretty slow rolling them out. Typing a bunch of random numbers into the emergency call screen worked like a charm."

I wasn't sure what he was talking about when it came to patches or the emergency call screen. Did my phone do that? I'd never tried to make an emergency call without unlocking my phone. Maybe I should have him show me how to do that. The likelihood of me needing to make a call in a time sensitive, dangerous situation was fairly high.

"So, have you found anything interesting?" I asked. I pulled out the chair between Puck and Sonya, sitting without moving my upper body. I hadn't taken the elastic bandage with me when I went to shower, and I had no intention of asking anyone else to help me put it back on.

"Not so far," Jake said, "at least not that I can tell." He scrolled through a few more messages. "I'll back this up to your computer and you can look through all the texts a little easier that way. You can access his emails on the phone, too. See if there's anything weird there."

I hadn't said more than a quick hello to Jake the previous night, but I was glad Sonya had taken an interest. There had to be something on his phone. No way he lived with that crazy old lady and didn't complain about weird things she might have been doing. Or if he really was the cause of all this, there was a good chance he planned his dealings through texts or emails. From what Sonya said, he was an okay guy, but not the type of person who'd be running some kind of masterminded plot.

"What about these ones?" Jake asked, holding the phone out to Sonya and me. I scanned the conversation quickly.

I don't have the money yet.

It's gotta be here Friday.

Can't you spot me? I'll get it Sunday.

I can't do it, man. Friday, or you're out.

That was where the messages cut off. Lucas's money problems seemed to be causing an issue, but there was no context. The guy he was texting seemed stalwart in his refusal to cover his friend, but why? I didn't know enough about this kid to have a clue what the message thread was about.

Sonya grabbed the phone and pulled it closer. "I don't think this is anything," she said. "The dates, this was right before Lucas moved out. He came down to the office asking about staying longer if he couldn't get enough money together to help pay the deposit on his new place. I think his boss gave him an advance on his paycheck, because he ended up moving out that weekend."

Disappointed, Sonya handed the phone back to Jake. He started scrolling again. His eyes stayed on the screen when he asked, "How long was this guy living in the building?"

"About two weeks. Why?"

"Well, if he saw something his aunt was doing, or something weird happening in the building, waiting to look at the older texts and emails for later will save time." He looked up at Sonya, smiling when he caught her gaze. "If he was involved in something shady, it must have blown up before he got killed. There should be something in the most recent conversations."

Sonya nodded and scooted toward him so she could see the phone better. Or maybe she just wanted to sit a little closer. Figuring they would say something if they found an incriminating text, I reached for my laptop and the newspaper clippings piled on top of it. Puck's chair made a dull screeching sound as he scooted it closer to mine. I held back a sigh. I was firmly undecided on whether or not I liked Puck, despite how great his smile was.

"Want some help?"

Sighing, I tried not to sound like Baxter. "Why are you here, Puck?" Okay, I might not have succeeded in sounding pleasant.

Puck shrugged. "Jake and I are roommates. He said he was coming over. I wanted to see you again, so I tagged along." He leaned back in his chair. "I thought maybe you could use an extra pair of eyes, too."

"You want to help us find the killer?" The skepticism in my voice was impossible to miss. Sure, we could use all the help we could get, but if Puck's version of helping was flirting and trying to get me into bed...no thanks.

Puck chuckled at my disbelief. "Yes, I want to help. You have a week, right? Our next show is two weeks away. You can't very well come if you're dead, can you? So, I better help you catch the killer before they catch you."

Crinkling my nose at him, I said, "You warn me off Sean, but you're as big of an ass as he is."

"No, I just like you more than he does." When I screwed up my face at him again, his expression softened and grew more serious. "I'm worried about you, too. I don't want to see you hurt."

His words felt like someone jabbed me in the ribs, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to get my attention. Baxter had said the same thing. Puck's motivation, I was pretty sure, came from equal parts genuine concern and wanting to get laid. I thought Baxter's came from a promise to my sister. He'd said I was wrong. I had no idea what his real reasons were.

"If you want to help, fine," I said, "but that's it. Keep your hands and advice about my life to yourself, got it?"

Puck grinned. "Are you that worried about where my hands might end up?" He leaned in closer. "Trust me, Eliza, you wouldn't be disappointed if I did get distracted by you."

Puck was handsome in a slightly dangerous kind of way. His grin was seductive and challenging at the same time. His blue eyes positively shone with the promise of something exciting. His blonde hair was just short enough that you couldn't run your fingers through it, but that and a layer of stubble on his face gave him a look that was just rough enough to be convincing. When I'd agreed to go out with Sean the first time, even though he was attractive and exciting, I had no illusions of a lasting relationship with him. Puck was something else, and that terrified me.

Pushing that fear to the front of my mind, I squared my shoulders. "My ribs look like someone painted them with an entire jar of grape jelly. You're the one who will be disappointed if your hands end up anywhere near me today," I promised.

His teasing grin disappeared instantly. "Last night you said you weren't that hurt. When Sonya tried to take you to the E.R. you said you were fine, just a little scraped up."

I closed my eyes, wanting to slap myself. Baxter had mentioned the bandage before he left, but everyone must have been too surprised by finding him in my apartment to really think about it. Why had I brought it up? To keep Puck away from me until I figured him out. I sighed. "I may have lied, a little."

"How hurt are you?" Puck asked.

Instead of answering him, I pushed my shirt up enough to give him a view of the splotchy purple mess.

"Holy shit," Puck said.

"Did you find something?" Sonya asked. She gasped as soon as her head popped up. Jake was staring at me, too, but Sonya cut off any response from him. "Why didn't you let me take you to the hospital? That looks horrible!"

"It's just bruises," I said as I let my shirt drop. "I'll be fine."

"But you could have a cracked rib or something!" Sonya argued. I gave her a look that made her lips pinch together, but she stopped trying to change my mind. Shaking her head, she went back to looking through the phone. She kept flicking her gaze back to me every few seconds, but I decided to ignore her.

Puck was eyeing me as I logged into my computer and brought up the file I'd started on the obituaries and the random people from the other articles. So far, I was having a hard time making any connections other than the fact that most had lived in New York at one time or another. That alone may have been enough to connect them to Ms. Sinclair, but there had to be something more. Who kept track of one time acquaintances for decades, lifetimes?

"What is all this stuff?" Puck asked.

"We found it in a filing cabinet in Ms. Sinclair's apartment. I think they might be connected to the murders."

Puck frowned. "More than the nephew being the source? Some old shut-in doesn't seem like someone who'd have a lot of enemies."

I scoffed at that faulty assessment. "You didn't know her. She had plenty of enemies. I don't think anyone in the building is sorry she's dead."

Surprised by my comment, Puck shook his head and went back to reading the articles and obituaries. I left him to it and continued my search where I'd left off. The only one of the dead people that sparked my interest on an initial search was Elbert Cruz, the guy who'd died in the car accident in California a little more than two years ago. There was something about it that seemed to have left even the police a little suspicious.

By all appearances, the old guy had fallen asleep and crossed into oncoming traffic. Witnesses verified that he'd been driving along just fine, then slowly began drifting toward the center line. The car behind him honked several times, and the grooves in the pavement should have startled him when he crossed the line, but nothing woke him up. An autopsy hadn't been done, given the circumstances, but the officer on scene had seemed unsure about the whole thing. It had been four in the afternoon, not late at night, and Mr. Cruz had had an impeccable driving record up until his accident. The officer never suggested foul play, but there seemed to be some doubt in his mind.

"So, the only thing that connects these people is New York?" Puck asked. I nodded, and he frowned. "Have you tried the Census yet?"

I looked over at him, a little confused. "What would that tell me?"

Puck set down the obituary he'd been holding. "Judging by the notes you put on the backs of these articles, it looks like most of these people had spread out by the time they were in their thirties. If there's something that connects all of them, it happened before then. When they were kids or in their early adult years. You don't really have any info about that time period for most of these people."

I realized he was right and frowned. "Where would I go to look up that sort of thing?"

"I think you can usually find them on genealogy websites, and on the federal archives site, too. I don't think you can access the most current ones, because of privacy, but most of these people are dead, so I would think they'd come up." He shrugged, looking hopeful his suggestion might prove worthwhile.

After a quick search, I found several sites that stored U.S. Census records. It took a few tries to find one that didn't require a paid subscription, and then I was typing in the first name. Elbert Cruz brought up a list of results, each one from a different decade. I skimmed to a date that would have been in his childhood through mid-twenties. There was only one during that time period, from when Elbert would have been sixteen.

I clicked on it and Puck moved in closer to read it with me. The cursive writing combined with aged paper made some of the words illegible, but I deciphered his parents' names as well as their home address. I scratched it all down on a notepad to add to the document on my computer later.

"Can you read the second child's name?" Puck asked.

After finishing my note, I squinted at the handwriting. "Em-ili-aña?" I said. "With a tilde on the n, I think."

Puck nodded and began rifling through the articles. Finding what he was looking for, he held up a clipping I remembered reading a few days ago. Emiliaña Moldova was a teacher in Boston. She spent thirty years trying to help fourth graders understand fractions and grammar. There was a picture of her in the article, receiving an award from her school district for distinguished service at her retirement farewell fifteen years earlier.

Wondering if it could possibly be the same woman, I typed her name into a search paired with Elbert's. A full page of results loaded, but only one seemed relevant. I clicked on a link from a New York paper's archives and got a clipped article highlighting a young Emiliaña and Elbert volunteering at a soup kitchen that fed a large number of immigrants. The article named them as siblings, two of five children their parents had brought with them when leaving El Salvador behind for the dream of a better life.

"She's his sister," I said, even though Puck had read the article as well. That was one connection made, but it didn't really tell us anything. Ms. Sinclair knew them both, apparently.

Stumped again, I searched another name from the obituaries, the ex-pat Robert Porter who'd died of a heart attack in Italy. His name came up in the Census data, though with only two results. One from when he was a preteen, and one in his early thirties before he moved to Italy. Jotting down his parents' names and address, I clicked on the second result to find out where he was living later in life.

"Those are near each other," Puck said, pointing at the first address I'd written down, the one for Robert's childhood home. "That address and the one for the Cruz family. They're less than a block away from each other."

Curious, I typed in another name, then another, until I had all the obituary names covered. Puck leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. "They all grew up together. On the same street." He frowned and stared at nothing in particular. "I wonder if that means anything. It could be nothing at all. The old lady kept track of her friends through newspaper articles. Maybe that's what everyone did before the internet."

Maybe, but something was twitching at the back of my mind. I put in the names of the people from the other articles and scribbled out addresses and family connections. Two more proved to be siblings of the seven obituaries, one a cousin, and three no relation at all to the others, but siblings to each other. That made the twitching worse.

"Why these three?" I asked.

Puck scanned the names, addresses, and dates. While everyone else was connected by location or blood relation, these three stood apart. Leaning forward, Puck gestured at the laptop. "Go back to the census records. Maybe one of these people married one of the people we've already connected.

Doing as he asked, I typed in the woman's name first, Janet Marsh, and brought her records back up. There were three mentions of her in the Census. She appeared first at age three, living in her parents' home, then at age thirteen in the same place, and at age thirty-three when she was married to a man named Carlton Lewis and had two children. Nothing jumped out as odd, so I read through the information again, noting her parents' names and professions, the fact that they didn't live anywhere near the original seven obituary crew, and her three siblings' names.

I started to enter a new search, but pulled my fingers back from the keys as that number hit me as odd. We had clippings on a group of three siblings, not four. Grabbing my pen again, I compared the names and found one extra. Donny Marsh. His name was listed as the oldest child of Phil and Betty Marsh in the first and second Census results that came up for Janet. The third was of her married family, so it didn't mention him at all.

Feeling like I was on to something, I typed in the two brother's names from the articles and saw the exact same results.

I typed in Donny Marsh to find out what I could about this curious guy, and was confused with what I got. Again, he was listed in the same two Census reports his other siblings were. After that, Donny Marsh was a ghost. I couldn't say why, but I clung to this find. It felt relevant, important. Donny Marsh had a story no one knew about. I was sure of it.

"Listen to this," Sonya said, interrupting my thoughts. "This is Lucas texting a friend named Kirk. It's from the first night he showed up at the building."

Puck leaned forward as we listened to her read.

I've gotta get out of here, man. ASAP. My aunt is nuts.

Like old people nuts? My grandpa got like that.

No, like checking the locks forty times a night and storing up food like her apartment might be sieged. She even makes me turn off my phone inside the apartment so no one can listen in or track it. I have to wait until she goes to bed to turn it back on.

That's pretty weird. Agreed you should bail. I thought you didn't have the money yet.

I can't stay here a few months. I'll find a way to get enough money for my own place. She sleeps with a knife, man. Her cat's like a guard dog, too. Scratched up my face last night.

What's wrong with her?

I don't know. She's convinced someone's trying to kill her.

Dude, get out now.

Wish I could.

That was where the pertinent conversation ended. Sonya said it switched to normal things people talked about, like sucky jobs and going out for drinks. I'd had a hunch this whole thing centered on Baxter's lunatic neighbor. Lucas's claims that his aunt believed someone was out to get her could easily be brushed off as senility or baseless paranoia. I hadn't found anything concrete in the connections between the obituaries and articles, but Donny Marsh vanishing from existence added another layer to the puzzle. Either one could be nothing. Or they could be the clues that would lead us to the truth, and the killer.

17: Forced and Feigned Friendships

It was a relief to be alone in my apartment. Sonya and the guys had stayed until almost two in the afternoon. They'd suggested going out for a late lunch, but I used my ribs as an excuse to stay behind. Really, they were feeling better than when I got up that morning, but I wanted five minutes alone to think and take a breath. The mysteries I had weighing on my mind were getting to be too much to handle. They had begun running through my head like a mantra.

Where was Mouser?

Where were Ms. Sinclair's keys?

Who did she think was trying to kill her?

Why, besides the obvious, would someone want to kill her?

What did Lucas have to do with all of this, if anything?

Why had Officer Williams' interest in the case gotten so intense?

What event connected Ms. Sinclair and the obituary names?

What happened to Donny Marsh?

There might have been a few more that should have been added to the list, but that was all I could keep track of at the moment. My brain was maxed out, and I still had to get through one of Mrs. Osgood's dinner parties. Working weeknights at the diner meant Saturday was my last and only chance to meet my lease obligation. In some ways, that was good, because there were less people on Saturdays. Mostly, it meant I was in for a really long hour, because Mrs. Osgood had less people to talk to and wanted to hear every single thing about my week.

After taking a short nap, I had two hours to prepare for the most uncomfortable dinner hour in the world. I had spent so much time making salads and cutting vegetables, I wanted to do some real cooking. Since moving in, I'd spend most of my nights at the diner, eating takeout with Sonya, or suffering through the bizarre building dinner parties, and hadn't even had a chance to use the oven yet. The chicken drumsticks in my fridge were calling to me. Not too fancy for a potluck, but substantial enough I wouldn't have to make myself a second dinner after the community awkward hour concluded.

So I washed my hands and set to work. Bernadette's spice rack had been limited to salt and pepper when I arrived. I'd filled it earlier in the week and now grabbed out rosemary, sea salt, and coarse ground pepper. Out of the fridge I retrieved the garlic cloves, chicken, and whole lemon I'd picked up from a local shop Chef Lauren had recommended. Olive oil and white wine completed the ingredients I needed. I turned on the oven to preheat and got to work.

It felt good to let everything else slip away as I combined the herbs and oil and coated the chicken with them. No one was hovering over my shoulder to make sure I did it just right, and the chicken wasn't presenting any questions or demanding answers. It wasn't a difficult recipe, but I put all my focus into it. Knowing Bernadette, this was the first time the kitchen had been used for actual cooking. My superstar sister lacked only a few skills, and cooking was one of them.

By the time I had everything mixed and in the pan, I felt as relaxed as I could possibly manage with a deadline hanging over my head that, if missed, would likely lead to my death. Hard to ever completely forget something like that. I covered the dish and put it in the oven, debating whether I should bother with changing my clothes or putting on a little makeup for the dinner party.

I really didn't want to put forth the effort, but I caught a look at myself in the decorative mirror Bernadette had hung on the wall next to the fridge. My nap had not been enough to erase the past few days from my face. Makeup it was. Setting a timer, I decided I had better try to not look like a zombie, at least a little. Nothing I could do was going to cover up the scrape still easily seen across my cheek. I might be able to do something about the bags under my eyes, though.

I was applying a layer of loose powder foundation to my face when I thought I smelled something. Putting down the puff, I sniffed the air. It smelled chemical. No, it smelled like...smoke. Barreling from the bathroom, even though my ribs were screaming at me to quit twisting them, I burst out of the bedroom and slid to a shocked halt in the middle of the living room.

Smoke poured out of the oven. I couldn't understand why, since the chicken had only been in there a few minutes and couldn't possibly have started burning that quickly, but answers would have to wait. Sprinting into the kitchen, I flinched when the smoke alarm started blaring in accusation. It would have to wait, too.

When I finally reached the oven, I flipped the knob to turn it off and yanked the door open. More smoke billowed out, choking me with the awful fumes. A bright flame that shouldn't have been present in an electric stove coursed along the heating element, flickering behind the smoke. I stumbled over to the small window above the sink, pushing and banging on it until it finally inched upward. My ribs were screaming at me after the force it took to shove the window open, but I couldn't stop yet. I snatched a towel off a nearby hook and started fanning the smoke toward the window. It felt like it took an hour or more before I could breathe again, though I supposed it was probably only a few minutes in reality.

Aching horribly by then, I slid down the counter to sit on the floor. The towel was still in my hand, fumes wafting off it and tickling my gag reflex. I tossed it in the direction of the sink and just sat there staring at the oven. Heat still emanated from it, though not as much as before. The electric heating element only glowed faintly in uneven patches, as if it hadn't been responsible for pouring acrid smoke into my apartment and nearly choking me to death.

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but I was still annoyed. The smoke alarm had stopped blaring somewhere in the middle of my frantic efforts to get the smoke out of my apartment. That was a plus, but as I sat there, I heard noise coming from behind me and froze at the thought that Baxter was home and might have heard the alarm going off. The last thing I needed was for him to storm over here thinking he had to save me from yet another stupid mistake or life threatening encounter.

A burst of knocking on my apartment door made me gasp. I waited, hoping whoever it was would just go away, but it came again, more insistent than before.

It hurt, a lot, to reach my hands up to the counter. It hurt even more to pull myself back up to standing. Every step I took toward my apartment door made the pain worse, but I kept moving at a reluctant speed. Maybe it was Sonya. Please, let it be Sonya. I inched open the door and my shoulders dropped.

Baxter's eyebrows pulled up when he saw me, and his utter lack of concern made me want to shrink away from his condescending gaze. I would have if my ribs hadn't hurt so badly. "I wasn't joking about sending that picture to Bernadette," he said.

"Joking?" I asked in disbelief as I realized he thought the alarm had been fake. My entire apartment reeked. The smell of smoke was emanating from my clothes. I may have been a little childish with the smoke detector batteries, but surely he didn't actually believe I'd almost burn my own apartment down for a prank. "Can you not smell the smoke? Did you not even consider that there might be a real problem when my smoke alarm was going off for as long as it was?"

Baxter leaned against the doorjamb. "Have you ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?"

"Those were low battery alerts." It took every bit of my waning self-control not to lose it. "This was a real alarm! My oven was on fire!"

Staring at me with an expression that was aggravatingly unreadable, he said, "I'm not the fire department, Eliza. I just change batteries in the smoke detectors once or twice a year. I'm not sure what you expected me to do even if I had come over earlier."

"Then why did you bother to come at all? Why wait until the alarm stopped, and I'd already taken care of the problem, to show up at my door?" I demanded. "Just to rub it in and embarrass me?" I shook my head. "Thanks, but I've had enough of that for a while. I hardly need you reminding me that I'm a walking catastrophe most days."

I didn't know what else to say. One minute he was saving me, the next he was treating me like a child, and then he did something like this. Somewhere in between, he tricked me into thinking he was a decent person, one who might care just a little bit about whether or not I survived living in this zoo. There was even a moment, a short fraction of a second, where he touched me and I thought....

None of that mattered, because apparently Baxter had hit his limit of coming to my rescue and had moved on to purposely embarrassing me. Gripping the doorknob, I had every intention of slamming it closed when Baxter's voice stopped me.

"Didn't Bernadette tell you her oven was broken before she left?" The way he said it was an accusation, but more at Bernadette than me. I shook my head, angry at him for only caring that Bernadette's abandonment meant more of a headache for him.

Shutting my door with more force than necessary, I stomped over to the kitchen and took the chicken out of the oven. The drumsticks jumped when I dropped the pan on the counter. I slammed the oven door closed and stormed back to my bathroom to finish getting ready for the dinner party. Fifteen minutes later, I didn't even glance in the direction of Baxter's door when I walked past on my way down to Sonya's apartment.

My friend was a little surprised to see me standing in her doorway with a pan of raw chicken, but the expression on my face held off any questions as she ushered me in. She directed me toward her kitchen and turned the oven to the right temperature at my direction before asking if I wanted a drink. She didn't ask even once about the chicken or my foul mood as we sat at her table and sipped at our beers that were too bitter for me to actually enjoy. Instead, she talked about Jake and how great he was. I was glad something was working out for one of us, at least.

"It sounds like you guys are really hitting it off," I said.

Even though Sonya was smiling, I could see how she was tempering it. "Yeah, but who knows. Living in this place tends to drive people away. I'm kind of stuck here, and I'd feel bad sucking someone else into that."

Laughing, I leaned back in my chair. "We're not talking about marriage or moving in together just yet. He asked you out on a date. Enjoy that before you start worrying about what might happen in the future."

"I just don't want to get attached and then have him bail." She slumped in her chair, as if she were already dooming a relationship that hadn't even started yet.

"Stop it," I said. She looked up at me and crinkled her nose. "Seriously, you're too cute and bubbly to look that defeated. Go out with Jake, have a great time, and don't think about anything more than what it feels like to be with him. You don't want to miss out on an opportunity because you're scared of it failing."

Sonya narrowed her eyes in a way that was both playful and accusing. "Oh, you mean like you?"

"I went out with Sean," I argued, "twice."

"Because he was safe. No strings attached." She pointed at me. "The second a real possibility comes along, you're all prickles and warning tape." When I rolled my eyes at her, she crossed her arms. "Puck isn't like Sean and he clearly likes you, a lot. Why don't you take your own advice?"

Excuses jumped to my lips. Everything from school to work to the murder investigation sat on the tip of my tongue. Any one of them were good enough reason for avoiding a serious relationship, in my opinion, but they were still excuses. The honest reason behind my hesitancy hurt too much to talk about, but it suddenly came bubbling up whether I wanted it to or not.

"I saw my last boyfriend die, right in front of me," I said.

Sonya stared at me in shock for several seconds. "When?"

"Five years ago," I said, my tone making it clear I didn't want to talk about it any further.

"I'm sorry," Sonya said.

Shrugging, I found it difficult to look at her. "It's okay."

I wanted to tell her I was terrified of it happening again. Trouble followed me, and embarrassing accidents were the least of it. It had been five years, but I wasn't sure the fear would ever leave me. They never caught Ben's murderer. He could reappear at any time, no matter what the police said. What kind of person would that make me to invite someone into that kind of danger?

Sonya sighed sometime later. "I guess we better head over there." She glanced at the door with resignation. For once, I was eager to go, to escape the memories and push to discuss them.

Neither of us said anything as I collected my chicken, which still smelled faintly of smoke, and left the apartment. The banquet room was only across the hall, so it was a short trip to join the tension that accompanied forced and feigned friendships. Only Sonya's grandmother sported a genuine expression of happiness as we entered. She gestured us over, her enthusiastic waving making the flabby part of her arms wobble around and her gold bracelets clink together.

"Let me see what you've brought," she said to me. I presented the chicken, chagrined. She smiled at the offering and said, "Put a little of that on a plate for me, if you don't mind. Sonya, some of your cookies, too. I'm eager to hear about what you two have been up to this week."

As far as Mrs. Osgood knew, her tenant's murder had already been dealt with. The police had stopped coming around, anyway, and that was as far as she followed the investigation. From what Sonya said, her grandmother had a difficult time keeping up with current happenings. Individual conversations she could remember, but larger events and day to day activities didn't stick very well anymore. We were happy to keep her out of our personal continuation from where the police investigation left off.

As I was dishing up plates of chicken, I did wonder, though, if she knew anything about Ms. Sinclair. Carrying the plates back to her, I nodded when Sonya excused herself to talk to one of the residents about a mouse problem that she'd been trying to deal with. I handed Mrs. Osgood her plate and took a seat next to her. I usually dreaded getting sucked into a long, rambling conversation with her, but perhaps I could steer it in the right direction.

"I've been helping Sonya go through Ms. Sinclair's apartment, cleaning everything out so the next family can move in."

Mrs. Osgood reached over and patted my leg. "You're such a sweet girl."

"Uh, thanks. Anyway, we found a lot of newspaper clippings of friends from her childhood. Some were obituaries."

She nodded. "Only way to know who's still around."

I didn't point out that the internet was a considerably easier way to keep in touch with people. "Sonya said Ms. Sinclair had been here a long time. How long have you known her?"

Taking a bite of the chicken, Mrs. Osgood crinkled her nose. "This has a strange flavor. Almost like it's burnt, but it looks perfectly fine." She looked over at me. "I thought you were a chef."

"Studying to be a chef," I corrected patiently. "Bernadette forgot to tell me the oven was broken. It smoked like crazy when I turned it on."

She eyed the chicken, then took another bite. "You should have that fixed. Really, you can't have all your dishes tasting like they're burnt if you expect to get hired on at a nice restaurant."

I took a deep breath and reminded myself to be patient. "I'll do that."

"We have someone who's in charge of that sort of thing," she said. Her wrinkled brow creased even more as she thought. "I believe it's...that tall man, looks like he might have played football when he was younger. A bit brusque, but doesn't cause trouble like Baxter. What was his name?" She tapped her fork against her chicken. "Darren. That's who it is. Talk to him about your oven."

Darren? I recoiled from the idea. My one run in with the man was when Baxter shoved me into him—kind of—and he basically propositioned me and gave me the heebie-jeebies. No thanks. I'd figure out how to do it myself or cough up the money to pay someone who wasn't a creep and who knew what they were doing.

"Anyway, did you know Ms. Sinclair for a long time?"

"Oh yes," she said. "Maria moved into the building when she was in her early twenties. Not entirely proper back then, but she kept to herself and always paid her rent on time."

I couldn't imagine Ms. Sinclair not bothering other people. It seemed to be her purpose for living, from what I'd heard. Curious how people changed over time, but I suspected whatever secrets she had been hiding had something to do with her slow spiral into bitterness and anger.

"What do you mean it wasn't proper for her to move in here?" I asked.

"She was very young to be out on her own, unmarried as she was. She was a working woman, though. Never did see her with any boyfriends. Of course, back then, I wouldn't have allowed male guests visiting a young woman unsupervised. Highly inappropriate." She shook her head and gave me a sideways look.

Did she know about Jake and Puck coming by earlier that day? Maybe I was too quick to judge Sonya for feeling like her chance at a relationship was doomed. Shaking that off, I asked another question. "What did Ms. Sinclair do for a living?"

"She worked in a jewelry store over in her old neighborhood where she grew up. Not far from here. She was quite pretty back then. I imagine she sold plenty of expensive pieces to young men who fell to her wiles." She nodded and took another bite of the chicken.

Wiles? I held back a shake of my head. I couldn't imagine getting hired for a job purely because my good looks would help me sell more whatever to guys who were taken in by a pretty smile, like that was all I was capable of doing in life. Only two generations ago, and it was nearly unimaginable to me how society functioned so strictly in regards to gender roles.

"Did she ever have friends over to visit, or was she pretty solitary?"

Contemplating the question, Mrs. Osgood took a moment to answer. "There were a few times I remember her meeting someone in the lobby. Usually brief visits. One man in particular, I remember him because they got into an argument outside the office and I wrote it down just in case he became a problem later. Funny you should ask about that, because I pulled that ledger out after Maria died and reread some of my old notes and comments about her. We hadn't gotten along lately, but there was a time when I thought well of her and wanted to remind myself of those days."

"Do you remember the name of the guy she spoke to or what they were arguing about?" I asked. She didn't seem to notice the urgency in my voice, mulling over her answer.

"I believe his name might have been Bobby. He wanted her to give something back to him. I remember him saying it wasn't safe here, but she refused to bring it down from her apartment and he left." She shook her head. "I only took note of it because she so rarely had visitors, and she'd had two that same week. The other one was a woman, though. Whatever they talked about, it was in hushed tones, which I thought was a little suspect itself. I don't approve of whispering in corners."

While I certainly thought people were entitled to private conversations, I couldn't help wishing they'd been less discreet. I struggled to come up with another question, one that might be more useful. I suspected Bobby was Robert Porter, and it was very possible whatever he wanted from Ms. Sinclair back then was the same thing the killer wanted now. I still had no idea what it was, though. It did confirm that she had kept it here, at least back then.

"Does the building have any sort of storage areas for the residents to use?" I asked.

Shaking her head, Mrs. Osgood said, "No, dear. I don't approve of keeping things that are not being used. Residents are welcome to keep their extra belongings elsewhere, but I don't want to be responsible for holding onto things no one needs or wants."

There went that idea. Frustration boiled under my skin as I scoured the information we'd gathered that might stir some sort of memory in my aging landlord. Before I could come up with anything, Sonya dropped into the chair next to me.

"Well, the mice have vanished, apparently."

"What was that, dear?" Mrs. Osgood asked.

"The mouse problem Edith from apartment one-twenty-four kept complaining about, it seems to have been resolved. Whatever the last exterminator used must have worked." She sank back against her chair and stuffed a cookie in her mouth. "After having four different ones come, it's about time something took care of the little beasts."

Her grandmother seemed pleased by the news, but her mouth fell into a frown a moment later. "Now if you could just get rid of the noises behind the wall, the ground floor would be in top shape again."

I saw Sonya's fingers tighten around her fork. She'd listened and looked everywhere for the phantom sound and come up empty. Rather than tell her grandmother she was crazy, she said, "Still working on it, Grandma."

Mrs. Osgood smiled. "That's a good girl." Then she went back to eating her chicken, odd taste and all.

I was still trying to come up with another good question when I realized Mrs. Osgood had given me more useful information than I'd originally realized. She gave me a timeline. One she might be able to narrow down a little more. Turning back to her, I asked, "Mrs. Osgood, do you remember when that Bobby guy came to see Ms. Sinclair, how long after she moved in here?"

Frowning, she set her fork down. "Now, I'm not so good at remembering dates anymore, but it couldn't have been more than a year after she moved into the building. I remember when she applied for a lease she was only twenty-one years old, and I nearly didn't rent to her because I didn't think she should be on her own when she should have been looking for a nice young man to marry." She shook her head at the perceived impropriety. "I suppose she would have been about twenty-two years old by then, but you'll have to have Sonya look through the old records to find out the exact year. My memory isn't what it once was for things of that nature."

I could only hope my memory was that good when I was her age. At eighty-nine years old, I could forgive her not being able to pin down an exact date. Besides, we knew from Ms. Sinclair's obituary that she was seventy-two years old when she died. That put whatever happened between this group of friends at right about fifty years ago. It was still vague, but significantly narrowed down our search parameters.

"There he is," Mrs. Osgood said suddenly. Sonya and I both looked over at her in surprise. Before either of us could ask who she was talking about, she started waving. "Darren, over here, dear. This young lady needs your help with her oven."

My eyes widened and I crossed my fingers he hadn't heard her. The room was dead quiet despite the number of people, so of course he turned in our direction. His annoyed expression melted away when he saw me, a lecherous grin spreading across his mouth. He set a dish down and sauntered over to our table. I didn't think him possible of being anything other than disgusting, but he proved to have some charm in reserve when he took Mrs. Osgood's hand and kissed the back. She giggled at his greeting, both Sonya and I flinching at the display.

"Did I hear you say someone needed my services?"

I gagged at the way he said services, and had to hold back on the urge to bolt. Sonya was glaring holes through him. Not that he noticed, or cared.

"Yes, this young lady next to me, her oven is broken. It's why her chicken tastes a little burnt." She looked over at me, pleased as punch she could be of help. I forced myself to smile back.

"Probably the heating element," he said as he let his gaze wander over me. "They tend to do that every so often on these older units. I can get you fixed up. After dinner?"

Grasping for an excuse, I jumped on the first thing that came to mind. "Sorry, I won't be home. Sonya and I had plans."

Sonya's eyebrows jumped in surprise, but she nodded. "Movies."

"Oh yeah? What movie?" he challenged.

"I can't remember the name," Sonya said. "Eliza's boyfriend picked it. Probably some action flick. He's into that sort of thing."

I nearly choked on my chicken at her response. I wanted to kill my friend, but I wanted to escape having Darren the Creep in my apartment even more. Swallowing the lump of meat lodged in my throat, I nodded. "Yeah, won't be back until late."

"Tomorrow then. You don't work the weekends, right?"

My skin crawled. How did he know that? Sonya seemed caught off guard as well. My lack of response or excuse emboldened Darren. He smiled as he straightened. "Tomorrow then. I'll stop by in the morning around ten." His grin felt like oil oozing over my skin as he turned away. Mrs. Osgood was chattering about how fortuitous it was he'd stopped by just then. I had different feelings on the issue.

Turning toward Sonya, I whispered, "I'm not being alone with that guy in my apartment. You better come over tomorrow."

She grimaced, but nodded. "I guess I better text the guys, too."

"What? Why?"

She pulled out her phone and started typing. "Didn't you hear that comment about knowing your schedule? If he doesn't see us leave with two guys, I bet he tries to show up to fix the oven tonight. I need a little more warning than that to deal with Darren. That guy makes me feel like I need a shower just looking at him." She shivered and sent her message.

I was still attempting to figure out how an evening of trying to get a few questions answered had devolved into a date I didn't want to go on, a fake boyfriend that had way too much possibility of turning into a real one, and an appointment with a sketchy repairman who was more interested in getting naked than keeping my apartment from burning down. I wasn't hungry anymore.

18: Gossipy Old Women

By the time I made it back to my apartment and was trying to find my keys in my purse, I wasn't mad at Sonya for dragging me into a double date anymore. The movie was actually pretty good, and Puck behaved himself the entire night. I suspected Sonya had warned him I was in a terrible mood. It was the least she could do.

"What was Darren Mulley doing knocking on your apartment door a few hours ago?" Baxter asked, scaring me into dropping my keys.

Glancing over at him holding a basket of laundry while I stooped to pick up my keys, my lips twisted into a sneer. "Why do you care?"

"That man is a menace. He thinks any woman under the age of forty is just dying to jump into bed with him, and he won't back off until they do."

"Did you take a picture of him at my door?" I asked with false sweetness. "You could send that to Bernadette, too."

Baxter dropped his laundry basket next to his door and strode over to me. I jammed my key in the lock, intent on getting away from him, but he was right next to me before I could make an escape. "I'm serious, Eliza. Don't get involved with him."

I glared at him and said, "I'm so glad you hold me in such high esteem. If you think I would ever let someone like Darren..." I shivered just thinking about it. "Not that it's any of your business, but he's coming to fix the oven. I told him I'd be out tonight, but I guess he didn't believe me. I wouldn't have even gone to him for help, but Mrs. Osgood was trying to be helpful and asked him to fix it for me and I couldn't come up with enough excuses to get out of it."

Crossing my arms over my chest, I glared at him, daring him to offer up another piece of unwanted advice or criticism. "Are you happy now?"

"I was just offering a warning. Darren is the main reason Bernadette never got the oven fixed."

"Your warning about Darren is completely unneeded. The oven, that one would have been helpful, but thanks anyway."

I turned away and unlocked my door. I was halfway to peace and quiet when Baxter said, "I didn't get home until right as your smoke detector stopped beeping."

It took a moment for his words to sink in. By the time I turned around, he had already picked up his laundry and was closing his apartment door behind him. Sighing, I pushed into my apartment, locked the door, and went to bed.

***

"Don't hate me," Sonya said as soon as I answered her call.

Dreading the rest of the conversation, I still had to ask. "Why would I hate you?"

"I can't come over. Apartment one-twelve just had their water heater blow. The plumber I called walked me through getting the water shut off, but there's already so much water, it's seeping into the neighboring apartments. I can't leave."

"Of course I'm not mad. That is way more important," I said. "Do you need help?"

"No, it's okay. The residents are helping. Any more people in here and we'll be tripping over each other. I have a plumber and water damage crew on their way already," she said.

Honestly, it would have been a great way to get out of Darren fixing my oven, but I didn't want to get in her way. "Okay, but let me know if you need something."

"Thanks, Eliza. I better get going. Be careful around Darren," she said. "I've gotten more than one complaint about him."

"I'll be fine," I insisted.

After ending the call, I sat at my kitchen table pouting for a while before deciding to be a grown up. I spent the next hour scrubbing the kitchen from top to bottom. Given that it was rarely used by my sister for more than microwaving meals and leftovers, it wasn't nearly as big of a task as cleaning up at the end of the night at the diner usually was. I was putting away dishes when someone knocked. Looking at the clock, I frowned. He was half an hour early.

Might as well get it over with. I walked toward the door, putting up all my barriers. I hadn't even attempted looking nice. After cleaning the kitchen, I was sure I looked even less appealing than before. Add in the scowl I was sporting, and I hoped it would be enough to send a strong message. I pulled open the door and sighed.

"What are you doing here?"

"Sonya called and said you might need some backup, though why she didn't call this boyfriend you keep saying you don't have, I've got no idea," Baxter said.

"I don't have a boyfriend. Sonya only said that to Darren so he wouldn't get any ideas." I frowned, squaring my shoulders as I stared at him. "How'd you know about that anyway? You weren't at dinner last night."

"No, but Sonya's grandmother was and she's the worst gossip in this building. Told me all about your conversation from last night while I was trying to get my mail in peace this morning." He gestured for me to move out of the way, and stepped around me when I budged half an inch. He settled himself on my couch as if he owned the place.

"She thought your interest in Ms. Sinclair was endearing. So nice that you'd want to know about the history of this place and the people who lived here." He rolled his eyes. "Talking to her about your little investigation probably isn't wise if you don't want your interest getting back to whoever's been ghosting through this place killing people and breaking into apartments."

I cringed at the implications. I hadn't considered she might tell someone. There weren't many people I could talk to about what might have happened back then. She was pretty much it, and I'd been desperate for something I could use. I could only hope that if whoever wanted what Ms. Sinclair had been hiding heard about my questions, they'd take it as a sign I was trying to do what they'd asked.

Rubbing my forehead, I dropped onto the couch as well. Ms. Sinclair's apartment was close to being emptied out. We hadn't found a single thing that told us what was causing so much trouble or why anyone wanted it. The new tenants would move in on Saturday. Whoever grabbed me from the club would be back then, expecting me to hand over the key to this fifty-year-old mystery. I feared the secret had died with the most hated woman in the building, and I was going to pay for her mistakes.

"Who is Donny Marsh?" Baxter asked, no hint of anything other than curiosity in his voice, for once.

I looked up, not sure what would have spawned the question, and caught sight of all my research scattered on the coffee table. I really didn't want to talk to Baxter. I didn't know if he was being honest when he said he hadn't been home the day before to hear my alarm going off. But, as much as he infuriated me, he'd come to my aid too many times to think he'd really stand by and let me burn up in my apartment if he thought it was a possibility.

Giving up on figuring it out, I reached for the loose piece of paper I'd been scratching notes on the day before. Biggest among all the questions was Donny's name with a big question mark written next to it. "I don't know," I admitted. "He's connected to all the clippings we found in Ms. Sinclair's apartment, but I don't know how. He vanished in his early twenties, about the same time Ms. Sinclair moved into the building, before she argued with Bobby Porter about whatever it is the killer wants back."

Baxter's brows raised in surprise. "You've figured all that out?"

"It's hardly anything at all," I argued. "Pieces of the puzzle, but no clue what the final image is supposed to be. I can't make sense of it all."

"What have you been able to find out about Donny?"

I looked over at him, studying his expression. Was he really interested? Maybe he was just humoring me. Aside from suggesting the missing Mouser was still in the building somewhere, he hadn't shown even an ounce of interest in figuring out what was going on. He'd practically sprinted away from the discussion yesterday when Sonya asked him if he wanted to help. Now he was interested? Baxter was as big of a puzzle as Ms. Sinclair's murder.

"Very little," I said. "We found Census records of him as a child and young adult, and then nothing. I've tried internet searches and gotten nothing. I tried military service records, too, and didn't find anything. It may not be late enough since they only release info sixty-two years after discharge, and whatever happened to tie all these people together was about fifty years ago, judging by what Mrs. Osgood said."

"What about police records?" Baxter asked.

I looked over at him in surprise. "Can regular people look at police records? I thought those would be classified or something."

"You're not going to get access to active investigations, but you can request to review past cases." He frowned. "It can take a while, though. Requests have to be submitted in writing."

The hope I'd felt a few seconds ago crumbled. "I don't have that long."

"No," he said, "you don't." Looking over at me, his expression grew serious. "I have a friend who owes me a favor. Maybe he can look into this Donny guy and see if anything comes up. If something really did happen to him, there should be a police report about it. Do you have more info than just his name?"

"Yes," I said quickly. I shuffled through my notes and papers to find where I'd written down all his personal information. I shoved it at Baxter. "Will this be enough?"

He scanned the information and nodded. "If there's anything to find, this should be plenty."

I wanted to thank him, but I didn't know how to. It felt foreign, even though he'd helped me probably more than anyone else in this city since moving here. Baxter helping me usually inspired some kind of fight, and I hesitated saying anything for fear of setting one off again.

Another round of knocking made me jump. This time I was sure it was Darren, and my pulse jumped as well. I tried to remind myself that Baxter was here to keep an eye on him, but I never knew what Baxter was going to do in any given situation. Standing, I curled my fingers into fists and squeezed them before shaking out the nerves collected in my hands. When I opened the door, I was calm enough to put up a good front.

"Darren."

"Eliza," he drawled.

I looked down at the rectangular heating element in one hand and the tool box in the other. I'd worried he'd try to drag this out and show up to "look around" first. Glad he hadn't tried something like that, I pulled the door open wider. I could tell the moment Baxter sitting on my couch came into his view. His expression soured for a moment before morphing back into what he probably thought was a sexy smile.

"Show me the way," he said.

Yeah, like I was going to walk in front of him and let him stare at my ass. Not going to happen. Pointing at the kitchen, I said, "Right there." I waited until he walked past me before heading back to the couch, my eye on him the entire time.

Darren opened the oven door and dug around in his toolbox. "What's your blonde boyfriend think about you hanging out with Baxter, here?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but Baxter's helping me with something. My boyfriend isn't threatened by that." I thought I sounded like an idiot, but I was willing to let everyone in the building believe Puck and I were an item if it kept this letch away from me. Wait. How did he know Puck was blonde? Had he been watching for him to show up? I shivered at the thought. If I didn't die in the next week, I was going to have to do something about this sicko.

"Helping you, huh?" Darren said. He reached around the oven and unplugged it. "You sure seem to need an awful lot of help."

He had no idea.

"Just fix the oven," Baxter grumbled. "We don't need to play twenty questions while you work. We're in the middle of something."

Darren's falsely apologetic expression made me roll my eyes. He laughed. "Help with what, exactly?"

Baxter looked up from the notes he was reading and met Darren's slippery gaze with his hard-edged one. "Filing a sexual harassment suit."

Blinking in surprise, Darren didn't seem to know whether Baxter was joking or threatening him. He hesitated a moment before saying, "I thought you help illegals find loopholes to stay in the country."

Anger set Baxter's jaw and tightened his grip. "I'm an immigration lawyer, you jackass. I help people apply for citizenship, litigate deportation proceedings, or request asylum, but I'm more than capable of helping a young woman go after someone for unwanted sexual advances, as well."

"I was just asking," Darren said. Another second or two trying to stand up to Baxter's glare, and he gave in. His mouth shut and the only noises he made were involved in removing the broken heating element.

I was glad he was looking away when my shoulders slumped in relief. The last thing I wanted was to show Darren how much he intimidated me.

"Tell me what else you've found," Baxter said in a low voice Darren wouldn't overhear.

We spent the next half hour going over everything Sonya and I had learned. He gave me a disapproving look when I told him about Jake breaking into Lucas's phone to go through his texts and emails, but he got over his affront when I showed him the message about Ms. Sinclair thinking someone was trying to kill her. It all still seemed like a mess by the time I finished explaining, but Baxter took it all in with thoughtful patience.

"What did the Marsh's do for a living?" he asked. "The parents, not the children."

Unable to remember off the top of my head, I dug back through my notes to find the sheets I'd printed from the Census reports. Reading the old script was a challenge. It took me a few minutes to find the right answer box and read the looping letters. When I finally figured it out, I sat back against the couch in surprise. "They were jewelers."

"Not the same shop Ms. Sinclair worked at, though, right?"

"No, it wasn't. She worked at a shop in the neighborhood where she grew up in Battery Park, a few blocks away. It's still there, actually. I looked it up online, and the grandson runs it now." I looked at the address of the Marsh's jewelry store. "This was in SoHo, on Canal Street."

I quickly typed the address into a search and was disappointed when it popped up as a bodega. "It's gone."

Baxter leaned forward, then copied the address down on the corner of the paper I'd given him with Donny's information on it. "I'll see if my friend can look into this address, too. Maybe the business closing has something to do with Donny's disappearance."

I nodded, relieved to feel like there might actually be some answers to be had.

"Are any of Donny's siblings still alive?" Baxter asked.

"His youngest brother, but he lives in West Virginia now. I tried calling, but it was a rest home and they said he wasn't able to speak anymore because of a stroke."

"What about one of the grandchildren?"

I had the names of Donny's nieces and nephews from the Census records, but I hadn't had a chance to look any of them up yet. Without answering Baxter's question, I started typing in names and cross checking results with the information I already had. Neither of Janet's children lived in the area. Martin's only child had passed away a few years ago. The youngest sibling, Colton, had four children. The oldest lived in Northern California, one was in Ohio, one in Texas, and the youngest...still lived right here in Manhattan, in the East Village.

"Start with her," Baxter said, "Margaret Lenox."

"What do you think the chances are she'll know anything?" I asked.

Baxter shrugged. "If your uncle vanished one day out of the blue, wouldn't that be something you'd want to know about?"

"What if it's a family secret?"

"Family secrets tend to rise to the surface no matter how deep of a hole you dig to hide them," Baxter said. "She'll know something. Even if it's not much, it will give us something to look into."

Us? Did Baxter intend on continuing to help me, or was he only saying that because Darren was still puttering around inside the oven?

Before we could discuss a possible next step, Darren pulled his head out from inside the oven and stood. I watched as he plugged the power cord back in and flipped on the heating element. I may have flinched a little. Not only was Darren not licensed for this, I half expected him to screw it up so he could come back and fix it again. When the element began to glow a faint orange, he gestured at it grandly.

"Good as new," he said, clearly expecting applause or a grateful kiss on the mouth. He got neither.

"Thanks. Looks great," I said. I gestured at his tools still strewn around the kitchen. "I don't mean to rush you, but I have some homework for my cooking classes I need to do in here."

"I could stay and help with that, too, if you wanted," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

Sighing, I ignored him and walked back over to the couch. Baxter shook his head in disgust. At least we were on the same page on this one. When Darren moved to turn off the oven, I told him to leave it, that I needed the oven on for my imaginary homework. He shrugged and set about collecting his tools. It took way longer than necessary, and I just about shoved him out the door when he finally had everything in hand. As soon as I shut the door, Baxter moved to stand.

"I guess I should let you get to your homework," he said.

I snorted. "I totally made that up."

He gestured at the oven. "Why did you have him leave it on then?"

"Last time it didn't start smoking until it had been on for about twenty minutes," I explained. "I want to make sure it really works, but I did not want him sticking around that long."

"Ah," Baxter said. "Still, you'd probably prefer an empty apartment."

His hand was on the armrest, ready to push himself to standing, but he hesitated and I found I wasn't ready to be left alone quite yet. "Actually, would you mind staying? The oven might still explode, and I need to call Margaret. Maybe you could...wait?"

The muscles of his shoulders stayed bunched, then relaxed as he sat back down. "Sure."

I eyed the oven warily as I sat next to Baxter. It seemed innocent enough, but you could never quite tell. Putting the oven and the unwanted repairman out of my mind, I looked at the notepad where I'd written down Margaret's number. I wasn't entirely sure what to say to her, but I picked up my cell phone and started dialing.

She picked up after three rings. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Margaret Lenox?"

"Yes, this is Maggie," she said happily.

"Your dad is Colton Marsh, right?"

She was a little slower to reply. "Yes." She paused, then continued. "Who is this?"

"My name's Eliza Carlisle. I know this will sound weird, but I wanted to ask you about your uncle Donny, about his disappearance." I held my breath, begging her to hear me out and not hang up.

"Why?" she asked slowly. "Why would you want to know about a fifty-year-old disappearance? Are you a journalist?"

"No, I'm a culinary student." Why did I tell her that? Shaking my head, I tried again. "That doesn't have anything to do with anything. I'm calling because one of my neighbor's was murdered recently, and I know this is going to sound weird, too, but I think it's connected to your uncle's disappearance."

There was a long, long moment of silence. My hands were shaking as I waited for her to say something. "Look," she said, "I have to take my daughter to the airport in a few minutes. Is there another time we can talk? Maybe meet somewhere?"

Caught off guard by her offer, I stumbled over a response. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry to hold you up. Meeting would be great. Maybe...I work nights all week, but I guess...do you know where Saul's Diner is? You could come after the dinner rush and we could talk then."

"Saul's Diner," she said, sounding uncertain. "Text me the address. My evenings are booked until Wednesday, but I could meet you then. Will that work?"

"Yes, that would be great," I said, even though I would have crawled to the East Village if it meant I could have spoken with her earlier.

She hurriedly gave me her cell number before saying, "Great, I'll see you then. I really have to run now."

"Of course, thank you."

She ended the call and I fell back against the couch completely spent. It took more effort than it should have to text her the diner's address and the best time for her to show up. I thought I might just sit there for the rest of the day. I'd almost forgotten Baxter was sitting next to me until he spoke.

"I can be there on Wednesday if you're worried about meeting her alone."

I looked over at him, surprised, but not shocked. It was getting harder and harder to be shocked by him. I wasn't worried about meeting with this woman. She didn't seem to be hiding anything. In fact, there was a tone of eagerness in her voice to share what she knew. Maybe it was knowing someone cared about what had happened to her uncle when the rest of the world seemed to have forgotten him. Of all the decisions I'd made since moving here that might be deemed questionable, this was the least risky. That wasn't the answer I gave Baxter.

"I'd really appreciate that. Thanks, Baxter." He shrugged, like it didn't matter one way or another. I suspected it might have been curiosity more than concern that prompted the offer, but I was going to take it, either way. I didn't ask him to come purely for protection. He was smart, and saw things I didn't. If I wanted to survive the week, I needed his quick mind in my corner.

Standing, I turned to look at Baxter. "Since my oven is no longer trying to kill me, would you like some lunch?"

"More burnt chicken?" he asked, the corner of his mouth teasing at a smile.

Gotta love gossipy old women. "Toasted pastrami and Swiss," I said.

Baxter stood, but he didn't look directly at me. "You really don't need to."

"I want to," I said. "As a thank you for today, and all the other times, and because I feel like being nice."

"To me?" Baxter asked.

I widened my eyes purposely. "Shocking, right?" I smiled, and this time he returned it.

"Sure, I guess." He moved hesitantly toward the kitchen as if he were afraid of invading my space. "Do you need any help?"

Normally, I would have said no—not just to him, but to anyone—but the truth was, when he wasn't yelling at me about one thing or another, I actually kind of liked having him around. "The Swiss cheese is in the fridge."

He nodded and stepped in that direction. He grabbed out the package of deli cheese and the pastrami sitting on the top shelf. He set them on the counter and started unwrapping the packages without me asking. It was strangely comfortable to share the space with him.

19: Innocent Bystander

Two and a half days had never lasted so long. Bernadette had been traveling outside cell phone range the last two days. Sonya was still dealing with the water heater cleanup. Classes had been almost painfully boring as we covered topics I already had experience with. The detective that owed Baxter a favor was buried in other cases and hadn't been able to get back to him about Donny or the jewelry store, yet. Work, at least, was too busy most of the time to let me wallow.

By eight o'clock Wednesday evening, I was ready to explode. I'd come up empty trying to research more on my own and my deadline was looming closer by the minute. Literally. My one comfort, surprisingly enough, had been Baxter. He'd picked me up from work the last two nights completely on his own initiative. Maybe it was because he worried Bernadette would blame him if I got killed. I was pretty sure he didn't want me to die, either.

Peeking out through the order window, I spotted him sitting at a booth by the row of windows, munching on the Rueben I'd made him. Maggie was due to arrive any minute. Anxiety had me twisting my fingers around my apron strings. She said she was coming, but I was terrified she wouldn't show up. She had the answers I needed. Hopefully. She had to have answers. I was running out of time and options.

Gwen handed me a ticket, said something about the guy whose order she'd just taken, and disappeared again. I started in on the order, glancing through the window every few seconds as I worked. By the time I put the order up to be served, she still hadn't shown up. I caught Baxter's gaze and shrugged, trying not to give up hope. He shrugged back, but didn't look nearly as nervous as I felt.

The bell over the front door rang, and both our heads whipped to stare. I'd seen Maggie's Facebook profile picture, but it had been small and out of focus. I squinted at the woman Gwen had just approached, unsure if it was the right person. Even when she directed her to Baxter's booth, I was hesitant to believe it was her.

Gwen hustled over to the order window and said, "Hey, that lady's here. She said she wanted to talk to you about her uncle."

My held breath whooshed out of me. I untied my apron strings and nearly tangled myself up trying to get it off with shaky fingers. "Grab me if another order comes in, okay?"

Gwen nodded and shooed me toward the door. I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants as I approached the table. Baxter saw me first and nodded, gesturing for me to hurry up. Maggie turned, seeing me for the first time. Surprise made her sit up a little taller. She watched me as I walked up and sat next to Baxter.

"I thought you'd be older," she said. She laughed and extended her hand. "I'm Maggie. Baxter already introduced himself, so I guess that means you're Eliza."

I nodded. "Thanks for coming."

"Well," she said, "it's not often someone asks me about my uncle, and even less frequent someone thinks they have information about what happened to him. I felt I had to at least hear you out."

"Well, we really appreciate it. We're out of ideas and hoping you can shed some light on a few things."

Maggie nodded. "Tell me about this neighbor of yours, the one you think is connected to my uncle."

I wanted to dive into my questions, but I told myself to be patient. If she was going to divulge difficult family history to two strangers, she wanted to be sure it was worth digging up what were probably painful memories. I could understand that all too well. I wasn't sure how long I'd have before another customer came in, so I gave her the most basic rundown of everything that had happened and stared at her expectantly.

The frown on her face wasn't terribly encouraging. Sighing, she sat back in her seat. "I've never heard of any of those people." The disappointment was clear in her voice. "Except for my aunt and uncle, of course. I can't imagine why this Sinclair woman would have newspaper clippings about them, though. I never heard my dad mention that name."

My hopes were taking a nosedive, but Baxter placed a steadying hand on my knee and squeezed it lightly. His gaze stayed on Maggie, though. "Why don't you tell us about your uncle? Maybe hearing his story will fill in some blanks for us."

Maggie shrugged, but launched into what she'd come to tell us. "When you called, you asked about Uncle Donny's disappearance," she began, "but he was only missing for about a week."

Shocked, I couldn't keep quiet. "But, there's no record of him anywhere after he went missing. Nothing."

Smiling sadly, Maggie said, "That's because by the time he was identified, no one cared about some nobody jeweler's son. It didn't even make it into the papers, though the initial incident sure stirred up trouble."

"Initial incident?" Baxter asked.

"Late on New Year's Eve, 1967, a car full of young people, most likely drunk, went on a joyride through the city. Their joyride included handguns they were firing into the air to celebrate the new year. From what the newspaper report said, several witnesses in the apartments above the Canal Street shops heard the gunshots and looked out the windows to see the car," she said. "The car looked like it hit some kind of pothole, and one of the people in the car who'd been firing the gun fell forward and shot the gun in front of the car instead of up in the air.

"They didn't seem to realize they'd shot someone until the car lurched again and started dragging something. When the car stopped, the people piled out and dragged a body out from under the car. A woman watching from a second story apartment called the police and later told them it looked like the people from the car tried to help the man, but the police decided they hadn't tried to save him since there weren't any signs of first aid and they drove off before the police got there."

I was silent for a moment as her story sank in. I was shocked a group of people would do something as reckless as riding through city streets firing weapons, and appalled that when they hurt someone, they left him there to die. Could this group have possibly been Ms. Sinclair and the friends she grew up with? Was this what turned her into a bitter and angry old woman who found fault with everyone in an attempt to bury her own misdeeds?

"The man they killed, it was Donny?" Baxter asked. When Maggie nodded, he frowned. "Why wasn't his name in the newspaper report? We couldn't find anything about him."

Sadness spread across Maggie's features, making her look older than her forty-one years. "When the police first made it to the scene, several blocks from my grandparents' jewelry store, Donny was unrecognizable. After being dragged beneath the car, no one knew who he was. The report mentioned a John Doe, and asked anyone who'd witnessed something or might know who the man was to step forward. It took a week of checking hospitals, and then finally morgues, for my grandparents to find him, and only then could they identify him based on several birthmarks on his right arm. By then, no one cared who the John Doe was and my grandparents were so grieved, an obituary in the paper was overlooked."

"What was Donny doing on Canal Street that night? I can't imagine the jewelry store was open that late," I said.

Maggie shook her head. "No, it wasn't. But Donny had been working on a special order. It was supposed to be delivered that night, but it was very complex and it took Donny longer than expected to finish it. He was on his way to deliver it when he was killed."

Cold swept through my body and I felt Baxter tense beside me. "What had he been making?"

"A diamond engagement ring for a very wealthy family," Maggie said. Putting her elbow on the table, she rubbed her forehead, then propped her head on her hand. "The diamond was a family heirloom, I think, worth a fortune. The son was planning to propose to his girlfriend the next day, but the setting was outdated. He wanted something more extravagant. My grandfather was by no means a wealthy man, but he had a reputation as being one of the best jewelers in the city, and Donny was just as talented. I don't know how an Upper East Side family heard about him, but they brought him the diamond and commissioned the new setting."

I had wondered why the jewelry store had closed down. Now, I feared I knew the answer. I asked Maggie anyway. "The ring, Donny had it with him when he left the store, but..."

"It was gone by the time the police arrived," she confirmed. Shaking her head, she blinked to hold back tears. "Not only did my grandparents lose their son, the ring being stolen ruined them financially. The family who'd commissioned the setting held them responsible. They lost everything."

"That's horrible," I whispered, unable to imagine that kind of loss one after another.

Wiping away a tear, she said, "People can be cruel, but you try to move on as best you can."

"Did your grandparents?" Baxter asked.

Maggie smiled, but it was lined by grief. "They tried, but my grandfather could never get the financial capital he needed to rebuild his business. They both died when I was very young, broken and penniless. My aunt Janet held the family together as best she could and worked two or three jobs at a time to help my dad and uncle pay for college so they could have a better life."

"She sounds like an amazing lady," I said.

Nodding, Maggie said, "She was." Her shoulders sagged, emotional exhaustion pulling them down after digging up such heartache. I didn't want to keep her any longer, and was about to thank her for her time so she could leave, but Maggie had a question for us.

"These people you mentioned," she said, "do you think they were the ones in the car that night?"

Baxter and I looked at each other. I knew we were both thinking the same thing, a resounding yes, but while I was only playing at amateur sleuth to avoid ending up in the obituaries myself, Baxter was a lawyer. His expression changed as he chose his words carefully.

"There's no way we can prove any of our theories, and they're only that, theories," he said, "but knowing everything we do, I think it's a possibility."

Maggie nodded. "It doesn't matter much now, I suppose, but I think it might give my father some comfort to finally put his brother's death to rest."

I smiled and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. I hoped we could do that one small thing for her family. I knew what having resolution could mean to a person. Not having it weighed on you constantly. I was still seeking it myself, and feared I would never find it.

Maggie left soon after that, less burdened and hopeful. I hoped we wouldn't disappoint her. Another diner walked in behind her and I sighed, knowing I needed to get back to the kitchen. I shifted to slide out of the booth, but Baxter grabbed my arm.

"Despite what I said to Maggie, I'm positive Ms. Sinclair and her friends are responsible for Donny's death," he said. "If she had that ring somewhere, and someone wants it back, none of the rest of this matters. Finding that ring is the only thing that's going to keep you alive."

It wasn't news. I'd figured that out the second she mentioned the ring and I realized it was almost definitely what the killer wanted. Hearing it spoken out loud, though, it stole my breath. "We've gone through her entire apartment," I whispered. "It's not there."

"No documents about a safety deposit box or storage facility?" he asked. I shook my head. Baxter ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slowly. He'd been helping Sonya sort out Ms. Sinclair's will, so he already knew there was no mention of it there. I was out of ideas, and his silence said he was too.

I had pinned so much of my hopes on this meeting, on Maggie having all the answers I needed. My breathing hitched as the truth set in. Baxter was right. None of it mattered without the ring. If I couldn't find it, I was going to die. I was going to be killed for something I had nothing to do with, for being an innocent bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like Donny.

20: A Reputation

I checked my texts as soon as class let out for lunch. We'd moved out of talking about how disgusting a poorly cleaned kitchen could be and the illnesses that could cause, but I still didn't have much of an appetite. Sean was packing up beside me. We'd eat lunch together, like we always did, but we wouldn't talk about Ms. Sinclair or the deadline. He didn't bring it up and neither did I.

"I need to run by the advising office before lunch. Meet you in the café?" he said as he shouldered his bag.

I nodded. "Sure. See you in a bit." He took off and I felt bad that I was relieved to see him go. I just wanted to sit by myself for a few minutes.

Sonya had frantically been searching Ms. Sinclair's belongings a second time all week. Everything that hadn't already been trashed was scheduled to be picked up by various charities by the end of the week. The apartment itself was empty, a professional cleaning crew scrubbing it down, replacing bloodstained carpet, and repainting the walls. Sonya had even called the phone number Lucas left with her when he moved out and arranged to look through his belongings, but that had yielded nothing useful either.

It was Thursday, and I was out of options.

Dragging myself out of the classroom, I only looked up to avoid being run over. I certainly wasn't expecting to find Officer Williams waiting for me. I reached for the wall behind me, flattening myself against it as I stared at him. He looked like he always did when in uniform, perfectly pressed and presentable. Much better than he had the morning he accosted me. His eyes were clear and focused this time.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Checking up on you." He stepped closer.

"On me? Why?"

"Well, you do tend to attract trouble. Seemed like a logical place to start."

"Start what?" I demanded.

He smirked, and took another step. "Start looking into why someone thinks you might be involved in Ms. Sinclair's murder."

"I'm not involved," I snapped.

"Then why did someone assault you and demand you get whatever it was that old bat was hiding before this weekend?" he asked. His voice was perfectly even, but the edge hiding behind his polite tone made me want to run.

Did nobody see this? I couldn't possibly be the only person in the hall. I was clearly scared of this guy. Would no one step up and make sure I was okay? Taking a deep breath, I told myself to stop waiting for someone to save me and do something about it myself. Easier said than done. Even still, I took a deep breath and did my best to look like I wasn't shaking in my Converse.

"How did you even hear about that? It didn't happen in your precinct."

"A friend," he said. "He knew I'd run into you on the Sinclair case and gave me a heads up."

I couldn't remember the names of the cops who'd taken my statement that night. I still had their cards, though. I was seriously considering giving them a call and telling them to mind their own damn business. "How nice for you," I said, not even trying to pretend my smile was real. "Did your friend also tell you how I explained to him I had absolutely zero connection to Ms. Sinclair and had no clue what the killer wanted from her?"

"He did," Officer Williams said, "but I don't think I believe you anymore, not when you're snooping around into things better left to the police. A pretty little girl like you could get hurt digging into things too big for her."

Hitting a cop would be a bad thing to do. I repeated that to myself a few times before I was able to speak without spitting in his face. "What exactly do you think I've been snooping into?"

"Your lawyer friend requesting access to police files, Sonya calling up the dead kid's old roommates to look through his things, you poking around in the old lady's belongings, trying to find what the killer wanted, what he killed her for."

"Baxter is a lawyer. He looks at police files all the time. Nothing to do with me. And Sonya only asked to look through Lucas's things to make sure there weren't any other relatives she didn't know about before Ms. Sinclair's stuff is picked up by charity tomorrow. I was helping her clean. I don't care what she was hiding. So where's the big mystery, Officer Williams? Are you so bored you have to invent new ones? Why not solve the one you've already got?" I asked.

His hand snapped to the wall next to my head and I couldn't control the gasp that escaped my lips. "I've done everything I was supposed to on the Sinclair case. The detectives are handling the rest of the investigation. They'll catch her murderer, or they won't. They're more concerned with that than finding the mystery item the killer is so interested in. Misguided if you ask me, but they didn't, so it's their problem. Talk to them if you're unhappy about their progress."

"Maybe I'll do that." I tried to slide away from him, but his other hand came up to stop me.

He leaned in so his breath was hot on my cheek as he spoke. "Two more days, Eliza. That's the deadline your attacker gave you, wasn't it? Two more days, and then who knows what will happen. Maybe if you tell me what you and your friends have discovered, I could help you."

While I doubted he could help me for more than one reason, I decided pointing out his shortcomings wouldn't make this go any better. So I kept up my lie. "If I knew anything helpful, I'd be more than happy to turn it over to qualified police personnel."

Okay, maybe I let a little spite slip through.

Officer Williams' jaw clenched. "I am trying to help you, but you're—"

"Is there a problem here?" Sean demanded, his voice commanding enough to draw the good officer's attention.

Eyeing me the entire time, Officer Williams pulled his hands away from the wall and held them out in a pacifying gesture. "Not at all."

"Really," Sean said dryly, "because that didn't look like a friendly conversation. It looked suspiciously like intimidating a witness."

Officer Williams bristled, but kept a smirk on his face. "Well, she's a hostile witness."

"I'm pretty sure that only applies to a witness on the stand, not women you decide to attack in a hallway, twice." Sean squared up. He was several inches shorter than the cop, but he didn't let that intimidate him like I had. "Leave, or I'll insist Eliza report you this time. I'm sure your superiors would be very interested to know how you showed up at her place, hungover and out of uniform, and proceeded to shove her into a wall. I'm pretty sure her lawyer took pictures of the bruises you left her with and he'd be more than happy to open a lawsuit against your department."

That was a big threat, one carrying dire enough consequences that Officer Williams folded. He backed off, glaring at Sean as he moved. "I'm here trying to keep your friend alive and you're the one threatening me. If you don't want my help, fine. I'll go." He turned to look at me and sneered. "Good luck on your own, Eliza. You have my card if you change your mind and want to tell me what you've found."

Then he walked away. We watched him go until the swinging doors swished closed behind him. Stepping over to me, Sean put his arm around my shoulder to help calm me back down. "What was he doing here?"

"Trying to get me to tell him what I know. He's desperate, Sean, and not because he wants to close a case."

Sean shook his head. "That guy's dirty. I don't know how he's involved in all of this, but he sure seems to want whatever it is your neighbor was hiding just as much as the killer does."

Either because he was hungry, or because he was trying to distract me, Sean began pushing me toward the café. I was happy to let him, until his words sunk in and I tripped over my own feet. Sean caught me, and when I said I was fine, kept leading me toward food. He didn't know the killer wanted a ridiculously expensive diamond. I didn't share that with him, and I didn't tell him my newest suspicion either. I waited until we were sitting at our usual table and Sean was talking about the day's lecture that I slipped my phone out of my bag and held it under the table.

A text was already waiting when I turned the screen on. I clicked the message from Baxter and read what he had to say.

Still nothing from my friend, but he said he should have some info by tonight. You doing okay?

I wanted to tell him that was a stupid question, but I didn't.

Fine other than a visit from Officer Williams.

What? Baxter demanded. What is that asshole doing anywhere near you?

I kind of enjoyed Baxter's temper when it wasn't directed at me. Reminding me of my deadline and wanting to know what I've found. Thing is, I think he already knows. He's in on this. He doesn't care who killed Ms. Sinclair, only about finding what she left. He never said the word diamond, but I think he knows.

It took almost a minute before Baxter replied. What makes you say that?

Everything he asked me about, it was to find the ring, not the killer. He brought up the deadline twice before Sean scared him off.

Sean? Baxter asked. I could practically hear the incredulity ping off his text.

I nodded to what Sean was saying, adding in my agreement that I thought Chef Lauren had gone a little heavy on the cayenne pepper in the dressing we'd made the previous day. Turning my attention back to my phone, I texted back quickly. He's not as bad as you assume.

Not wanting to start an argument, I hurried to get things back on topic. We have to find out how Williams knows about the diamond. It could be important.

I agree, Baxter replied. I'll ask Gordy if he knows anything about Williams. Guys like him usually have a reputation.

Thanks, Baxter.

Yeah. Be careful today. See you later.

That was the end of the conversation. I tried to turn my attention back to Sean and listen in earnest. I came close, but Officer Williams' comments and threat kept distracting me. It didn't make sense. Nobody even made the connection between Ms. Sinclair's crowd and Donny's murder before Baxter put our investigation on the right path. The only people who knew about the ring disappearing were Donny's family and the police. And whoever the well-to-do family was who had commissioned the setting, I supposed, but Maggie hadn't known who that was.

Sure the diamond was worth a whole lot, but who would kill an old woman fifty years after the fact when they still didn't know where the diamond had ended up? The whole thing was a confusing mess. If the killer was so intent on reclaiming the lost diamond, why kill Ms. Sinclair before she gave up her secrets? Then I remembered my conversation with Officer Williams about Lucas's death. I had suggested then that the killer had either beaten him up for information and taken it too far, or purposely finished him off when he realized the poor kid didn't know anything. Had the same thing happened to Ms. Sinclair, or had the killer expected Lucas to have the answers, or the diamond, and had simply done away with her?

What did that mean for me?

21: Because Everyone Else is Dead

I waved goodbye to Gwen and followed Baxter out to his car. As soon as we were both seated, he asked, "Did you tell your friend to ask me out?"

I laughed. "What?" He eyed me skeptically. "Did she really ask you out?" I had wondered why he'd been watching Gwen like she might bite him.

"Did you tell her to?"

"Yeah, but I was joking."

He started the car and began backing out. "Joking about her asking me out?" He shook his head.

"It wasn't exactly like that," I said, enjoying his discomfort more than I should. "The first time you picked me up from work, she mentioned how attractive you were and asked why I was going out with Sean when I had you willing to pick me up. I said if she thought you were such a catch, she should have at it and ask you out, since I wasn't interested. I didn't think she'd actually do it."

"And why did you tell her you weren't interested?" Baxter asked, one eyebrow raised.

Laughing again, I pressed a finger to my lips. "I believe my exact words were, 'Baxter is the worst.'" I grinned at him. "I didn't like you very much back then, but I'm pretty sure the feeling was mutual."

"And what," he scoffed, "you like me now?"

"Most of the time," I said, relishing this lighthearted moment. It felt like forever since I'd smiled or laughed.

Baxter shook his head. "Well, that feeling's mutual, too."

I pressed my hand to my chest and stared at him openmouthed and wide-eyed. "Did you just say you liked me, sometimes? I'm shocked. Truly shocked."

"Shut up," he grumbled.

"So what did you say?" I asked. "Are you going to go out with Gwen?"

He scowled at me. "No."

"Why not? She's really nice."

"Between work and keeping you alive, my plate is full." The smirk in his voice mellowed the bite that had been there when he'd mentioned having to save me a few days ago. Maybe I was growing on him.

Chuckling at his response, I let myself sink back into the seat. I closed my eyes and listened to the music playing. Baxter always played the same type of music. Classical. At first, I thought that odd, given his volatile temperament, but I figured it must help him relax, and I wasn't about to knock it. Personally, I loved it. I had absolutely no musical talent whatsoever, but Bernadette did, of course. She'd played the piano since she was seven, and took up the viola in middle school. I grew up to sounds of Chopin and Haydn. The music soothed me as we drove.

Yes, I was putting off the conversation I knew we needed to have about what Baxter's cop friend had found, but I didn't want to have it just yet. I wanted to pretend for a few more minutes that I was a normal girl getting a ride home from a friend, and that when we reached our destination it would be a casual goodnight, one of many to come. I didn't want to think that the next day was Friday.

The guy who grabbed me from the club hadn't been super specific about whether his deadline was up the day the new tenants moved into Ms. Sinclair's old apartment, or when her stuff was carted off. The charities collecting the old furniture that hadn't been ruined were coming the next day, but the new family wasn't supposed to arrive until late Saturday night to get the keys and wouldn't actually move in until Sunday morning. I tried not to think about it as Baxter parked and we got out.

Not thinking about it got a lot harder when Baxter unlocked the main door and we stepped into the lobby to see all of Ms. Sinclair's old belongings piled up according to which charity was hauling it away. I turned away quickly and headed for the stairs with Baxter close behind. I had my keys out by the time we reached the landing, and they jingled with every step I took. I was shaking so badly by the time I reached my door, Baxter had to take the keys from my hand.

As soon as he pushed the door open, I slipped past him and curled up on the couch. He'd been in my apartment enough that week that he didn't ask my permission before coming in and locking the deadbolt behind him. We'd come to some sort of unspoken truce until this was all over. Maybe we would have a chance at actually being friends if I survived the next few days, but not dying was looking more and more unlikely as time went by.

If Baxter had gotten good news from his friend, he wouldn't have waited until he was sitting next to me on the couch to lay it all out. The information we'd gotten from Maggie had made Gordy's job much easier in locating Donny's case, but that didn't mean the information we needed was there to be found.

"Go ahead and tell me," I said.

Baxter hesitated, then leaned back into the couch. "The only thing he could tell me about the diamond was that it was reported as stolen by the Marquis family, that it was an eight carat round diamond that, while not an heirloom per se, would be worth about ten million dollars in today's money. It was never found and the Marquis family eventually got reimbursed by their insurance, but still sued the Marsh family and bankrupted them."

"Wow," I said, amazed what some people were willing to pay for a sparkly rock, and how easily they could ruin a family over a material possession that made very little difference to them in the overall scheme of things.

"They never did have any suspects in Donny's murder, either," Baxter said. "Even with witnesses, it was dark, everyone had on big coats, and the car took off before anyone could get down to street level. He couldn't confirm our theory, but he agreed we'd probably stumbled onto the truth of what happened. He tried asking around about a diamond that size being fenced or cut down, but he didn't find anything."

Baxter moved forward on the couch and rested his head against the top of the cushion. "He's still looking into the other names from the obituaries to make sure nothing comes up as suspicious, but he might not be able to get through them in time."

I had already figured that would be the case. Looking into deaths halfway across the country or even in neighboring states wasn't as simple as just pulling them up online. Baxter had explained that every precinct had different internal systems, so requests had to be made and processed. It could take months just to get the files on each person.

"Did he have anything to say about Williams?" I asked.

Baxter sat back up, fire in his eyes. "Oh, he had plenty of things to say about Officer Blake Williams." He shook his head, but it didn't dislodge his anger. "They aren't even in the same precinct and he knows what kind of cop Williams is. Apparently, there's good reason he's still a beat cop even though he's been in law enforcement almost fifteen years. His disciplinary record reads like a rap sheet."

"And he's still on the police force?" I asked.

Shaking his head, he fell back against the couch. "He's only been in Manhattan for two years and barely made it past his first year probation. Gordy wasn't sure where all he'd been besides New York, but it sounded like he'd bounced around quite a bit. As far as Gordy could tell, there wasn't any reason he'd be connected to Donny's murder, but he hadn't had much time to look into it. He said he'd ask around and get back to me after I told him about Williams grabbing you and showing up outside your class. From what he said, Williams' involvement in the case should have ended the moment the detectives showed up and took over. His showing up as much as he has seems to be from a more personal interest."

"So," I asked, "he might not be involved in this like I thought? Maybe he just saw an opportunity to cash in on whatever he assumes Ms. Sinclair was hiding and thinks he'll be able to grab the loot and take off with it."

"Maybe," Baxter said slowly, "but I still think he's too invested in this case for it to be opportunity alone."

I didn't want to admit it, but I suspected Baxter was right. Williams being an opportunist would be about the best thing I could hope for at this point. Not that it would really matter, I supposed. I still had the killer to worry about.

"Will you tell Gordy thanks for me?" I asked Baxter.

He nodded slowly. We both knew my request wasn't just because I didn't know his friend and probably wouldn't run into him any time soon.

"Do you think...if I don't find the diamond in time," I asked, "would Gordy talk to the detectives in charge of Ms. Sinclair's case and find out who...did it?"

Baxter's arm slipped around my shoulders, surprising me so much I didn't resist when he pulled me closer. "We're going to find it, so don't talk like that."

"But, what if...?"

"Gordy already sent a heads up to Detectives Hollister and Springer about everything you've found and about Williams," Baxter said. "They're going to find the killer, Eliza."

"In time?" I asked.

He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled me in a little closer like Bernadette used to do when we were little...and after Ben died. It had been a long time since someone put their arm around my shoulder like that. Maybe Bernadette had left me here, but she hadn't left me alone. Baxter and I would have many more fights. I was sure of that. His temper, my knack for trouble, and our vastly differing views on my dating habits, would never let us escape that. In between, we could have moments like these, and right now that was enough.

"If you had a ten million dollar diamond, where would you keep it?" I asked Baxter, yawning after the last word.

"I wouldn't," he said. "I'd sell it. Keeping it would be stupid."

"But they couldn't sell it without being caught. I don't think they could even have had it cut down without someone taking notice, and it would seriously devalue it if they did."

"Then why take it?"

I yawned again. "I don't know. Maybe one of them took it without considering the consequences. The witnesses said they were drunk. It was a big shiny ring." I shrugged the shoulder that wasn't squashed against Baxter. "Maybe Ms. Sinclair thought she could use her job to sell it or change it somehow. I doubt they were thinking very hard after shooting and running a guy down in the middle of the night."

Baxter shook his head. "I don't know, Eliza. A normal person would have put it in a safety deposit box or found some way to get rid of it. That psychotic old woman was miles away from normal. There's no telling what she did with it. I mean, she trained her monstrous cat to watch her apartment and attack people who got too close, and went up to the roof in the middle of the night with a pair of binoculars."

"How do you know she went up on the roof at night?" I asked.

"I used to go up there to get away. One night I found her up there spying on the neighboring buildings. She screamed at me for interrupting her and I haven't been up there since." Baxter rubbed his hand across his eyes as he yawned. "There's no telling what she did with the diamond. We don't even know for sure she was the one who had it."

My eyes were half closed, and I struggled to stay focused. "She had it. That I'm sure of."

"Why?" Baxter asked.

"Because everyone else is dead."

The room got quiet and my eyes closed a little more. "Will you stay?" I asked Baxter over another yawn.

Instead of answering, his arm tightened and my head fell against his chest. Bernadette's couch really was uncomfortable, but I didn't complain. It might have been a few minutes or a long time later when I felt Baxter shift. Suddenly, I was in his arms, lights turning off as he carried me to my bedroom. I was on my way to a deep sleep when he laid me down and pulled the blanket over my body, but I smiled when I felt his weight settle in beside me.

22: A New List

I couldn't focus on my classes. More than once, I had to ask Sean to repeat what Chef Harper had said and copy the notes he'd taken on the recipe steps. Baxter had told me to call in sick, get Saul to cover for me at the diner that night, too. He'd been plenty annoyed when I refused. He didn't like my argument that I would go crazy hiding out in my apartment all day. Sonya had work to do and couldn't babysit me, and Baxter was supposed to be in court all day.

I knew he was right that I was opening myself up to the killer grabbing me on my way to and from school, or between classes, but the apartment building wasn't exactly a fortress, either. Look at what had already happened there. I needed to stay busy, distract myself, and not screw up my chances of graduating culinary school just in case I didn't die before Monday. Baxter had left me at the subway entrance shaking his head and grumbling about stupid decisions and risky behavior.

"You're using the wrong knife," Sean whispered from the station next to me. I looked down at my hands and stared at the paring knife, trying to remember what I was supposed to be doing. Sean gestured at the array of knives I had laid out. "Boning knife for removing gristle, remember?"

I knew that. I knew that way before starting this class. My mind was not on knife skills this morning. I quickly switched knives and forced myself to focus on trimming all traces of fat, gristle, and sinew from the steak I'd been given. When Chef Harper walked by my station and saw the paring knife lying out of place with remnants of fat on the blade, he frowned. I looked back down at my steak and kept working.

Lunch was a reprieve. I practically ran out of the classroom, just to escape my instructor's critical eye and take a deep breath. Sean was slower to follow and I told him I'd meet him in the café. I needed a few minutes to talk to Baxter, anyway. I waited through five rings, hoping he wasn't stuck in court still.

"Eliza," he grumbled when he finally picked up.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

He huffed. "Long morning."

"Tell me about it." I sighed, sympathizing, even if his day was going lousy for completely different reasons. I slipped into a seat at my usual table and dropped my backpack next to my chair.

Baxter let out a long breath. "Any sign of...anything?"

"No." I let my head fall into my upturned hand. "Have you heard from Gordy?"

"Hold on," Baxter said. "He sent me an email while I was in court, but I just got out and haven't had a chance to read it yet. Let me bring it up."

I waited, and waited. I couldn't imagine why bringing up an email on his phone was taking so long, but I reminded myself not to bite the hand that was helping me. He probably had his hands full with all the papers and documents he'd carried out of the building that morning. Sean was walking into the café before Baxter came back on the line.

"Looks like he wasn't able to find anything useful about the diamond or Donny, but he did get a look at Williams' service record. I don't know if it helps, but I have a list of dates and places he's worked since joining the State Police in Texas. I'll forward you the email."

I wasn't sure it would be helpful either, not to me anyway, but I appreciated the information. "Thanks, Baxter." Maybe it would help Hollister and Springer figure out if Officer Williams had been up to any other shady deeds previous to Ms. Sinclair's murder. Getting him in trouble for harassing people would be a nice bonus.

"Also," Baxter said, "Detective Hollister has someone watching the building and the culinary school. They're keeping an eye out for Williams, since it's his day off today, and anyone else who looks threatening. Gordy said they agreed to have someone tail you all weekend. They're taking this seriously, Eliza."

I sighed, and tried not to sound too ungrateful. "Well, it's about time, I guess." Didn't exactly nail that. Oh well. "Thanks for all your help, Baxter. I do feel a little better knowing the police are watching out for me today."

"So do I." He was quiet for a few seconds, then asked, "Have you talked to Bernadette?"

My breathing hitched as soon as he said her name. "No. She's still out of cell range. Her editor said she wouldn't be back until Monday."

He sighed, sounding defeated, but tried to cover it up by saying, "Well, you'll talk to her Monday then."

"She told me not to get involved."

Sean, who was clearly listening to my conversation as he sat down and tore into his lunch, nodded and pointed at himself. Yeah, he told me not to get involved, too. I didn't mean to, not really. It wasn't until I realized my own life was in danger that I had to dive into all of this. I was just trying to get through my first few weeks in a big city before that.

"Bernadette just wants you to be safe. She'll be glad you're okay," Baxter said.

If I was okay.

"Eliza, I'm sorry, but I have to go. My co-counsel needs to talk to me before we go back into court this afternoon. I'll call you when I get out."

"Okay."

I felt bad as we said our goodbyes and ended the call. Baxter should have been focused on his case, but he was worried about me getting killed and Bernadette hating him for not protecting me, even though it was extremely unfair of her to ask something like that of him. I wasn't his problem. Or, I shouldn't have been. She made me his problem, and even though he was doing his best to help me now, I couldn't trick myself into believing he didn't harbor some anger at me and her for how this all turned out.

Hunger was the last thing on my mind, but I unwrapped by PB&J sandwich and chewed it without much thought. I was halfway through it before my phone buzzed and a new email notification popped up. I tapped it and read the report on Officer Williams. It was appalling to read the things he'd been cited for, yet still allowed to remain in law enforcement. Most of the allegations had never been proven, thanks to witnesses backing out, but I had no doubt he was guilty of every single one of them. Brutality, harassment, intimidation, planting evidence, punching his partner, problems with authority, he ran the gamut. Why new agencies kept hiring him, I had no idea. They couldn't be that desperate for new cops.

It sounded like Officer Williams had a way of weaseling out of trouble and into new jobs. It was sickening. I moved down the details Gordy had sent to Baxter, skimming the places Williams had previously worked. He started out in Texas, where he was raised, did a four year stint in the military where he was stationed in Europe most of his tour, went back to Texas for a few more years, then moved on to Pennsylvania until he was accused of tampering with evidence. After that was Southern California, then to Manhattan to spend his time harassing me and whoever else crossed his path.

All the report really told me was that Officer Williams was a lousy cop who'd left a trail of misdeeds across the country. Sighing, I tossed my phone aside and went back to eating. Our lunch hour would be up soon and I had a skills test in my cold kitchen class after lunch. I shook my head, not feeling particularly good about how well I'd perform. I spent the rest of the hour letting Sean quiz me, getting half the answers wrong even though I had taken impeccable notes and studied all week.

Once back in class, I silently chanted information I would need for the skills test in my head. Everything I needed to know was in my brain somewhere, I just had to force it through the case information squeezing everything else out. Instead of reminding myself that I needed to chiffonade my cilantro and not leave it whole, the list of places from Officer Williams' service record kept running through my mind.

Texas, Europe, Texas, Pennsylvania, SoCal, New York. Texas, Europe, Texas, Pennsylvania, SoCal, New York. Texas, Europe, Texas, Pennsylvania, SoCal, New York.

It was oddly helpful, focusing my mind and reducing the anxiety I felt about the test. When Chef Lauren came by my station and asked me to begin my prep work for the recipe being used for the skills test, my hands started moving even though my thoughts weren't on positioning my fingers on the knife or making uniform cuts.

I was surprised when Chef Lauren said, "Nice work, Eliza. Thank you."

I blinked several times, then looked down at my completed salad. "Thanks," I said before stepping back. Sean gave me a curious look, but I just shrugged. Chef Lauren moved on to the next student, leaving me to go back to the litany of places I couldn't seem to get out of my head.

Texas, Europe, Texas, Pennsylvania, SoCal, New York.

It was still running through my head when I left the building and walked the few blocks to Saul's, an unmarked police car shadowing me the whole way. They parked in one of the spaces in the tiny side parking lot and got out. Seeing the two uniformed men approaching the diner behind me made my body tense, fearing they had bad news.

They gave me a nod as they came in and caught my gaze, then allowed Linnea to seat them. Breathing a sigh of relief, I hurried back to the kitchen and threw my apron on. Saul smiled when he saw me. "How'd your test go today?"

"Great, actually." I was still a little surprised by that, but I wasn't going to complain.

"Glad to hear it," Saul said. "I'm going to be leaving in about half an hour. You going to be okay getting through the dinner rush without me?"

"Sure," I said, though my heartbeat had jumped a few notches.

It wasn't the first time he'd left me alone during the rush. It was insane trying to keep up with everything on my own, but I made it through each time. Tonight would be no different, but the speed wasn't what worried me. Even with the cops watching the place, I would have felt a lot better with Saul there. He was a big guy. Yes, some of that was from eating at his diner a few too many times a week, but he looked like the kind of guy who could handle himself. After the rush, when it was just me and Gwen...I had zero faith we'd be able to fight off someone intent on killing me.

Saul still knew nothing about the murders or threats, though, so I smiled and reassured him I'd be fine on my own. After that, the orders started coming in and I didn't have time to think about what might happen. Halfway through the dinner rush, Gwen arrived and slipped up to the order window without a ticket to hand over. She gestured for me to join her.

When I got to the window, she whispered, "The cops are leaving, but they said someone will be watching the diner until we close."

I looked up and saw them on their way out. One of the pair, a young guy with brown hair, nodded in my direction before following his partner out into the evening. I told myself to take a deep breath and relax. It kind of worked. I went back to flipping burgers and cutting vegetables, hoping the rush would last all night so I wouldn't have time to think about anything. Unfortunately, the influx of orders slowed around nine and I was left with too many thoughts swimming around in my head.

"What do you keep mumbling?" Gwen asked when she slipped into the kitchen for a break.

I looked over at her in surprise. "I didn't realize I was mumbling anything."

"You've been doing it all night. It sounded like states."

Leaning against the wall where we kept the aprons, I closed my eyes. "Places Officer Williams worked before coming to New York. I can't get it out of my head."

"Why would that matter?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "There's just something about it that's been bugging me. Maybe it's just all the dirty tricks he's pulled over his career."

"What are the places?" Gwen asked.

"Texas, Europe, Pennsylvania, Southern California, and New York." I rubbed at my neck, muscles taught from work and nerves. "Texas twice, actually. Before and after his four years in the military overseas."

"Where in Europe? My brother's in Germany right now. He was hoping for something more exotic, but he actually said Germany is really beautiful and he loves it there now." She smiled. "He keeps trying to talk me into coming to visit him, but I just don't have the money right now."

Frowning, I wondered at the answer to her question. It didn't say where he was stationed in Europe. Gordy hadn't sent Officer Williams' actual personnel record. I doubted he was even supposed to be looking at private information like that and figured he'd called in a favor just like Baxter had. The summary he'd sent Baxter simply said Europe. Usually I kept my phone in the breakroom, but after Saul had left, I'd stuck it in my back pocket in case Baxter or Sonya tried to get a hold of me. Poor Sonya had been texting me all day in between dealing with having Ms. Sinclair's stuff hauled off. She was nearly as anxious as I was.

I had planned to call her when the rush died down, but as I pulled out my phone, I went back to my emails instead. After reading the message from Gordy twice and finding nothing new, I noticed his cell phone number below the message in the signature line. I didn't know this guy. He'd been doing Baxter a big favor looking into any of this. I was desperate, though.

Tapping the number, I put the phone to my ear and hoped he would answer.

"Detective Gordon," he answered on the third ring.

"Um, hi, this is Eliza Carlisle. Baxter's friend. I'm sorry for calling you, but I needed to ask you something."

He was quiet for a moment, probably wondering how I got his phone number. I hoped I wasn't going to get Baxter in trouble and I hoped just as hard that this guy wouldn't hang up on me.

"Eliza, hi," he said uncertainly. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, for now. A couple of cops are watching the diner while I'm at work."

"Good." He paused again. "You said you had a question?"

I was sure he was wondering why I hadn't relayed this through Baxter. I didn't really have a good answer for that, other than being too scared to think of it. "Um, yes, if you're not busy."

"Go ahead."

"It's about Officer Williams. I was just wondering if you knew where he was stationed in Europe."

He seemed confused by my question, and I couldn't blame him. I didn't even know why I was asking. "I believe it was Greece for two years, then Italy for the last two. He was discharged about eight years ago. Why?"

The list of states ran through my head again, but this time more specific, more complete.

Texas, Italy, Texas, Pennsylvania, SoCal, New York.

Then a new list snapped to the forefront of my mind.

Robert Porter, Elizabeth Escobar, Phyllis Ormond, Elbert Cruz, Constance Michaels, Peter Denish, Mark Little...and Maria Sinclair.

"It can't be," I whispered. My hands were shaking. All of me was shaking. Gwen grabbed my arm looking panicked.

"What can't be?" Gordy asked.

I was on my way to hyperventilating. I had to focus, force myself to breathe so I could answer him. "The places. They match." I had to fight my breathing again, feeling lightheaded suddenly. "They match the deaths. They can't, though. Most of them were natural causes, right?"

"Eliza," Gordy said firmly, "I'm not following. What deaths?"

"From the obituaries we found. Ms. Sinclair's friends, the ones who killed Donny. They're all dead, in order."

"In order of what?" he demanded.

I gulped down breath after breath. "Of where Officer Williams worked."

I heard shuffling of papers, something tipping over.

"Oh, shit," Gordy said. "You're right. I missed it." He was silent for a few more seconds as he moved more papers around, then said, "He worked in or near every city one of them died in. I can't believe I didn't see this earlier."

Hearing him confirm my theory was the last straw. My knees buckled and only Gwen holding onto me forced me to land on a box of potatoes instead of the floor.

"I'm calling this in right now. He needs to be brought in for questioning, at the very least."

"But," I said, "some of them died of regular things. Cancer, heart attack. He couldn't have done that, right?"

Gordy grunted. "You'd be surprised what people can do to make a death look like natural causes, especially if someone was already sick. Who's going to do an autopsy on a cancer patient? He may not have murdered all of them, but this is too big of a coincidence not to look into it. If nothing else, Baxter witnessed him assault you. Provided you're willing to press charges, we can hold him on that until we uncover more."

"Yes," I said quickly. "I was just scared before. I didn't know if I could trust the other cops."

A low growl rumbled across the line and I heard more shuffling and shifting. "That's what assholes like Williams do. They make you afraid of the police, so no one reports what he's doing. It's how they survive as long as they do pulling this kind of shit." He said something else, but it was far away, like he was talking into a different phone or someone in the room with him. He came back a moment later, speaking to me again. "We're going to make this right, Eliza. Don't hang up, okay? I'm sending uniforms to Williams' apartment right now. They were already watching his building, so it shouldn't take long."

"Okay," I whispered.

I couldn't breathe as I waited. I felt numb, desperate for this to be over. I couldn't find the diamond. If they didn't catch him tonight, he would kill me. I knew he would. He'd killed all the others. Most of them, anyway. Elbert Cruz's car accident had always been under suspicion, and I was sure Gordy was right that there were ways to make a death look natural. With older people, it probably wouldn't even be investigated most of the time. What would he do to me?

It was an eternity later when Gordy spoke again. "Eliza," he said slowly, instantly alerting me that something wasn't right. "I don't want you to panic, but Williams isn't in his apartment. Nobody saw him leave the building, but he's gone. We don't know where he is right now."

23: Crashing Down

I slapped my hand over my mouth to cover a scream when the door to the kitchen swung open. My heart started beating again when I realized it was Baxter. I was trembling too much to move, so he came to me. Still dressed in the suit he probably wore to court that day, he kneeled in front of me.

"Eliza, calm down. Freaking out isn't going to help anything."

I almost slapped him for saying that to me. Gwen threw him a dirty look on my behalf.

"What are you doing here?" I asked in between shaky breaths.

"Gordy texted me." He shook his head. "I can't believe I missed the connection. I completely passed off where Williams had worked before moving here. The misconduct was my main concern."

There was a voice in the background, someone saying something, but I had trouble focusing on it. Baxter yanked my phone out of my hand and started pacing as he spoke to Gordy. Gwen was still holding my hand to make sure I didn't collapse or fall over or something. When the bell on the diner door rang, she looked over at me with a pained expression. Feeling slightly calmer, I motioned for her to go ahead, but I stayed sitting on the potatoes.

A few minutes later, Gwen gave me an apologetic look as she clipped a ticket to the carousel. I didn't want to get Saul involved in all of this, so short of calling Sean and trying to talk him into covering for me, I was pretty much it. Baxter's gaze snapped over to me when I stood, but he didn't try to stop me from doing my job. I put the order up twenty minutes later and looked to him for an update.

"They still haven't found him," Baxter said with his hand over the phone.

That was all I got before he went back to his discussion with Gordy. I tried to do the same. Orders were painfully slow, and I ran out of things to clean too quickly. I ended up pacing, straightening things, restocking, and worrying as the hours dragged on. By closing time, Officer Williams was still in the wind.

Baxter had given me my phone back at some point, switching to his to make calls and receive text updates from Gordy as the search turned up nothing. Remembering I had never called Sonya, I took my phone out of my pocket. I was in the middle of bringing up her number when my phone buzzed, sending a jolt of adrenaline through my system. Baxter's voice in my head told me to calm down. Even though I wrinkled my nose at the advice, I tried.

At least until I tapped on the text notification that had come from a blocked number.

The police won't protect you. I want the diamond by tomorrow night. Don't disappoint me.

The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering against the tile and drawing Baxter's attention. He was next to me a second later, picking up my phone, making a call on his. I heard him give Gordy permission to put a tap or trace or something that started with a T on my phone to try and figure out where the unknown number had sent the text from. Or maybe it was to catch him if he called or texted again. I wasn't sure which. I wasn't entirely sure it was legal for Baxter to give them consent when it was my phone. Maybe he was acting as my lawyer? Did I have to sign something for that, to make it official? Did it matter if I was going to be dead by tomorrow night?

Probably not.

Baxter grabbed my backpack and pushed me out of the kitchen and into the dining area. He had a hold of my arm with one hand and was holding his phone to his ear with the other one. I wasn't sure where my phone had gone, but I didn't particularly want it back if Officer Williams was going to text me with threats.

"A couple of officers will follow you home," he told Gwen. "They don't think you're in any danger, but they don't want to take any chances. Don't go anywhere else tonight, got it?"

Gwen nodded. She hugged me hard and fast then darted over to her car, which someone must have moved from the back of the restaurant at some point. Baxter started shoving me again, this time into his car. I managed to buckle myself in and Baxter shut the door. He was beside me a few seconds later and he drove us straight home with a pair of cops following us the entire way.

It should have made me feel safer, but it didn't. Officer Williams had been getting away with skirting the law for a long time. I believed him when he said the police couldn't protect me. He would find a hole in their surveillance at some point, and when he did...I wouldn't have what he wanted.

Sonya clobbered me when we made it into the lobby. She was crying. I wanted to cry, too, but I was too numb. Baxter practically had to peel her off me and yell at her to get her to go back to her apartment. She argued that she should stay with me, but when Baxter lost his temper and said he wasn't going to put anyone else in Officer Williams' path, and if she didn't go back to her apartment he'd have one of the officers watching the exits come in and make her, she backed down.

I mouthed that I was sorry as Baxter dragged me toward the stairs. She nodded, tears running down her cheeks as she turned back toward her apartment. I wanted to tell Baxter he didn't have to be so mean, but the expression on his face kept me quiet. I didn't object when he unlocked his apartment door and shoved me in. I hadn't wanted to go back to my place anyway.

Baxter said nothing as I left him to deal with the deadbolt and my backpack he was still carrying. I kicked off my shoes on the way to his bedroom and skipped brushing my teeth. I was curled up on his bed, breathing in the scent of spices his pillows always carried, when he made it into the room. He pulled the blankets out from under my body and settled them over me. He moved to the other side of the bed and collapsed next to me. Everything came crashing down in a waterfall of tears. I was in his arms a second later, crying all over him. He didn't even get mad at me for ruining his dress shirt.

24: A Yowling Mess of Fur

I woke up late. I woke up clinging to Baxter. My eyes were bleary, but the mascara stains I'd left on his shirt the night before were right next to where my face was squashed up against his chest. I looked up slowly, hoping fiercely that he was still asleep. Nope.

"You okay?" he asked as he rubbed his eyes.

"Yeah," I said quickly. I slid away from him, mumbling, "Sorry."

He pushed himself up in bed and scrubbed at his hair, leaving it standing up all over the place. I almost laughed. "It's fine," he mumbled. He still looked exhausted. He rolled his shoulder and caught sight of his shirt. "I'm going to send you the dry cleaning bill for this."

The corner of my mouth twitched. "I'd be more than happy to pay for that," I said quietly. It would mean I'd still be alive. Dry cleaning bill in exchange for not dying. Seemed like a fair trade.

Baxter stared at me, then shook his head. "I'm holding you to that, because everything is going to be fine."

I nodded, but I didn't believe it. I wasn't sure he did, either.

Reaching for his phone, Baxter scrolled through messages and notifications. I waited, barely breathing. When he set it back down, I asked, "Any news?"

"Not on Williams' whereabouts," he said. "They did get confirmation from several of his previous units that he was in town when the deaths from the obituaries happened, as well as from a military contact who said he was in Italy on leave near where Robert Porter died that week. Gordy also said that even though Williams never finished the criminal justice degree he started after high school, he took several classes on anatomy and physiology as well as forensics that dealt with toxicology reports and causes of death. It may have been enough to make some of these deaths look like natural causes when they weren't. Honestly, though, all he'd need to know was what any person could find on the internet."

I was glad things were progressing, but I curled my arms around my knees. "That all sounds pretty circumstantial."

Baxter shrugged. "So far, but they'll keep digging."

Not as encouraged as I wanted to be, I needed a few minutes alone. "Do you mind if I take a shower?"

He nodded and got out of bed. "I'll start some breakfast."

I felt a little weird undressing in Baxter's bathroom, but I didn't want to go back to my place quite yet. I didn't even have any clean clothes to change into when I got out, but I didn't care. The hot water eased away some of the tension knotting up my muscles as I stood under it. I washed my hair and body, smelling each of the soaps in hopes of finding the scent on Baxter's pillows. Neither one matched, which was oddly disappointing. Half an hour later, I forced myself to turn off the water and get out.

After drying off, I reached for my clothes from the day before and found a stack of folded clothes I didn't recognize sitting on the top of the vanity. Had I not even noticed someone coming in while I was in the shower? That didn't speak well of my chances of not getting snatched and killed. Was it Baxter who came in? Confused, but grateful, I pulled the clothes on and brushed out my wet hair. When I made it into the kitchen and saw Baxter, I gestured at the clothes in question.

"Sonya," he said. "I wouldn't let her go into your apartment, so she brought you some of hers."

I should have realized. "Where'd she go?"

He shook his head. "Something about laying carpet and needing to watch the guy doing it."

"That's right, the apartment that flooded. She thinks the guy is padding his hours and overcharging her."

Baxter shook his head, clearly not that interested. He switched gears as he set a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me. "You're not to leave this apartment today. No arguing. That comes directly from Detective Hollister."

"Are they still watching the building?"

Nodding, Baxter set his own plate down and took a seat across from me. "Williams will turn up."

I couldn't help glancing up at the clock on the microwave. Baxter saw me look, but didn't say anything. Frowning at his eggs, he ate mechanically. I barely ate at all. He didn't bug me about it, at least. When he stood and asked me if I was finished, he took my nearly full plate away without comment. He disappeared to shower after that and left me to sit on his couch with my knees pulled up to my chest.

Jumping when my phone rang, I almost didn't recognize my own ringtone. Between classes and work, I almost always had it on vibrate or silent lately. I scrambled up off the couch in search of the ringing and found it in Baxter's jacket pocket. I answered the call just before it went to voicemail.

"Hello?"

"Eliza, is that you? It's Maggie."

"Maggie, hi. Is everything all right?" I asked.

She hesitated. "Well, I was hoping to ask you that. I got a call from a Detective Gordon last night asking me all kinds of questions about who else might know about the diamond. I couldn't tell him anything more than I told you, but he didn't really explain what was going on and I was worried you were in some kind of trouble."

I was definitely in some kind of trouble, but I didn't want to scare her. Last night was such a blur. Even after realizing Officer Williams wasn't just trying to make off with valuable evidence and that he was actually the killer, I hadn't stopped to think about how he'd known about the diamond. I'd suspected before that revelation that he knew about it, but not until his text last night did I actually have proof.

"We know who killed my neighbor," I said, "but nobody knows how Officer Williams found out about the diamond."

There was a long moment of silence before she asked, "Officer who?"

"Williams," I said. "Blake Williams. He was the first officer on scene when Ms. Sinclair died, but we didn't realize until last night just how connected he is to everything. It's just how he learned about the diamond that doesn't make sense."

Maybe we would never know. Not unless he confessed, but I didn't picture that happening.

"Blake is in New York?" Maggie gasped. "No, that can't be right."

The way she said his name made the little hairs on my arms stand on end. You didn't call people by their first names unless you knew them. I'd only just mentioned Officer Williams to her. He hadn't been part of our earlier discussion at all. "You don't...know him, do you?"

"I, I don't know. Maybe it's not the same person. It can't be the same person."

"Blake Williams, grew up in Texas, served overseas in the military for four years, moved around the country quite a bit, five foot ten, wide shoulders, dark blonde hair, domineering and aggressive," I said. "Sound familiar?"

Maggie's breath quavered. "It sounds," she paused, her voice breaking on the last word, "it sounds a lot like my nephew."

"What?" I demanded.

Baxter stepped out of the bedroom, shirt in his hands, and a look of concern on his face. I was momentarily distracted by the sight of Baxter only half dressed. He'd certainly felt like a solid guy when I woke up pressed against his side, but I had to say I was more than a little impressed as he slipped a t-shirt over his head.

"My sister's youngest," Maggie was saying. "Michelle married young, then moved to Texas after college to take a job there in agricultural research. Blake has always been a little troubled, but I thought he'd been doing okay the last few years. I had no idea he was in New York. I would have called him if I had. I thought he was still in California. I guess I haven't kept in contact very well since my dad's stroke.'"

I doubted Blake wanted his aunt to know he was in the area if he'd been going around killing people, which I was pretty positive he had been. "He knew about the diamond?"

"Of course, we'd all heard it at least once. Most of us quite a bit more than that. Blake was always fascinated by the story. Most of the kids were. To them, it was just that, a story, but my dad always held onto a lot of bitterness over what happened. He idolized my aunt Janet. It killed him to watch her working herself half to death to help support not only her own family, but her parents and brothers as well. She sacrificed so much for them. They loved her for it, but my dad also hated the people responsible for putting her in that situation. He blamed Donny's murderers even more than whoever sued my grandparents for the lost diamond."

Maggie sighed, hurt and confusion thick in her voice. "Why would he do something like this?"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe he thought he was doing it for his grandfather, or maybe he just thought he could get the diamond back and disappear with it."

"He didn't do this for my father," Maggie said. The hardened tone left little room for argument. "Blake was always after the easy way. He craved control over others. I think that's why he joined the police. He always talked about money, though, like it would bring him more control and respect. He was never willing to do what it took to get it. Taking it was easier."

Her description of him sounded pretty dead on, but I needed more than that before I passed this on to the detectives. "Maggie, I'm going to have Baxter text you a picture of Officer Williams, okay? I need you to tell me if this guy is your nephew or just some bizarre coincidence of shared names."

Baxter was standing beside me by that point, and he was already following through by the time I finished telling Maggie what I needed. She sucked in a sharp breath when the message arrived. "I was hoping it wasn't him," she said, on the verge of crying. "That's Blake. That's my nephew. What has he done?"

She did start crying, then, and I wished I could do something to make that kind of disappointment and sickening betrayal better for her in some way, but I couldn't. The best I could offer was a confused apology. "I'm sorry, Maggie. I wish...it wasn't him." That was nothing, no help at all, but I didn't know what else to say.

"I'm sorry about your neighbor and her nephew." Maggie sniffed and took a few deeps breaths. "I can't believe he would do all of this just for a diamond."

"Well, ten million dollars will make people do crazy things," I said, not sure I really wanted to make any sort of excuse for Officer Williams. I didn't want Maggie feeling responsible, either.

She choked on the breath she was trying to take in. "What? How much?" She exhaled slowly. "I had no idea."

"I doubt many people did."

"This is all such a horrible mess." She sounded like she wanted to start crying again. I knew the feeling.

Baxter was gesturing at me to wrap it up so he could tell me something. Regretting that I had to cut her off, I said, "Maggie, I'm sorry, but I need to go. Can I call you later?"

"Of course," she said. "Please let me know what happens."

More likely than not, it would be on the news for one reason or another. Someone would either report another murder in this madhouse building, or the solving of a fifty-year-old crime. Regardless, I promised I would contact her later and ended the call.

"I'm going down to talk to Detective Stringer. He wants to discuss this but doesn't want to leave the front of the building."

"Why?" I argued. "What does it matter? Don't leave me here by myself, please."

Baxter's expression softened. "I'm just going down to the lobby. I'll be right back, okay?"

I wanted to tell him, no, it wasn't okay, but I knew I would sound like a giant baby if I did. So I nodded instead. Baxter pulled me into a hug, squeezed me once, then ordered me to stay put and lock the door behind him. I did exactly as he asked, which probably would have earned me a sarcastic comment if he hadn't been so preoccupied. Curling back up on the couch after I locked Baxter's door, I stared at the black screen of the TV. Turning it on and having to listen to the noise it would produce sounded unappealing and unsafe. I left it off and just sat there until my phone rang again and I almost jumped out of my skin.

Once I had it in my less-than-stable hands, I checked the number. It wasn't from a blocked number like the threat I was sure had come from Officer Williams, but I didn't recognize the number. "Hello?" I asked after accepting the call.

"Eliza, dear? Could you please come down and do something about the noise in my walls? Sonya told me to tell her right away the next time I heard noise, because she doesn't believe me. Well, it's happening right now and she won't pick up her phone." She sighed dramatically. "So I need you to come down to my apartment and listen to the noise so Sonya will know I'm not going senile."

Mrs. Osgood most likely was going senile, but Sonya was almost positive the noise in her grandmother's walls was just some pipes or vents knocking around. It was an old building, after all.

"Mrs. Osgood, I'm really not supposed to leave Baxter's apartment. The police..."

"Baxter?" she demanded. "I sincerely hope you aren't getting mixed up with him, dear. He is trouble all around and I don't approve at all."

"He's not that bad," I said. "Really if you'd just..."

"Don't try to change my mind about him," she said. The disapproval in her voice was laughable. "Now, you come down here and listen to this noise. I've had just about enough of it waking me up at night."

"But, I can't. I..."

"No, no," she said, "let's not argue about it. Baxter will just have to make do on his own. I'll expect you down here in a few minutes. You really should hurry, because the noise might stop any minute now."

She hung up before I could continue to argue with her. I knew Sonya was stressed about the carpet layer, the police watching the building, and Officer Williams being on the loose after threatening me. The last thing she needed to deal with was her kooky old grandmother. Baxter would be pissed, but my hope was that I could run down, quickly identify the noise, and hurry back to Baxter's apartment before he finished talking with the detective.

The biggest obstacle was Baxter himself. Before leaving, he said he was just going down to the lobby, which I needed to cross. Sighing, I knew it would be next to impossible to get by him without being caught. I could really only hope he'd just be a good sport for once and help me figure out what was causing the noise. Knowing how unlikely that was, I unlocked the door anyway and tiptoed down the hallway.

Baxter's back was to me as I began descending the steps. Detective Stringer was staring right at me. He gave me a questioning look when I froze. No doubt he'd seen my sneaky stepping down the hallway as well. I probably looked either like a moron, or like I was trying to escape the police guard. Not wanting to give him any reason to doubt the wisdom of protecting me, I straightened and walked down the rest of the steps like a normal person.

Halfway there, Detective Stringer motioned toward me, and Baxter turned around, a glare painted over every inch of his face. "What are you doing down here?" he demanded.

"Mrs. Osgood needed..."

"I told you to stay in my apartment," he growled. "I don't care what Mrs. Osgood needs! Is it really that hard to follow one simple request meant to keep you alive? Go back upstairs!"

Detective Stringer didn't say anything, not to support Baxter or defend me. He seemed more interested in seeing how this would play out than anything else. Annoyed by both Detective Stringer's passive involvement and Baxter morphing back into a domineering prick, I marched down the rest of the steps and walked right past him.

"I'll be at Mrs. Osgood's if you need me." I stepped out of reach and glared at him. "If you think Officer Williams somehow managed to get past all the cops watching this place and is hiding in our landlord's apartment, you're welcome to try dragging me back upstairs."

"Eliza," he challenged, taking a step toward me.

Half convinced he would chase me down, I took a quick step back. "I'm going to be across the lobby. That's it. I don't want to sit up there all day alone."

The last word came out harsher than I meant it to, like I blamed Baxter for leaving me in his apartment. I wasn't sure why I'd said it like that. No, I didn't want to be alone, but it wasn't his fault Detective Stringer had asked him to meet him in the lobby. It affected Baxter, either way. Squaring his shoulders, his hostile stance opposed the hint of hurt in his expression. I only saw it for a moment before he turned around and went back to his conversation. Only Detective Stringer's eyes followed me as I backed toward Mrs. Osgood's apartment.

Feeling guilty, but more determined than ever to see this through, I turned around and hustled to my possibly senile landlord's door. As soon as I knocked, the door was yanked open. "I really thought you'd be quicker than that. You're so young and fit looking, it shouldn't have taken you any time at all to run down one flight of stairs."

"Sorry, I was..."

"No matter," she interrupted, "hurry in here. Quick. I can still hear the noise and it almost never lasts this long. It's going to stop any second."

She grabbed my hand with strength that surprised me, and dragged me through her apartment to her guest room where she shoved me toward the far wall. At first, I didn't hear a thing. I worried I'd pissed Baxter off for no reason, but then, I heard it. Scratching. Shuffling. Hissing?

My first guess would have been rats, but Sonya had mentioned more than once over the past week how any sign of rats or mice on the ground floor had vanished. The hissing confused me. I'd heard of hissing cockroaches, but I didn't think that variety were city dwellers. Seemed like more of a jungle kind of bug. Snakes seemed unlikely, too. What else would be crawling around in the walls hissing as it went?

"Mrs. Osgood, what's on the other side of your apartment?" I asked.

"You hear the noise, right?" she asked. She'd been so adamant about the noises being real, but there was relief in her voice and expression as she waited for my response.

I felt bad Sonya hadn't believed her, but without hearing the noise myself, I hadn't believed her either. "Yes, I hear it. It sounds like some kind of vermin."

"Sonya said the mice were taken care of," she argued.

"I know, but something's definitely moving around. What's on the other side of that wall?" I asked again.

Mrs. Osgood waved her hand dismissively. "Just an old storage room."

"I thought you didn't have any storage areas in the building."

"Not for the residents, no, of course not. That was Mr. Osgood's personal space. He kept odds and ends in there." She thought for a moment, then waved her hand again. "I really have no idea what's in there anymore. Sonya deals with that sort of thing now. She's been in and out of it a few times since Ms. Sinclair died, so you'd have to ask her about its contents."

Not exactly thrilled with the idea of crawling around in a dusty, spider web encased storage room, I couldn't exactly leave now. Baxter would think I'd just been trying to make him mad and Mrs. Osgood would continue being woken up in the middle of the night. I figured I might as well try to do something useful before my time ran out.

"Do you mind if I take a look in the storage area?"

Judging by her expression, she would happily push me into the room to help me on my way. "Aren't you a dear," she said as she shuffled toward her kitchen. She came back bearing a key and a flashlight that had been stuck to the side of her fridge by a large magnet built into the handle for exactly that reason. "Here you are. Just be careful, remember? It's probably a mess. Mr. Osgood never was any good at cleaning or organization. Sonya's not much better."

Great.

"I will." I took the key and flashlight and followed Mrs. Osgood back to the front door. She didn't offer to come with me before ushering me back into the hall. The door closed firmly once I was out, and I sighed. Living in this place was a test of even the nicest person's patience.

I walked down the hall, looking for this storage room I hadn't known existed. By the time I made it to the end of the hall, I was convinced the old lady had made it up. I turned, ready to head back, and saw a plain door hidden in a dark corner opposite the rear exit of the building. Maybe she wasn't as crazy as I thought. I strode down the hall and gave the key a try.

The way things had been going, I didn't expect it to actually work, but the lock turned easily. I pulled the door open and immediately began to cough as dust motes swam out at me. I was just recovering from my coughing fit when a yowling mess of fur launched itself at me and I screamed.

25: Nowhere Near Over

If there had been any hope of Baxter not being mad before, it evaporated faster than dew in the middle of summer. He was livid as he wrestled a hissing, clawing cat off my chest. As soon as he ripped its claws out of my shirt—and skin—he tossed it at Detective Stringer and loomed over me. "What in the hell are you doing?"

I'd seen Baxter mad plenty of times, but not like that. He looked like he wanted to kill me himself. "Um, figuring out what was causing the noise in Mrs. Osgood's walls?"

It came out like a question, even though it wasn't one. The question was whether or not Baxter was going to attack me even worse than that stupid cat had. I was not at all prepared for Baxter to haul me up off the ground and squeeze me half to death in a crushing hug.

"I thought he'd gotten to you somehow," he barked. His angry words belied the way he was still squashing me.

I could barely move my arms, but I wrapped them around him and patted his back in an attempt to calm him down. "I'm fine, really. Sorry for scaring everyone."

His grip eased and he stepped back, though he kept his hand on my shoulder, and not exactly in a comforting way. More like he was preparing to drag me back to his apartment should anything or anyone spring out at me again.

"I'm sorry," I said again. "I honestly didn't expect some deranged cat to jump out at me."

Baxter shook his head and his fingers tightened on my shoulder. "It's Mouser. That obnoxious beast of a cat must be responsible for the mysterious resolution of the mouse problem down here. I told you she hadn't left the building."

Screwing my nose up at him, I said, "Well congratulations. Do you want a medal?"

He scowled at me, then motioned for Detective Stringer to drop the cat.

"What? No," I argued. "You can't just leave her down here."

"Why not? She's finally made herself useful. Nobody wants that monster. Look at it," Baxter said, gesturing at the cat, which was in fact one of the biggest and fattest cats I'd ever seen. She could take down a small dog if she felt like it.

"I'm not leaving her down here," I said.

Baxter looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Well you're not bringing it back to my apartment."

I shrugged. "Fine, I'll take her to mine."

Detective Stringer raised a finger to say something, but Baxter barreled over the top of him. "No you will not! Your apartment is off limits until Williams is in handcuffs!"

I walked over to Detective Stringer and took the gigantic cat out of his arms. Then I turned and stared at Baxter. He knew I wasn't going to budge. His fingers curled into fists as he closed his eyes. "Fine," he growled, "but if she makes a single noise, I will throw her out the window."

Not believing his threat for a minute, I turned my nose up at him and scratched between Mouser's ears. She purred sweetly, like she hadn't just launched herself at me for no reason and left kitty claw marks all over my neck and t-shirt.

"At the risk of that huge-ass cat attacking me, or Baxter losing it again, could I have you look at a few pictures, Eliza?" Detective Stringer asked. He had his phone in his hand, but didn't approach me until I nodded. "Now, Baxter was pretty sure this first one is the guy who attacked you and your friend in the hall, but he didn't get a clear look at the guy's face."

He turned the phone toward me and I pulled back on instinct as soon as I saw the image. The same hard eyes that had looked out at me from a hoodie that night stared at me now. I nodded in recognition. "Yeah, that's definitely him."

Detective Stringer nodded and swiped across the screen to a new image. This time I could only shrug. As if he expected that, Detective Stringer said, "Tell me if you recognize this voice." He changed apps and tapped the play button on an audio file. Mouser mewled as my arms tightened around her portly body. Seeing my reaction, the detective asked, "Do you recognize it?"

"From the club," I said, "that's who grabbed me. I'm sure of it."

He nodded, looking both relieved and disgusted at the same time. "The voice belongs to the man in the second picture."

"Who are they?" I asked. "How did you figure out who they were?" As far as I had known, there'd been no real suspects in either incident.

Detective Stringer shook his head. "Once we knew Williams was involved, we started digging. We knew he wasn't the guy who hit Sean or the one who grabbed you at the club, so he must have had accomplices, but he hasn't been in the city that long. We figured whatever contacts he had were through work. We started with his case log and noticed a note from his sergeant about a discrepancy with his CIs."

"His what?"

"Criminal informants. Williams registered these two as informants, but as far as anyone can tell, they never informed on anything. He seemed to be using them to do his dirty work instead." Baxter scowled at that news while Detective Stringer looked more disgusted than ever.

"Have you caught those two?" I asked.

Detective Stringer nodded. "They were both picked up this morning and have already given statements fingering Williams as the mastermind behind all this in exchange for leniency. Apparently he'd requested this beat so he could watch the building, and grabbed Ms. Sinclair's keys one of the many times she'd left them in the mailbox, made a copy, and used it to gain access to the building and her apartment the night he killed her. Then he gave it to Walter Ellsworth to break in and search for the diamond a few days later. The guy who grabbed you at the club was largely hired muscle. He didn't know what Williams wanted, but had been told to scare you badly enough that you'd turn whatever it was over to his boss. Their testimonies alone will be enough to put Williams away."

"If you can catch him."

"When we catch him," he corrected.

I sure hoped he was right. It was a relief to know both of Williams' accomplices were in jail, but I still worried about how this was all going to play out. Williams had killed before, many times most likely. He'd done it as a cop, covering up everything he was doing and never getting caught. It wasn't much of a stretch to think he could get past them to me. He'd spent the majority of his adult life tracking down the diamond and killing anyone who stood in his way. I was hardly the biggest obstacle he'd faced.

"Now, why don't the two of you go back upstairs and sit tight," Detective Stringer said. "I'll let you know as soon as we have something."

Baxter grabbed my arm, like he thought I might run off or something. I sighed and hefted Mouser into a more comfortable position. The reminder that the mammoth cat was coming with us made Baxter grimace, but he didn't argue this time. He did push and prod me back up the stairs until I was safely in his apartment again.

"Keep that thing off my furniture," he ordered.

I had just set Mouser down on the ground, and we both watched the glob of fur daintily prance over to the couch and hop up onto it like she didn't weigh four times what a normal cat should. I cringed and looked over at Baxter, shrugging helplessly. Cats weren't exactly prone to listening to humans. "I'll vacuum the couch after this is all over, I promise."

"You'll vacuum the entire place," he muttered as he walked into the kitchen.

Exhausted in so many ways, I walked over to join Mouser on the couch. She climbed into my lap immediately and snuggled in for a nap. I couldn't believe she'd been stalking the ground floor, gobbling up mice this whole time. I wondered how she'd even gotten out. Had she bolted when Williams got into Ms. Sinclair's apartment, or had the old lady let the cat out on purpose to go chase mice?

Probably another one of those things we'd never know.

Despite the invasion of Mouser, Baxter flopped onto the couch and turned on the TV. He was asleep a few minutes later. I was too on edge to follow his example, even though my body felt ready to drop. My phone was in my hand, waiting, pleading for a call from one of the detectives saying they had Williams and everything was fine. It stayed silent.

Pushing her nose against my hand, Mouser reminded me to keep petting her. I scratched at her ears for a second, then got lost in thought again. Annoyed, Mouser plopped her big paws on my chest and yowled at me. I reached up to pet her, but paused when I noticed her collar.

Baxter had mentioned his crazy old neighbor had done all kinds of bizarre things. Staring at the bell dangling in front of me, I couldn't remember hearing it jingle once since I found the cat. Why would Ms. Sinclair have put a broken bell on the cat's collar? Sneaky as cats tended to be, lots of people put jingly bells on their collars so they knew where the little critters were. My grandma had done that. Her cat was possessed, I was sure of it, and no one wanted that devil sneaking up on them. She'd scratch up bare legs in an instant.

Why put a bell on a collar that didn't make any sound, though? It was a weird bell, too, I realized as I held it between my fingers. It was bigger than a normal bell, the ball almost as big around as my thumb and first finger curled into a circle. Mouser was a really big cat, though. But why didn't it jingle? Looking closer at the bell, I noticed the globe had a seam. Thinking that odd, I ran my finger along the seam. Surprised when my fingertip bumped into some kind of catch, I ignored Mouser's annoyed meow and shifted the collar so I could look at the back of the bell.

A very small hook latch held the two halves of the bell together. The only reason I could think of that the bell would need to open, was to put a treat inside, but Mouser would never have been able to get it out. It would be cruel to tease her like that. Ms. Sinclair was more than a little off her rocker, though, so who knew?

Using my fingernail, I pulled at the catch. It took some force to pry the hook loose, but it eventually swung upward and released. The halves parted slightly, but the joint seemed stiff. Curious, I wedged my fingernail into the small gap and pushed the halves apart. Really, I wasn't expecting to find anything at all. What I did find couldn't have shocked me more if it had released a bolt of lightning straight to the top of my head.

Perfectly fitted into the upper half of the bell was the largest diamond I had ever seen. I stared at the gem, then at Mouser, then back at the gem. It had been in the cat's collar the entire time? What kind of batty old fool kept a ten million dollar diamond on her cat's collar?

Shaking the diamond out of the bell, I closed the charm back up and stared at the sparkly rock in the palm of my hand. How many people had died because of this? How many lives ruined?

Ms. Sinclair was definitely a nutcase, but the longer I sat there staring at the gem, the more I had to admit the hiding place was brilliant. I doubted anyone had even noticed the bell didn't work. That wasn't something you'd pick up on when a cat was trying to claw you to death.

When tossing an apartment to look for a multimillion dollar gem, what burglar would pay attention to a hissing ball of fur slinking around the room? I felt sure, now, that Ms. Sinclair had purposely let Mouser escape the apartment when Williams came after her. Even as she was meeting her end, she was still trying to hide her guilt.

I shook my head. I couldn't believe what a horrible mess this had all become. A group of young people out to have some fun took it way too far and caused a massive amount of damage. Not a single one ever came forward with the truth. Even when their friends slowly started dying, some under suspicious circumstances, no one said a word. No one tried to stop it. They simply let it happen. Suddenly, I had a hard time feeling sorry for them. Any one of them could have put an end to this at any time, and they refused.

A talented young jeweler was murdered. A family's livelihood was destroyed. A woman slaved most of her life to make sure her brothers had a chance at a better future. An innocent young kid looking for a fresh start in the city was beaten to death for information he knew nothing about. Who else had been hurt? All for this rock.

Reaching for Baxter, I thought of how satisfying it would be to know Williams would never get what he wanted, that he'd rot in jail for the rest of his life. My phone buzzed against my leg, startling Mouser and making her growl. Heart racing, I snatched the phone off the couch, expecting a report that it was over. Instead, what I saw was a waiting text message from a blocked number.

Was he watching me somehow? Did he know I found it? How could he? I tapped on it, gooseflesh erupting on my arms. Half terrified he'd pop out of a closet and kill us both before taking the diamond, I almost couldn't look at his message, but I had to.

I know you've been talking to my aunt. Bad move, Eliza. If you think I won't hurt her to get the diamond, you're wrong.

I gasped, petrified for Maggie. I wanted to believe he was bluffing, desperate now that he was boxed in and running out of time. The phone buzzed again and the message loaded immediately. My chest constricted, tears pooling in my eyes.

Maggie sat tied to a chair, eyes wild and face red.

The phone buzzed again.

I know you have it. You've been lying to me this whole time. Bring it to Maggie's or I will kill her.

Pushing Mouser off my lap, I started typing. I had to retype just about every word because I was shaking so badly I kept hitting multiple letters at the same time. Finally, I managed to form a readable response.

Police have the building locked down. I can't get out without being seen.

It wasn't just an excuse. No one was going to let me leave, even without knowing I had the diamond.

Go to the roof. That old bat loved to try and spy on me from up there. The far wall of your apartment faces another building. There's barely any space between them. Jump. Come to this address or she dies.

An East Village address followed and I had to remind myself to breathe. I knew he would do it. I had dragged Maggie into this. As much as I wanted Williams to pay for everything he'd done and know the diamond would never be his, but what if that cost Maggie her life? I already had Ben's blood on my hands. I knew I how devastating it was to be responsible for someone's death. I couldn't stand by and put Maggie at risk just to protect myself. So many times I had relied on someone else to save me. Now I had the chance to save someone else, and I knew I couldn't choose the safer option just to protect myself.

Standing, I shoved the diamond into my jeans pocket and tried to think. If I told Baxter, he'd never let me go. Neither would the police. They'd want to set something up, have some lookalike go in my place. I doubted it would work. Officer Williams was a cop. He'd know what to look for, and kill his aunt the moment he saw police getting involved. He was also a criminal who had yet to be caught despite a slew of crimes. I'd pegged him as a lousy cop the first day I met him. Now I wondered how much of that had been an act. Chances were, I was dealing with someone much more intelligent than I'd given him credit for and this wouldn't end well unless he got what he wanted. What only I could give him. I would never forgive myself if Maggie died when I could have saved her.

Rushing quietly across the room, I shoved my phone into my pocket and grabbed a piece of paper off the stack of Baxter's work documents and flipped it over. A pen was lying next to the stack. I grabbed it and wrote, "I'm sorry. I had to do it. He has Maggie. Tell Bernadette it wasn't your fault."

There was a good chance neither Maggie nor I would make it out of this, but of the two of us, she had a better chance at surviving. I wasn't counting my own chances very high, but I still had to try. Bernadette would understand that, I hoped. Turning away from the note made my eyes sting. I hated that my last contact with my sister was little more than a hasty message, but there was nothing I could do about that now.

Unlocking the apartment door, I peeked out. Seeing the lobby empty, I slipped into the hall and sprinted for the landing, but instead of going down, I headed for a different set of stairs. My muffled footsteps seemed incredibly loud as I raced toward the roof. I was breathing hard by the time I finally made it up the five flights and hit the exterior door. Falling against the push bar, it lurched open and I fell along with it. My knee stung when it hit the asphalt roof, but I stumbled back up as the door swung shut behind me, locking me out of the building and making it much harder to change my mind about my chosen course of action.

The locked door was probably why I didn't spot any cops on the roof, something I hadn't even considered until that moment. Belated relief swept through me as I looked around. I'd lost my bearings going up the stairs, but I looked for the smallest gap between buildings and headed for the edge of the roof. Peering across the four foot gap, I felt dizzy. It wasn't that far of a distance to jump, but if I missed, the narrow alley that wasn't even wide enough for two people to walk through side by side would swallow me up. A six story fall would most certainly kill me.

At least the distance wasn't any wider. I was probably one of the few people to ever be thankful for an almost total lack of early building codes in this city. Buildings were crammed in as close together as possible, allowing for more buildings and more tenant housing. That sort of thing would never fly now, but it was hopefully going to allow me to save Maggie's life. I looked over the edge to see two uniformed officers waiting near the rear exit that had been across from the storage room. They were keeping a sharp eye on the alley entrances. I crossed my fingers, hoping they wouldn't look up.

Backing up, I tried very hard not to consider the height. Don't look down. Focus on the landing. Bernadette used to run track. She was awesome at hurdles. My extent of involvement was to tell her she'd done a great job at the end of each meet. This would be nothing for her. I gave myself a fifty-fifty chance of not falling to my death.

I jumped anyway.

I couldn't stop myself from closing my eyes as soon as my last foot left the roof. It was stupid, I knew that. Pain blossomed on my already bruised knee, as well as the other one, before I realized I'd even landed, then I toppled onto my hands and elbows and scraped those up, too. I was lying on my back, hissing at the pain, before I even comprehended the fact that I'd made it.

My eyes twitched open. I jerked up to sitting, shocked I was still alive. I did it. Listening for sounds that the officers had seen me, I gave it a full minute before daring to move. Even then, I crawled back to the edge of the building and peeked over the top. They were still standing there, watching the ends of the alley, probably bored out of their minds.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I reminded myself this was nowhere near over.

26: Trouble Magnet

Rising to my feet, I looked around and wondered how on earth I was supposed to get down. Officer Williams' instructions really hadn't covered that. There was a door that led down into the building, but when I yanked on it, nothing happened. Locked.

Okay, surely there was a fire escape or something, right? Maybe. My apartment didn't have a fire escape, because the building I was standing on was too close to allow it. Apartments on the other side of the building had them, though. Surely this building had at least one side that sported a fire escape. Did they seriously have no sense of safety at all when these buildings were built?

Moving away from the area I had jumped onto, I carefully leaned over the back side of the building, the only other possible place a fire escape could be. I almost cried at the sight of the metal framework bolted to the back of the building. Then I really almost cried when I realized how far down it was. There wasn't a handy walk-on platform from the roof. No, the first level of the contraption began at the window of the apartment below my feet, a good eight foot drop.

I supposed it could have been worse.

Lying down on my belly, I inched my legs over the edge and wiggled my body over the side. That was not comfortable in the least, and got even less so when I tried levering myself over the raised edge of the roof to hang down as far as I could before dropping. My hands and arms were already killing me from my fall after the jump, and I was sure I'd added a few more scrapes to my bruised ribs trying to get over the edge. Finally, I was dangling off the building like a lunatic, and then I let go.

I had to swallow a scream as I felt weightless for all of half a second. Then I groaned as my feet hit, knees buckled, and I crumpled to the platform of the fire escape. "Ow," I whined as I lay there for a few seconds. If I was still alive in twenty-four hours, I was blowing what money I'd saved up on a spa day. There didn't seem to be a single inch of me that didn't hurt by that point.

Even though I was trying to evade the police, I didn't rush on my way down the fire escape. By the time I made it to the last platform and looked down at a ten-foot-plus drop, I wanted to scream. I was not jumping. Not again. What was wrong with the builders in this city? You were going to escape a fire only to jump and break your legs? On the verge of giving up, I realized I was a huge idiot.

There was a ladder. It was retracted, but it was there. Grabbing one of the rungs, I pushed on it. Nothing happened, so I pushed harder. Still nothing. I kicked it, cringing at the noise it made, but it still didn't budge. Was there some kind of trick to this thing? I shook it, wiggled it, and rocked it, but nothing happened! I had no idea what to do. I couldn't call anyone and ask. I was supposed to be hiding out in Baxter's apartment, not getting trapped on fire escapes. The only one who knew what I was up to was Williams.

No. I shook my head. Absolutely not. The longer I sat there, though, the more apparent it became that he was my only option. His voice was the last thing I wanted to hear, so I texted him with my question.

How do I get the ladder down on the fire escape? It won't move.

His response was immediate, and not very nice considering I had something he wanted very badly. Are you serious? Just stomp on it! It's an old building. The ladder's just stuck, you idiot.

Pissed off because it was his fault I was stuck here in the first place, my reply wasn't all that nice, either. Well you don't have to be an ass about it!

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I lifted my foot and stomped as hard as I could on one of the rungs. It fell like it had rocks tied to the bottom, making as much noise as it possibly could on the way down. The noise made me cringe and scurry down as fast as I could, but I was not happy Williams had been right. Like I knew how to get down a fire escape! I'd never lived in a building taller than two stories and I had never needed to escape a fire before, so how was I supposed to know?

As soon as my feet hit the ground, I ran. The noise should have alerted the cops in the alley if they were any good at their jobs. I was just rounding the corner to the street when I heard footsteps stomping behind me. I flung myself around the corner and waited. The footsteps stopped and I heard a male voice talking into a radio, but I couldn't hear his exact words. Thank goodness the fire escape had been closer to the street than my building. Eager to get on my way, I put my head down and started down the street.

In my head, I had imagined I'd get down from the neighboring building, call a cab, figure out a plan on the way, somehow save Maggie, and hopefully not get shot in the process. I should have thought a little harder about the cab part before leaving Baxter's apartment. Cabs cost money...and I hadn't thought to bring any. My backpack, cash, subway pass, and credit card where all still sitting safely on Baxter's kitchen counter. Wanting to bang my head into a wall, I picked up my pace and hoped the police watch hadn't extended much beyond my building. At least my stupidity gave me more time to come up with a plan more brilliant and likely to succeed than simply handing over the diamond and crossing my fingers we'd make it out alive.

I'd been walking for about ten minutes, still with no solid plan, when my phone buzzed. I took it from my pocket and instantly wanted to punch something.

What is taking you so long? Do you really think I'm that patient? You should have been here by now, Williams' text said.

I felt I was in danger of cracking the glass screen of my phone with how hard I was tapping out my response. I left in a hurry and forgot my money. I'm walking, so sit tight and shut up or I'll drop your diamond down a sewer grate!

I was sure he knew I would do no such thing. He wouldn't have attacked Maggie if he hadn't been confident it would ensure I'd give up the diamond. Still, he deserved to be yelled at through text messages. I didn't get a response from him. It was a small win.

I needed a much bigger one.

Just as Williams was certain I'd hand over the diamond, I was certain he'd kill me after I did. So, even though I had the diamond in my pocket, I couldn't just hand it over. I had paid way too much money for culinary school to get shot in the head a few weeks into the semester. It was the least of the reasons I wanted to come out of this alive, but it was one more reason to be pissed off at being dragged into this, and thinking about it distracted me from how terrified I was.

As I hurried down the sidewalk, I begged for some kind of inspiration. I couldn't show up empty handed or he'd just kill me. After nearly colliding into a couple trying to take a selfie and having to dart around them, the start of a plan began to form in my mind. I didn't have the technical know-how to break into a locked phone, but I did know how to use the camera on my phone.

I ducked into an alley, tugged the diamond out of my pocket, snapped a quick picture, and shoved it back into my jeans pocket before anyone could see it. The last thing I needed was to get mugged on my way to Maggie's. I was back on the street a moment later, eyes scouring the street for somewhere to stash the cursed thing.

***

As I was nearing the address Williams had sent, I decided I needed to take up some sort of physical activity. I wasn't a gym membership type of person, but not getting in shape was likely to kill me if something like this ever happened again. Which, if I were being honest, was more likely than I wanted to admit.

I trudged up the steps of the row house, too tired to appreciate how lovely it was. I rang the doorbell, because I didn't know what else to do. Hello, psychotic killer, I'm here. I was totally going to die. Sighing, I figured if my hastily concocted plan didn't work, I had done my best and not stood by helpless this time.

Preparing myself to face my nemesis, I took my phone out and brought up the picture of the diamond to keep him from doing anything hasty. Sounds of a lock turning and a chain being removed put me on edge even more than I already was. The door cracked open and a very irritated Officer Blake Williams peered out at me from the two inch gap. "It's about time," he grumbled. "Did you crawl the whole way here?"

I sneered at him and stepped into the building when he pulled the door open further. As soon as I was past the threshold, his fist collided with the side of my face, and then I was falling. Well, great.

***

Pain made me flinch, but something held me bound to what I suspected was a chair. I was barely conscious, but the throbbing in my head made me want to pass out a second time. I thought of Sean being hit with the heavy flashlight handle and felt horrible about that all over again. He must have felt even worse than this. No wonder he didn't want to get involved any more.

"Quit pretending you're asleep," Williams ordered.

I flinched at the noise. "I'm not." My words sounded a little funny.

"Open your eyes!"

"I'm trying," I groaned. It felt like peeling duct tape off skin. After a few seconds, I forced my eyes open and blinked. The inside of the house was just as gorgeous as the outside, though still a bit blurry for me. It helped me remember where I was and I rolled my head to the side in search of Maggie.

I found her in a similar situation to my right. She wasn't crying anymore, but her face was puffy and red. "I'm sorry," I said.

Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. Unlike me, she was gagged, so she didn't try to say anything. I felt bad she didn't seem to blame me. These sorts of things were usually my fault, whether they really were or not. Sometimes I didn't deserve the blame, but this time I certainly did.

I didn't consider the diamond at all, until Williams held up my phone. The fury shaking his body said he knew I didn't have it with me. It made me cringe to realize he had probably searched me while I was unconscious to make sure. Gross. That better have been all he did.

"Let Maggie go and I'll tell you where it is," I said more bravely than I would have thought myself capable of at that moment.

"You should have just given me the diamond from the beginning, Eliza. Then I could have slipped away with no one being the wiser. I could have let you live," he said, as if he would have been doing me this big favor.

"Let her go and you can," I said "I'll tell you where the diamond is and you can run."

He rounded on me, eyes blazing with hatred. "Run? Run? How am I supposed to do that when my face is all over the news? How, Eliza? The airports will be watching for me."

I shrugged, desperate for a way to convince him he didn't need to kill either of us, or at least Maggie. "Can't you drive? Go to Canada or something?"

He started shaking, and I feared he was about to lose it. "Are you honestly the stupidest person on the planet, or just the most sheltered?" he demanded. "You need a passport to get into Canada, and I can't very well give them mine or they'll arrest me!"

"Okay, I'm sorry," I snapped. "I've never been to Canada, so how would I know? Maybe you should have thought this whole thing through a little better!"

He slapped me, hard, then grabbed my face and yanked me forward until the chair almost tipped over. "Maybe you should have just given me the diamond when I asked for it," he said through his teeth.

"I didn't even have it then." My words came out sounding mumbled, thanks to his fingers squeezing my face into fish lips. "I only found it right before you called. So you're the idiot for thinking I could give you something I didn't even have! I had nothing to do with any of this until your stupid goon attacked me and Sean."

He shook his head and tightened the pressure on my face until I squeaked in pain. "I don't believe you."

"She hid it on the cat's collar," I spit out, spitting actual spit as well since I couldn't close my lips completely. "The cat had been missing since you killed Ms. Sinclair."

He pulled me forward even more. The chair legs screeched against the tile. If he let go now, I'd fall on my face. He held me in that precarious position for another few seconds before tossing me backward. The chair almost toppled in the same direction, but I leaned forward and barely sent it rocking the other way in time. I knocked my head on the back of the chair when it settled onto four legs again, but that was better than the alternative.

Williams started pacing in front of us. Even under seemingly normal situations he was an unpredictable person. I had no idea what he would do now. His escape options were limited. I didn't care if he ran off with the diamond anymore. I doubted it would do him much good since every jeweler in the world would be looking for that gem now. It didn't matter. I just wanted Maggie and me to survive this. I debated telling him where the diamond was that second in the hope that he would be so desperate to get his hands on it he'd leave us tied up here to go get it. My lips parted, but I knew in my gut it wouldn't work. He was intent on killing us both unless I gave him a better option that I wasn't sure existed.

"Do what I did," I said. "Just start walking. They won't expect that. Put on a hat or something, and just blend in to the foot traffic. No one looks at the people they're passing that closely. Walk as far as you can until you find a car, steal one if you need to—I'm sure you know how—and then go south. Get on a boat or cross into Mexico. I don't care. Just leave us here and vanish."

He turned around slowly, shaking his head before he fully faced me. "Maybe I can walk away, like you say, but I can't leave either of you alive." His arm raised, and I stared at the gun in his hand. It wasn't the first time I'd stared down the barrel of a handgun, but it certainly wasn't any easier the second time.

Maggie started sobbing next to me. I wanted to do the same, but I held onto my composure by my fingertips. "They already have your CIs in custody. They've confessed. Killing us won't help. You're already a wanted man, and will be for the rest of your life, more so if you kill two innocent women. I'll tell you where the diamond is. I will. Just don't kill us, please."

He shook his head slowly. "It's too much of a risk to leave people alive. That's how I've gotten this far. That's how I went from stumbling into a drunk Robert Porter in an Italian bar, who said just enough to point me in the right direction, to discovering the whole truth. If I'd let him live, he would have remembered what he told me and warned the others. Not leaving people alive is how I got to all of them. There's no surviving this for you, Eliza, but if you tell me where the diamond is, I won't kill the rest of your friends. One of them knows where you hid it, and I'll kill every last one of them until I find it." He held up the picture of the diamond on my phone like the trophy he thought it was and not the curse it had become.

"Don't kill Maggie or my friends," I pleaded. "They have nothing to do with this. Please, Blake! It's two houses down, in the mailbox. Just go get it and walk away. It's there, I promise! You don't have to kill anyone else. Please!"

There was nothing but cold resolve in his eyes as he stared at me and took aim. I knew then that neither one of us was going to survive this. I would never become a chef. I would never do something good to be remembered by. I would forever be Eliza Carlisle, the trouble magnet who got other people killed. That was worse than knowing I was about to die.

Tears filled my eyes as Williams' finger began to squeeze the trigger.

27: A Start

I didn't hear the glass shatter until after Williams started to fall. I never heard the shot at all. Not like the time before when it had been so loud, so close, I couldn't hear properly for days. This shot was silent, eerie in how quietly a life could be ended. I saw his eyes change before anything else. Somehow, I'd kept my eyes open as I faced my death, but it wasn't my blood on the wall. It was his. Red mist hung in the air as his body crumpled.

Maggie screamed. I stared at the gun that had fallen from Williams' hand and landed at my feet. The picture of the diamond was visible on my phone, sitting in his half-closed, lifeless fist like the death sentence it was. I wasn't dead. Maggie wasn't dead. Williams was dead. Blood pooled around his head. I could smell it. I couldn't stop staring at it. It was so quiet. Peaceful, almost, except for the dead body at my feet. I felt my breathing begin to pick up speed as that thought sunk in.

I barely even heard the door being bashed in, the heavy boots clomping their way into the room, the scratching of the thick material of tactical uniforms as the armored men swarmed into the home. Maggie was sobbing beside me. I wasn't sure what I was doing.

Jumping back in fear when a helmeted man knelt in front of me, my breathing skyrocketed and I nearly tipped my chair over. His gloved hands grabbed the armrests and kept me from falling. "Eliza Carlisle?"

I stared at my own reflection in his black helmet visor and couldn't make myself answer. One of his hands left the chair and pulled his helmet off. I had no idea who he was, but his expression was kind, compassionate, something calm in the middle of utter chaos. "Eliza? Are you hurt?"

Shaking my head, I immediately regretted it when pain sloshed around inside my skull. The SWAT guy reached up and turned my face very gently. "We'll have the EMTs look at that, but you're okay otherwise?"

I shook my head again. Either my brain or my vocal chords weren't quite over the shock yet, because I couldn't make myself speak. Maybe it was the fear that if I opened my mouth, everything I was trying to hold inside would come spilling out and empty me so much I'd never be able to recover.

The SWAT guy patted my arm. "My name is Sergeant Mansfield. I'm going to get you out of this chair, okay?" He took a knife from his belt and held it up next to his body. "There's tape on your arms and ankles. I'm going to cut it so I can get you out of here, all right?"

I nodded, suddenly desperate to be able to move, to get away from Williams' dead body. Intense need hit me hard and I started trembling uncontrollably. I wanted out of this chair, out of this house, out of all of it. Every slice of the tape upped my desire to run. He freed my feet first. Then my right arm. Then, before he even got completely through cutting the tape on my left arm, I jerked it free and tried to stand up.

He put a hand on my shoulder and held me there. I bit my bottom lip hard, trying to hold in a scream to let me go. "Let me help you," he said. He stowed his knife back on his belt and gripped my elbow, helping me stand and immediately pulling me under his arm as though he thought I might collapse.

We made it as far as the door before I spotted Baxter and broke free of the sergeant's hold. I slammed into Baxter's chest, and he caught me, but then the yelling started. "What the hell is wrong with you? What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how stupid this was? How dangerous? I have never been so furious in my entire life! You had no business running off on your own like that! You could have been killed! Do you even realize that?"

"Yes, she realizes that," Maggie snapped at him. She was a few feet away, being guided to one of the waiting ambulances by another of the SWAT guys. He didn't push her when she stopped to face Baxter down. "She knew exactly what might happen to her, and she did it anyway."

Maggie's expression crumpled, new tears forming in her eyes. "This wasn't her fight, but she came to help. She barely knew me, but she risked her own life to save me. I know that scares you, because you clearly care about her a lot, even though you act like you don't most of the time, but don't blame her for this. I would never have asked her to risk her life for mine, but she did, and I won't let you criticize her for that."

Baxter stared at her with his mouth set in a grim line. Through Maggie's berating, he'd kept me pressed against his chest, and his arms tightened around me even more after what she'd said. Everyone was staring at them. Finally, the SWAT guy helping Maggie gently urged her to keep going. The rest of the cops went back to what they were doing and the bystanders who'd gathered for a show went back to gawking at other things.

"Are you okay?" Baxter asked, his voice rough, equally concerned and annoyed.

I nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"He hit me," I finally managed to say, "but I'll be fine."

I didn't think I would be fine, but not because of getting punched in the head.

Baxter's fingers gently probed what was probably a nasty bruise forming on my cheekbone. "What made you think you could trick him into thinking you had the diamond? Lying to him wasn't going to save Maggie."

"I wasn't lying," I said. Baxter's grip lessened and I looked up at him. "I found it, after you fell asleep. It was inside the bell on Mouser's collar. I was about to wake you and tell you, but I got the text from Williams, and I knew you'd try to stop me, so I snuck out."

"You have the diamond?" Baxter asked in amazement.

"Well, not on me," I said. "I hid it in that mailbox over there. Which, I guess, someone should probably go get for evidence before someone else finds it." I frowned, wondering how much trouble I'd be in if the homeowner of that mailbox—or a mail carrier—found the diamond and quietly carried it off. Probably a lot. Grimacing, I looked back at Baxter, but he was already directing an officer to go collect the diamond. When he turned back to me he was shaking his head.

"Maybe that wasn't the best place to hide it," I admitted, but too spent to really care by that point.

Dragging a hand down his face, Baxter surprised me by laughing. "I can't believe you texted Williams asking him how to get down from the fire escape." He started laughing harder. "And that you forgot to take any cash for a taxi. What if the address had been further away?"

I pushed back and stared up at him. "What? How do you know about that?" Embarrassment burned through me, settling on my cheeks as a fiery red.

Baxter laughed harder. I'd never seen him laugh like that, and frankly, it pissed me off that he was directing it at me. "Stringer had your phone tapped, remember? And they were tracking it. They knew about the text about ten minutes after you got it and started monitoring your movements. They should have seen it earlier, but the tech watching your phone had stepped away to use the restroom."

"What?" I shrieked. "They knew about Maggie and didn't do anything? They knew I was going to meet Williams and...and they let me?"

Baxter's expression darkened. "Believe me, that wasn't my decision."

His gaze shifted to where Detective Stringer and Detective Hollister were standing. Judging by the murderous look he was giving them, they might want to keep their distance for a while.

"The delay in getting the info about the text, and your rash decision to run, made it difficult for them to find someone who could stand in for you quickly enough. They didn't have a decoy diamond ready to make the exchange a real possibility, either. Nobody guessed you had the real one," Baxter said. "They mobilized SWAT and got them in place before you were even close to this building, but they couldn't get clean shot on Williams and they had no idea where Maggie was and didn't want to risk catching her in the crossfire. They hoped to catch him when he opened the door to you, but he had you inside too quickly for them to make a move."

"What changed?" I asked, still pissed off, but grateful they had acted so quickly to get to Maggie's house, at least.

Baxter sighed and leaned against a nearby police cruiser. "After you went in, Williams moved you both into the living room. He'd shut all the blinds, but they were able to use body heat sensors and sound equipment to pinpoint where everyone was and get a couple of sharpshooters into place. When it looked and sounded like he was getting ready to kill you both, they decided to risk the shot."

"They shot him without knowing for sure it was him?" I asked, shocked.

"It wasn't an easy call, but there were two heat signatures that seemed to be restrained, and one that looked like it was about to take a shot. They were afraid he was about to kill you both," Baxter said, "and with as many people as we suspect he had already killed, they didn't want to risk letting him add you two to his list."

I swallowed hard, knowing exactly what would have happened if they had waited a second longer or took the seemingly safer option. Feeling shaky, I took a few short steps and leaned against the car with Baxter. "Don't tell Bernadette about all of this, please?"

Sighing, Baxter gestured at the news vans already surrounding the scene. "If she doesn't already know, she will soon enough."

My shoulders fell. She was going to be furious. As angry as Baxter had been when they first brought me out, that was nothing compared to what I knew my sister was going to throw at me. When I first approached her with my plan to come to New York and enroll in culinary school, she'd been excited and supportive of me moving on with my life. Her enthusiasm had been tempered with an understandable amount of fear. She'd made me promise her something, that I'd stay safe, out of the spotlight, away from anything that could expose me and reopen past chapters of my life no one wanted to revisit.

It hit me then, and I doubled over as a wave of panic seized me. The cameras, the frenzy finding a ten million dollar diamond that had been missing for fifty years, the fact that I had been a victim of a madman...Bernadette wouldn't be angry just because I'd put myself in danger and she worried about me like a good big sister did. I'd broken my promise to her.

"He going to find me," I whispered over and over again as I slid down the car and buried my head against my knees. "He's going to find me."

"Eliza, he's dead," Baxter said and he squatted in front of me and gripped my shoulders. "Williams is dead. He's not going to come after you again."

I shook my head, sobbing even though I wouldn't have done a single thing different. Maggie deserved to be saved. My friends shouldn't have been targets. All the victims, fifty years ago and now, deserved to know the truth and have justice, closure. I did the right thing. Yet I was still crying hysterically as Baxter called over paramedics saying something about shock. I didn't resist when someone picked me up and carried me to an ambulance. The oxygen mask they put over my face felt like a disguise, one I needed desperately to hide behind. Either the extra oxygen or the slight degree of anonymity helped. Slowly, it began to calm me and I started to breathe again.

It took a while before my mind cleared and I found Baxter at my side, holding my hand as I lay on the gurney. A paramedic was with us. He monitored the thing clipped to my finger and the blood pressure cuff around my arm. He didn't stop until he was completely satisfied I wasn't going to have another panic attack, though he likely thought my meltdown had to do with what I'd just been through. Baxter wasn't so easily fooled.

"Can we have a minute alone," he asked the man.

"Sure, I'll be just outside," he said before handing me a chemical icepack for my head and jumping down from the back of the vehicle and disappearing.

Baxter was silent for a long time. He took in a deep breath, then asked, "You weren't talking about Williams, were you?"

I shook my head.

"Then who?"

It was difficult to answer that question. I came to Manhattan to be anonymous, so I could get lost in a big city where no one knew me or my past. I didn't think that was possible anymore, but it still hurt to admit it.

"What has Bernadette told you?"

"About what?"

"About me," I said. "About my past."

Baxter shrugged. "Nothing. I mean, she talked about you on occasion, but not many details, just how much she missed you and how proud she was of you. I wondered why she didn't say more, but I didn't press her about it. People have a right to keep their personal lives personal."

"So, she didn't tell you about Ben?" I asked.

Bernadette was good at keeping secrets, and she would never betray my trust, but I had wondered over the past few weeks if she had told the man she'd asked to watch out for me what he might really be up against. I still hadn't figured out why Baxter had, at one time, slept on my sister's couch, but I knew now that she trusted him. I just didn't know how much.

His brows pulled together in confusion at the question. "Ben?" He shrugged. "I don't know who that is."

"He was my boyfriend, in high school, and I witnessed his murder. I saw him get shot, and then the killer turned the gun on me," I said as tears pooled in my eyes. "He didn't take the shot, though, because he didn't want me dead. Not then, anyway. He wanted me to live for as long as he saw fit knowing he'd taken Ben from me. He wanted me to fear him, to live the rest of my life with him in the back of my mind, wondering when he would show back up and take someone else from me."

"Why?" Baxter asked. "Why would he kill your boyfriend and torture you like that?"

The tears I'd been trying to hold back finally broke loose. "Because I took someone from him."

Baxter's head tilted to the side, slow and considering. "Who?"

I shrugged, pointlessly wishing things could have been different. "His father."

Pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to fight off a massive headache, Baxter shook his head. "I don't understand. You had an affair with his dad or something, and..."

Crinkling my nose in revulsion, I said, "What? No." I shook off that disgusting thought and tried to clear things up so Baxter knew just how dangerous it was to be around me. "No, it was my mom. She had an affair with his dad."

"How is that your fault?" Baxter asked.

Shrugging, I tried not to let his wording hurt me too much. He didn't mean it like that, even though that was what I had been told for so long. "I was the result of that affair. My mom got pregnant, my dad left his wife and son, and just took off. He abandoned them, not really for me, but because he'd been looking for an excuse to leave, and I ended up being it."

"So Bernadette..."

"Is my half-sister. Her dad died in a car accident when she was three, and our mom was struggling to make it on her own when she met my dad." I twisted the tube of the oxygen mask that was no longer in use. "I had no idea about any of this until I was in high school and Bernadette finally told me the truth. I didn't take it very well, but she warned me against asking my parents about it. They'd built up this fantasy for themselves about how their life together started, how sweet and perfect it had all been. It was like their previous lives had simply never existed."

Baxter leaned back against a row of drawers built into the side of the ambulance. "I'm guessing that didn't work for you, given what I know about you now."

The corner of his mouth turned up, like maybe that wasn't as bad of a thing as he thought when we first met. I started to smile, too, but hesitated, knowing that was undoubtedly about to change.

"When I learned I had a half-brother, I reached out to Simon. I hated that my dad had just walked out and forgotten about him. I thought maybe..." I shook my head, amazed at how stupid I had been. "I thought it would heal something, for both of us. There would be this kinship between us, right?" My lips began to tremble. "That wasn't how he saw it. To him, I'd stolen the life he was supposed to have had. I had this seemingly charmed life when he and his mom were struggling just to get by after my dad left them. He hated our father, and after that, he hated me. I became the reason for everything bad in his life, and he decided to get even."

Sadness filled Baxter's eyes. "So he killed Ben."

"And everyone blamed me." When Baxter looked at me with a confused expression, I shrugged. "I should have just left things well enough alone. My parents blamed me. Ben's parents blamed me. Even Bernadette blamed me a little, though she never said anything out loud. She'd warned me not to stir up trouble, but I've never been very good at that."

As I twisted my hands together, Baxter reached over and covered them with his. "You don't stir up the trouble," he said, "you just jump into what's already there headfirst, but I don't mean that as a bad thing." He frowned and looked away. "I was scared to death when I woke up and you'd disappeared, but I really do understand why you did it. I don't think any of this, or what happened to Ben, is your fault. I think you try to do the right thing and help people when they need it, and that lands you in some bad situations."

I looked up and met his gaze, trying to figure out if he really meant that. From the moment Baxter and I met, our relationship had been one fight after another, interspersed with moments like this I had no idea what to do with half the time. Deep down, Baxter was a good person. He wasn't always the nicest person, but how many times had he already come through for me? He'd been a volatile, judgmental, irritating presence in my life since arriving in Manhattan, but he'd been a friend when I needed one. That was why this was going to hurt so much.

"Baxter, thank you," I said, struggling to keep myself from crying for the hundredth time. "Thank you for everything you've done to keep me sane and alive the last few weeks."

"But?" he asked slowly.

"But Simon will come back. After what happened today, he'll figure out where I am. No one's seen him in five years, but the police are wrong if they think he's given up. He'll come back, and he'll keep his promise. He'll take someone else I care about, and I can't stand the thought of that being you," I said through a batch of tears, "even though you're really kind of a jerk most of the time."

Sitting back and bracing his elbows on his knees, he was quiet for a few minutes. I waited, equally silent, for him to nod, stand up, and leave. I'd been nothing but a constant interruption and thorn in his side since we met. Not even a promise to my sister was going to be enough to keep him from washing his hands of me now.

"I've changed my mind about something," Baxter said. "I think you should date Sean."

At a loss, all I could say was, "What?"

"Well, if Simon does come back and you're dating Sean, I'll be safe, at least."

It was awful of me, but I started laughing. I punched Baxter in the shoulder, too. "You are a horrible person. You know that, right?"

He smiled, but it was tempered by concern. "Do you remember when you told me I didn't owe you anything just because I made a promise to Bernadette to look out for you?"

I nodded, holding my breath.

"I told you it didn't have anything to do with Bernadette."

"And when I asked you what it did have to do with, you never answered me," I said quietly.

"I got distracted by you...being in so much pain," he said, "but the truth is, as good of a friend as Bernadette is, that alone wouldn't make me jump into the middle of this kind of chaos. It had much more to do with you than her. Yes, I am an asshole to people ninety percent of the time. I'm not a pleasant person to be around. I became a lawyer to help people, though. My grandfather was a lawyer and he was one of the best people I knew. He despised the horrible things people did to each other, and he believed you had to do your part to set things right when you had the chance."

Baxter let his head fall into his hands. "There are so many ways I haven't lived up to his memory, but I share his respect for people who try to help others." He looked up at me, raw and exposed for the first time since I'd met him. "I appreciate you telling me about Simon, but I'm not going to stop being friends with you because I think it might be dangerous. Besides, you clearly need someone watching your back. You have zero sense for when something is too big to handle on your own, and I don't want your death on my conscience."

I was ninety percent sure he was joking about that last part, but that wasn't really what stuck in my mind. "Are we friends?" I asked.

Chuckling, Baxter folded his arms across his chest and scoffed. "You think I let just anyone sleep in my bed and drape themselves all over me?"

The reminder of the picture he took and threatened to send to Bernadette made my cheeks flush. "You better delete that picture."

"Never."

"You're such an ass."

He shrugged and leaned back against the wall of drawers. His eyes closed after a few seconds and his body lost a good deal of its tension. "You better call Sonya," he said. "She's been driving me insane with texts and calls every five minutes since we realized you were gone. I refuse to talk to her anymore."

"I'll call her as soon as my hands stop shaking."

His eyes stayed closed as he reached across and squeezed my hand for a moment. I felt my body begin to relax as my eyes closed as well. Williams was dead. I was safe for the time being. Baxter was still hanging around. My day hadn't turned out at all as I'd expected, but for once, that was a good thing. Despite my best efforts, I doubted this moment of calm would last long, but I wasn't as afraid to face whatever was coming next as I had been only a few hours ago. It was a start.

The End of Book One

Eliza's adventures continue in the novella, "The Catalyst," where Eliza crosses over into the Sydney Rye Kindle World and teams up with Hugh Defry and Mulberry to find a missing girl without actually getting involved. You can probably imagine how that will go!

Check out "The Catalyst" on KindleWorlds

The next full length novel in the Eliza Carlisle Mystery Series, "Firebrand," will release in August 15th, 2017. Keep reading for a preview of Eliza's next adventure!

If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review on your favorite reading platform. Reviews help spread the word about books you love!

Preview of

Firebrand

Eliza Carlisle Mystery, Book 2

1: Sinking Feeling

I glared at the plates as they disappeared from the order window. Or, more accurately, I glared at the person who had removed them. Danielle flashed me a venom-laden smile before turning away. The temptation to throw something at the back of her head was so hard to resist.

"Let it go, Eliza," Saul muttered.

That was the only advice he ever offered up for dealing with Danielle. He called her a queen bee. Everyone else called her much worse. "She dumped those plates back through the window on purpose."

Saul declined to comment.

"That's the third time tonight I've had to remake an order because she accidentally knocked the plate back through the window. Not to mention the food that was on the grill which she also ruined," I pointed out. "Don't you care that she's wasting food?"

He turned away shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

Clearly, Saul wasn't going to do anything about Danielle. It was up to me, as usual.

"What'd you do that's got her so pissed off anyway?" Saul asked.

"Who says I did anything?"

Giving me a knowing look, he waited for a response.

Grunting in annoyance, I turn my attention back to the burgers on the grill. "She found out Sean invited me to his uncle's cabin along with a bunch of other people. She's acting like the two of us are going away for some romantic weekend. Which is stupid. Sean's made it perfectly clear that I'm way too much trouble for him. We are strictly friends."

Saul shook his head. "Danielle used to be the one he invited to the cabin, and it was a romantic getaway for them."

I scoffed. Romantic? First off, I couldn't imagine Sean actually being romantic. Second, Puck was coming. That thought inspired all kinds of mixed up emotions. Puck was handsome and fun and into me. If anything remotely romantic was going to happen for me out in the woods, it wouldn't be with Sean. That was almost certainly not going to be the case, regardless. Puck was a player. Sort of. A nice guy, sure, but a risk...and not the kind of distraction I needed while trying to survive one of the country's toughest culinary schools while avoiding my dangerous past catching up with me.

"Danielle will cool off. Ignore her." Saul said that last part a bit more firmly than usual. He knew I came up with creative ways to ruin the meal she took home after work each night, and had never objected before. I wondered why this time he was bothering to dip his toe into our ongoing battle.

Before I could puzzle it out, a crash sounded from the dining room. It was followed up by several gasps and one startled shriek of fear. Saul groaned. I held my breath, expecting the worst. Since coming to Manhattan, I had been accused of stealing evidence in a murder investigation by a corrupt cop and been dragged into a human trafficking case by one of my culinary school classmates. Life in the big city had been anything but calm or safe. I'd had more guns pointed at me in the last month and a half than most people would see in an entire lifetime. Even the smallest hint of danger or unwelcomed excitement put me on edge.

I held my spatula out in front of me, as though it had some shielding potential. Saul grumbled his way toward the dining room to investigate. I didn't move a muscle until he shouted, "Someone call 911!"

Damn it! What now?

I snatched my phone out of my pocket and dialed the three numbers as I forced myself to leave the kitchen and enter the dining area. It probably said something about as me as a person that I was more annoyed than concerned by the man slumped halfway out of the booth with his food spilled all over the floor. I'd hit my max of drama in this city about a week after I got here. Why was it so hard to just get through school without craziness dogpiling on you every five seconds?

Instantly, I felt terrible for putting my own sanity and peace of mind over this poor guy's health. I realized then that the guy's health was irrelevant. He wasn't choking or having a heart attack. His frozen face and stiff posture sent a chill through me. He was dead.

It had damn well better be of natural causes, I thought uncharitably as I tapped send and completed the call. Looking away from the man, I tried to pass off the weird feeling I had that said this wasn't going to be a simple case, but something didn't seem right about the way he'd fallen.

I waited through the standard "what's your emergency" message from the 911 operator and tried to push aside any thoughts of foul play I responded.

"My name is Eliza Carlisle. I work at Saul's Diner, and we just had a man collapse in the dining room. I think he's...dead."

"I'm sending paramedics to your location right now. Have you checked for a pulse?" the woman asked.

"My boss just did," I said. Judging by the shake of Saul's head, my initial guess was spot on. I crossed my fingers my second guess wouldn't be. "He can't find a pulse," I told the operator. "He's not breathing, and he's very...still."

The operator hesitated a moment before continuing. "Is there anyone on the premises who is trained in CPR?"

I really wasn't sure, but when I turned to ask Saul, I realized he'd already begun compressions. "My boss already started," I said.

I knelt down, thinking the operator might want to talk to Saul since he was the one trying to save the guy, but something caught my eye before I could offer to give him the phone. My eyes narrowed as I stared at the dead man. There was something on his mouth. Saul stopped compressions and moved to give the man a rescue breath, but I grabbed the back of his shirt on instinct and held him back.

Glancing back at me in confusion, Saul started to say something, but I pointed at the man's mouth. "What is that?"

"What is what?" the operator asked.

I'd forgotten she was still on the line. Even after realizing she was still listening, I spoke to Saul instead of her. "There's this weird white powder at the corners of his mouth. It almost looks like artificial sugar, but..."

"The consistency isn't right for artificial sweetener," Saul said.

He stood and stepped over to the table, scanning the mess for some clue. His gaze fixed on something I couldn't see. Curious, but hoping with everything I had that it wasn't anything worthy of police involvement, I stood and stepped over to the table as well. Nothing stood out at first. It wasn't until Saul pointed at an open sugar packet lying on the table next to a blueberry muffin that I even noticed the bit of trash. Even then, I wasn't sure why it had caught his attention.

"We don't carry that brand," Saul said, "and that doesn't look like sweetener."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He nodded, his mouth turning down in a deep, worried drown.

"Do not touch the powder," the 911 operator said in a way that made me think she'd already repeated herself several times.

"Yeah," I replied dumbly.

"Emergency services are on their way. Do not touch the victim or any of the powder. Back away from the victim, please."

Laying my hand on Saul's arm, I gently urged him back from the dead man. I couldn't help hoping we were wrong and it was just sugar, but deep down I knew it wasn't. I knew because I had the same feeling in the pit of my stomach that I'd had the first moment I saw them carting Ms. Sinclair off in a body bag, and the moment Rapha said his sister hadn't arrived at the airport as planned. Something was very, very wrong. Wrong enough that the police were going to ask questions and take statements and start pointing fingers at suspects. I had the distinct, sinking feeling I was going to be one of those people.

Also by DelSheree Gladden

The Handbook Series

The Crazy Girl's Handbook

The Oblivious Girl's Handbook

Eliza Carlisle Mystery Series

Trouble Magnet

The Catalyst

Firebrand

Instigator (coming soon)

The Arcane Wielder Series

Life & Being

The Ghost Host Series

The Ghost Host: Episode 1

The Ghost Host: Episode 2

Escaping Fate Series

Escaping Fate

Soul Stone

Oracle Lost

(Coming Soon)

Twin Souls Saga

Twin Souls

Shaxoa's Gift

Qaletaqa

The Destroyer Trilogy

Inquest

Secret of Betrayal

Darkening Chaos

Someone Wicked This Way Comes Series

Wicked Hunger

Wicked Power

Wicked Glory

Wicked Revenge

The Aerling Series

Invisible

Intangible

Invincible

The Date Shark Series

Date Shark

Shark Out Of Water

The Only Shark In The Sea

Shark In Troubled Waters

About the Author

DelSheree Gladden was one of those shy, quiet kids who spent more time reading than talking. Literally. She didn't speak a single word for the first three months of preschool, but she had already taught herself to read. Her fascination with reading led to many hours spent in the library and bookstores, and eventually to writing. She wrote her first novel when she was sixteen years old, but spent ten years rewriting and perfecting it before having it published.

Native to New Mexico, DelSheree and her husband spent several years in Colorado for college and work before moving back home to be near family again. Their two children love having their cousins close by. When not writing, you can find DelSheree reading, painting, sewing and trying not to get bitten by small children in her work as a dental hygienist. DelSheree has several bestselling young adult series, including "Invisible" which was part of the USA Today Bestselling box set, "Pandora." The "Date Shark Series" is her first contemporary romance series, now joined by her first romantic comedy, "The Crazy Girl's Handbook," and the comedic "Eliza Carlisle Mystery Series."

Connect with DelSheree Gladden Online

https://www.facebook.com/AuthorDelShereeGladden

http://www.delshereegladden.com/

https://twitter.com/DelSheree

http://www.pinterest.com/delsheree/

 https://plus.google.com/+DelShereeGladden/posts?cfem=1

 https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCvhRQvJy3KJhllsepnX6ogQ/videos

https://www.linkedin.com/in/delshereegladden

http://delsheree.tumblr.com/

http://writepublishrepeat.libsyn.com/ (podcast)

