11:00 p.m.

At home in her townhouse, Lolli stretched out on the sofa with Dexter on her lap. Bruises littered her toned legs and the gash in her forehead swelled into a throbbing egg. Ever since the accident, she hadn’t told anyone what she’d experienced, except for the police and the paramedics who found her by the duck pond. Later, in the hospital, she learned what the killer had left next to her head. Blood painted the concrete, block-lettering that read, “SOON, YOU WILL DIE.”

How could she piss someone off to the point of killing her? During the hell ride, the voice never called her by name, but it seemed like he knew exactly who he targeted. Why her? She’d always tried to be helpful to seniors and the disabled, she gave to charities when she could afford it, and she never intentionally took anyone for granted.

What made her a target? It’s not like life hadn’t handed her more than her share of heartache and pain. Even so, she kept moving forward. That’s what you do. You don’t dwell on the negative; you concentrate on the positive. A wise woman once told her that, and she’d always tried to live by those words.

Until now.

Until the last twenty-four hours upended her life. Until some psycho with too much time tried to steal her life. Dammit. How dare he control her every thought, her every move, the very breath she breathed. At any moment he could strike, and for what? So some lonely kid behind a keyboard could get his kicks? No. She couldn’t allow this. Not after all she’d busted her hump to achieve.

Lolli stroked Dexter’s fur. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, buddy.”

His aqua eyes closed, then reopened.

“I love you too.”

As her heart rate slowed for the first time in hours, a screeching trill blasted out the speaker of her cell phone. Claws out, Dexter rocketed off her lap. Head swiveling left and right, Lolli dropped her feet to the floor.

“We are not done,” said the voice. “You will die, Lolli McGarret. Get right with your God.”

Pacing the room, she peeked through the blinds on the front windows. Darkness overshadowed the street, except for one lone streetlamp casting a circular glow on the asphalt. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“To you in particular, or at all?”

Cell phone in hand, Lolli jogged down the stairs to the front door. Still locked, thankfully.

“To me.” She hesitated. Did that sound selfish? “What I mean is, do we know each other?”

“I know all about you Lolli.”

“How?”

“You’re not asking the right question.”

At the back door, she twisted and untwisted the padlock, re-engaging the metal bar into the hole. “How do you know all about me when I don’t even know your name?”

“They call me Reaper.”

“How fitting.” The second the words left her lips she longed to take them back. “I’m sorry. My mouth gets ahead of me sometimes. No offense, truly.”

“None taken.”

Hm. If she kept him talking, she might be able to extract enough information for the police. “When did we meet?”

“When isn’t important. Don’t bother asking where, either.”

Back upstairs, she lifted the skirt around the bottom mattress of her bed, and searched underneath. “Did I anger you in some way?”

“Nope. We had a very pleasant interaction, in fact. In another life we might even be friends.”

“So we have met in person.”

A long pause of silence came between them, and Lolli mentally kicked herself for revealing he’d given her a clue. If she didn’t recover quickly, she could blow this opportunity. Think, Lolli, think. What would Richard Castle do? “If I’ve done nothing to you personally, and we had a friendly exchange, then why would you try to kill me?”

“For the most important reason of all.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“I’ll let you figure that out.” A shuffle came over the line as if he was about to disconnect.

“Wait. Don’t hang up. I want to get to know you better. Are you single?”

A chuckle. “Why, you want to date me now? Tsk. Tsk. I didn’t take you for the desperate type.”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re twisting my words.”

“Goodbye, Lolli.”

“Wait. Please.”

“One final question. Go.”

As she mulled over what to say, she peered through the second-story window at the dark street below. A silhouette stepped partway into the smoldering glimmer of the lamppost, but not enough to distinguish anything useful. Dark hoodie, maybe jeans, judging height and weight from this angle would be near-impossible.

“How many people do you plan to kill?”

“As many as it takes.”

“For what?”

“To achieve the ultimate.”

“Which is…?”

“I assure you, it’s not personal. You can stop beating yourself up over something you can’t control.”

The dial tone flat-lined.