STANDING IN THE corridor in front of the apartment door, Sally knocked a second time. Water dripped from her hair and clothing and her worn tennis shoes were soaked. The light at the end of the hall flashed off and on and she could hear loud music playing from somewhere on the floor. It wasn’t what she expected to find for the woman with the fur coat and expensive jewelry, but as Sally had learned, not everything was as they appeared.
Sliding off her backpack, she pulled out the purse and verified the address. She definitely had the right place. Looking up and down the hall, she worked her bottom lip. Then it struck her. There was a key in the purse. She could open the door, drop the purse inside, and be on her way.
Just as she’d suspected, the key fit and she unlocked the door. “Hello?” No answer. Opening the door wider, she peeked in, noticing that a dim light was turned on. “Hello? Monica? This is Sally…Sally Holloway. Sorry, you don’t know me…I’m the coffee woman. Rather, the coffee disaster. The one who spilled it all over your coat.” Oh my gosh. What was wrong with her? The woman who spilled coffee on your coat?
She needed to just get this over with. She had a bench at the bus station waiting for her.
Hearing voices coming from down the hall, Sally panicked. It would be hard to explain to anyone that she was standing in the open doorway of a stranger’s home. Unsure of what she should do, she quickly stepped inside the apartment to wait for the talking men to pass.
They walked by and Sally sighed in relief, only to smell something strong, like gasoline. She glanced from the living room to the kitchen. Both looked like they’d been hit by a cyclone. Clothes, dishes and papers were scattered about. Had the woman been in a hurry to leave? Yet why was there a strong odor of gas?
It didn’t matter. She was wasting time.
Going into the kitchen, she dropped the purse onto the counter and started to turn back for the door when she heard a creaking sound and a large shadow loomed on the wall. Her heart slammed into her feet. Oh shit. There was someone in the apartment. How would she explain being here? Sure, the purse was proof, but what if Monica called the police? Would they arrest Sally? A homeless person never had a good defense.
She started to run for the door when a pair of strong arms grabbed her around the neck and shoulders and dragged her back. She knew this wasn’t Monica…
****
Cull grabbed his thermos and sipped on the coffee. He’d been sitting on the street for two hours and he hadn’t seen the woman. He’d been in Cheyenne for twenty-four hours and after speaking to a few of the staff members at the motel where Yates had been killed, he’d tracked Monica Warren to the apartment building that was rented under a false name, which didn’t surprise him. He knew finding her here was a shot in the dark, but he had a hunch she’d be back. He’d talked the apartment manager into letting him into the place under the pretense that he was a concerned family member, and when the man wasn’t looking, Cull did a little visual investigating and was quite surprised that Ms. Warren didn’t keep her large sum of money hidden better than under the mattress. He’d wanted to do more investigating, but the manager had mumbled something about getting back to watching TV.
Yeah, she’d be back, especially since her cash source was recently murdered.
He swiped a hand down his face. He’d never liked surveillance.
Reaching for his phone, he dialed his brother who answered on the second ring. “Find her yet?” Zander asked.
“Nope.”
“You giving up?”
Chuckling, Cull said, “Hell no. I’ll catch her.”
“If you say so, man. If you need—”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Cull whispered. “I’ve got to go.” He clicked off and stared at the slender silhouette across the street. The rain made the vision blurry. Could it be her?
Easing back into the seat, he watched her cross. She stopped and looked up at the apartment building, then directly at him, or rather at his truck. He doubted that she could see him, but he could see her better under the light of the security lamp. She worked her bottom lip and tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear.
He pulled up her picture up on his phone. Although it was difficult to be sure, they did look similar.
The woman looked around her as if checking to make sure she wasn’t being followed.
His adrenaline and curiosity spiked.
Cull watched her closely. She was petite, dressed in baggy jeans and an oversized jacket…not what he’d expected for an escort, but then again, exactly what he’d expect for a woman who was in hiding. She was smart enough to dress in disguise.
Once she entered the building, Cull slid out of his truck and watched her through the glass door. He could see her hesitate at the bottom of the stairs and then move up them. What the hell was she doing here? Could catching her suddenly be this easy?
Two men stepped into the lobby, casually greeted him and started for the stairs. Cull overheard them talking about the winning numbers at the bingo game.
Waiting a few minutes, he made his way up the stairs behind them and to apartment two-ten. Surprisingly, he found that the door was left ajar. Carefully, he opened it a few inches wider, listening. He didn’t see or hear anything, but he did smell something. Smoke?
Stepping in, he was immediately met with a thick, grey cloud that filled his lungs. He coughed and took a small step back, gathering his senses. His protective instincts shot into gear. The place was on fire. He ran out into the hall, triggered the fire alarm and raced back inside. The smell of gasoline was strong in the air and his years of training, skill, and knowledge overtook the shock.
The woman…she was inside. He knew she was here somewhere.
He moved slowly. “Lady?” he yelled. His voice seemed engulfed by the threatening cloud which grew thicker as he moved deeper into the apartment. Flames shot out from the living room, eating up the curtains and climbing the side of the wall.
Not able to see past a few feet and his breathing was growing labored from the smoke, he dragged off his shirt and held it against his face as he took slow, precise steps, searching through the darkened space for the woman. “Hello? Lady?” He moved his gaze erratically.
Taking his phone out of his pocket, he used the light to see where he was going.
Flames now reached as high as the ceiling and were spreading fast.
Where the hell was the woman?
“Lady? Where are you?” He stepped toward the hallway where thankfully there wasn’t as much smoke and he could see beyond a few feet. He heard a noise from one of the rooms. A loud thud? Or a moan? “Lady?” he was yelling louder now, moving faster too, so fast that he’d dropped his shirt somewhere in his haste. With a boot to the locked bedroom door and the splintering of wood everywhere, he rushed in to find her lying on the floor. The window across the room was wide open and the thin white curtains were ripped and billowed in the wind.
Cull dropped down to his knees beside her and checked her pulse. Although it was slow and faint, she was alive. “We have to get out of here,” he commanded, stealing a quick glance over his shoulder, checking the status of the fire. The smoke was thicker in the hallway now and he could feel the temperature rising. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the heat and adrenaline rush. “I’ll get you out of here,” he said to the unconscious woman. He reached beneath her and gently lifted her, although his protective side yearned to grab her up and hurry the hell out of the burning apartment before they both ended up dead. When her hair swept off her forehead, he saw the blood smeared at her hairline. She’d been struck. Someone had left her for dead.
Hearing menacing pops and creaks, he realized they didn’t have long before the place was consumed in fire.
With her tucked in his arms, he started for the door when he stopped cold. The flames were within several feet, blocking his exit. “Shit!” The apartment was going up quick.
Looking back at the window, he realized there was only one way out. Scrambling across the room, he peered through the open window, feeling a rush of fresh, cool air that gave his lungs relief. The woman weighed nothing and he easily held her against the safety of his chest and arms as he climbed through the window onto the fire escape. The rusted metal creaked and scraped against the brick building as if in warning that it didn’t meet code. He wasn’t too sure about the stability, but what choice did he have? With as much gasoline as he smelled poured throughout the apartment, he wasn’t sure how much time they had before the place was engulfed.
Bracing her so that if they fell he’d protect her from getting hurt, he took each step carefully, but instinct cautioned him that he needed to move faster. When he finally reached the ground, he heard a loud crack, closely followed by the breaking of windows. A shower of glass poured around him. Fire alarms were going off inside the building and he hoped residents were all hurrying out.
Then a new sound joined the others. Loud familiar pops. Shit! He dropped down to his knees behind a car, still holding the woman close, frantically looking around into the darkness. They were being shot at!
Where was it coming from?
Cull covered the woman with his body for protection as he looked around the front of the fender. He couldn’t see anyone from his position. It was too dark. In the distance he could hear the rustling of clothing then the thudding of shoes against concrete. Drawing his gun from the waist of his jeans, he squatted by the tire and waited, using all his senses.
Another succession of loud pings hit the car and screams sounded from people nearby. People were gathering in the commotion.
Someone was pissed that he had saved the woman.
Crawling on his stomach along the rough concrete, he narrowed his eyes, targeting every inch of space where the gunman could be hiding…and then he saw movement in the shadows almost a hundred feet away. A man dressed in all black jumped out from behind a dumpster and ran for the alley. Cull was on his feet in seconds, chasing the assailant. At the corner of a building, he stopped, aimed and took several shots. The gunman jumped the chain-link fence, falling hard on the other side. He let out a low groan of pain, but he was up and running.
Cull was sure he’d hit the man.
He heard sirens in the distance, but he couldn’t wait for their assistance. He sprinted down the shadowed alley and hit the fence running, flying over it in record time, just in time to see the gunman hop into a vehicle, burning rubber and squealing tires as he took off.
Aiming at the car, Cull wanted to take the shot, but by now the fire and gun shots had drawn a crowd and he couldn’t take the risk of hitting an innocent bystander.
Cursing, he watched until the car, a beat-up Oldsmobile with the back tag removed, disappeared. He quickly made his way back to the unconscious woman. The spots of blood on her forehead had turned into a trickle and left a red trail down her pale cheek. She was eerily still and he had to check her breathing again. Thankfully, she was alive.
Someone had meant to kill her. Would have killed him too.
Goosebumps scattered the woman’s flesh and he realized she must be cold. Drawing her into his arms, he sat back onto his bottom and leaned against the side of the car, cradling her close as he watched the apartment burn. He touched her slender neck, sliding the tips of his fingers gently along her smooth skin, feeling her pulse. It was stronger now, but her color was still too pale for his liking.
Flashing lights feathered across the building as the police cruisers stormed in. The woman moaned, and he threaded his fingers in her hair, attempting to soothe her. “It’s okay, Monica. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He squeezed her tighter, suddenly feeling like he’d become her protector.
Her eyelids fluttered. “Wh-who are you?”
“The man who saved you,” he whispered.
“Don’t leave me,” she said softly and closed her eyes.