High-Caliber Holiday. Susan Sleeman

       FIVE

      Morgan slung the straps for her briefcase and gym bag over her shoulders and stepped to the door. Fear that had plagued her all night made her hesitate and her hand lingered on the knob. “You’re being ridiculous. No one’s waiting to hurt you.”

      She pulled her shoulders back and stepped outside. Wind howled down the tree-lined street, but the sun shone bright and the snow was melting. She huddled into her coat and carefully made her way down the slippery sidewalk. A nutty scent drifted up from the coffee shop on the lower level of her building. Her salary left little money to spend on coffee, and she rarely did, but after her lack of sleep and the unusually cold morning she couldn’t resist the aroma.

      She took the steps down to the shop and ordered a large mocha with whipped cream. She’d have to work harder tonight at the gym to burn off the extra calories, but after her day yesterday she deserved a treat.

      The barista was efficient and Morgan was soon pressing the remote for her car. She checked for oncoming cars on the busy street as she sipped her coffee, the chocolaty goodness sliding down her throat and leaving a warm trail. Traffic cleared for a moment and she quickly opened the door before another car could charge past and sideswipe her door. Her gaze landed on the driver’s seat. She jumped back in horror. The coffee cup dropped from her hand, exploding on the pavement, darkening the brilliant white snow and splashing up her leg. She yelped at the pain but even that couldn’t take her eyes from the seat.

      Two long-stemmed red roses crossed like an X lay on the seat, an envelope beneath them. She was curious about what the envelope contained, but the roses captured her thoughts. Maybe the X meant something, maybe not. Didn’t matter. What mattered was that someone broke into her car without damaging it. No broken windows. No jimmied lock. The roses were fresh, as if they’d just come from a garden or a cooler, not been exposed to freezing temperatures for hours. They’d been left recently, which meant her stalker had to be close.

      She fired a look down the street, searching for anyone watching her. Two people headed for their cars. No one looked at her. At least, no one standing out in the open.

      Could her stalker be hiding in the bushes across the street—behind trees down the road—while she stood out here? Vulnerable. Her life in danger.

      A car horn sounded behind her, and she spun around, clutching her briefcase like a shield. A man sat behind the wheel of his car. His gaze frustrated, he made shooing gestures with his hands.

      Feeling as if she was coming out of a fog, she looked around. She’d backed into traffic, but she didn’t care. Could she ask this man for his help? Ask to sit with him while she called 911? Could she even trust this man? Was he the stalker?

       You’re still vulnerable. Move, now. Go. Quickly.

      She slammed her car door and ran for her apartment building. She frantically slid her fingers along the ring to locate the right key for the main entrance. Her hand trembled. The key refused to fit the lock. A noise from behind startled her. The keys flew from her hand as she shot a look over her shoulder. Spotted a woman walking her fluffy white dog down the street.

      Not a threat, but one still existed. She had to get inside. She scrambled to find the right key. Got it into the lock and twisted.

      Now what? The thought came unbidden. With the rose and photo left on the counter, you’re no safer inside.

       You’re not safe anywhere.

      * * *

      Brady’s phone rang, dragging him out of a deep sleep. He groaned and glanced at the clock. Better be important for someone to get him out of bed at 6:00 a.m. when he’d stayed with Rossi until two o’clock. Fat lot of good it did them. They’d lifted a few fingerprints but located no other leads.

      He grabbed his phone and when he saw the caller ID, he was instantly alert.

      “Morgan,” he answered. “Is something wrong?”

      “Roses,” she whispered. “Two of them. In my car with an envelope.”

      A vision of her standing near her vehicle, a dangerous stalker nearby, had Brady lurching to his feet and grabbing a pair of jeans. “Where are you?”

      “In the coffee shop of my building. I thought staying in a public place would be the most secure location right now so I hurried down here.”

      “Stay there. I’m on my way.”

      “Thank you, Brady.” He heard the relief in her voice, and he hated to admit it, but he liked that she’d called him to come to her rescue.

      He pulled on a T-shirt and quickly brushed his teeth, then grabbing his jacket on the way out, he made a mad dash down the stairs to his ancient pickup truck. One set of footprints led across the asphalt to Jake’s car.

      “Brady?” he called out.

      “It’s Morgan. More roses,” he explained and jumped into his truck. He used the wipers to clear the snowy windshield and coaxed the ancient truck to start in the unusual cold. On the road, Brady called Rossi who was even grumpier than last night, but he agreed to meet Brady at Morgan’s car.

      Rush hour had begun, but with the snow, most people would stay home until later, allowing Brady to pull up to the coffee shop in less than ten minutes. He grabbed latex gloves from his console and headed over to talk to Morgan, searching the area for potential threats on the way.

      He didn’t like what he saw. Plenty of places for a stalker to hide on the street and watch Morgan’s movements. No way would he bring her out into the open like this. He’d insist Morgan remain in the shop while he checked her car.

      She met him at the door. Dressed in another suit that appeared tailor-made, this one blue, she looked professional, but it was the fear darkening her eyes that struck him hard.

      “Thank you for coming,” she said, sounding like he’d arrived at a social event instead of another invasion into her life.

      Part of Brady was impressed that she could control her emotions, the other part was mad that she was hiding her real feelings. Still, her body language told the story. Arms clutched around her waist. Leaning forward