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“Ah, I see.” We’ve reached a red light and his gaze slides my way. I don’t like the hunger I see there. Instinctively, I reach for the handle of my door, but it’s locked. “And I have a wife,” he says smoothly. “But that’s never stopped me before when it comes to a beautiful woman.”
“I’d like to get out of the car now, Ian.” I fight to keep my voice even, to not let it give away my fear. He ignores me, proceeding through the now green light. I look wildly around at my surroundings. This stretch of road is mostly deserted. There are a few houses down a quiet lane in about half a mile. That’s where Jack lives.
Normally the fact that I have to drive by my ex’s neighborhood every day on the way to and from work is a sore point, but now it’s a beacon of hope that I cling to.
“My boyfriend lives right up here,” I try. “And he’s expecting me soon. I texted him.” I dig in my purse for my phone again, but still can’t find the dang thing. Instead my hands find the knitting needle.
It’s not much, but at least it’s something. I clutch it in my hand, fully prepared to use it as needed.
“Nora, don’t lie to me,” Ian chuckles. “You haven’t texted anybody. Frankly, I’m even doubting the boyfriend story at all. And I’m disappointed, Nora. I thought you’d see how this merger could benefit us both. I get to enjoy you, and you get that promotion you’ve been gunning for.”
Merger? That’s what he’s calling this pathetic attempt at getting sexual favors out of me? A fresh wave of anger temporarily tumbles over my panic and I spit out, “I would never sleep with someone to get ahead, you creep! Now let me out of this car right now or I’m going to stab you!” I brandish my knitting needle at him, which looks far less intimidating than I’d like given the intensity of the situation.
Which is probably why Ian just laughs again.
“Cute,” he drawls. A second later he yanks the wheel to the right, pulling the car over onto the side of the road. I don’t wait a second longer. I push at the lock, trying to get out of the car so I can make a run for it, but Ian grabs my arm, yanking me back from the door. His other hand slides roughly onto my thigh and fear spikes through me.
“Why are you fighting this, Nora?” he says as I struggle to fight him off. His breath is hot and disgusting in my face as his hand continues its perusal up my leg. His fingers are beneath my skirt now and panic is overtaking me, shutting off my ability to think clearly. I don’t know what to do. “You know you want this,” he taunts. “You wouldn’t have accepted a ride home from me if you didn’t.”
“You’re crazy!” I shout, attempting to slap him; but he catches my wrist with his other hand, and I cry out in pain. He’s so much bigger and stronger than me. There’s no way I can fight him off. He lunges at me, and there’s a split second where the moon lights up his face and I register the blankness of his eyes as he moves my way. I make one last desperate move, lifting the knitting needle and driving it as hard as I can into his body.
I feel it go through his skin, and a scream of horror bursts out of me. He’s on top of me now, his body jerking in an unnatural fashion. And there’s blood. So much blood.
I scream again; but then, quite suddenly, his body stills.
Cold seeps through my veins. He’s eerily still.
“Ian?” I say. Nothing. No response. “Ian!” I cry louder, this time attempting to shake him awake, to move him off of me. There must be a heck of a lot of adrenaline coursing through my veins, because I manage to push him off me. He slumps across the console, eyes wide open and staring at me.
That’s when I start screaming in one loud, endless stretch.
Because Ian Warfman is dead.
And I’m the one that killed him.
Chapter 2
Jack
I’M FINISHING UP a weight session in my home gym when my doorbell starts ringing like mad. Seeing as it’s 9:30 on a Wednesday night, my inner antenna immediately shoots up. Who is showing up at my house at this hour? Did I forget I had plans with someone?
I grab a towel off the stack on a nearby shelf and pound my way upstairs. The doorbell continues to be rung at a steady, insistent pace, and now I’m starting to get annoyed.
“Hold your dang horses,” I shout as I approach the door. “I’m coming.”
Whoever it is doesn’t listen. I’m greeted by a fresh wave of dings.
“Enough already!” I growl as I yank the door open. The reproof dies on my lips as I take in the person standing there. My towel falls to the floor. “Nora,” I croak, my mouth suddenly dry as sandpaper. I’ve dreamed of a moment like this for the last three years. Now that she's actually here, I can say without a doubt that she’s even more beautiful than in those dreams. Her raven hair is swept up in a low bun; her eyes shine even more brightly green than I remember; even her curves are somehow more defined, the tuck of her shirt into the high waist of her skirt accentuating her—wait, is that blood on her shirt?
No, not just on it—all over it.
My gaze turns from appreciative to scrutinous now, and I realize the bun I was just admiring is loose, countless strands pulled wild and free. Her green eyes do shine bright, but with what I now see is panic. And her shirt…it’s covered in blood.
“Nora,” I’m at her side in a second, examining her for the source of the blood, “what happened? Where is all of that blood coming from? We need to call an ambulance. Where’s my phone?” I fumble for it in the pocket of my gym shorts, but as I take it out Nora speaks for the first time, her voice low and laced with despair.
“No, don’t call an ambulance. Please.” Her eyes find mine, haunting me with their anguish. “It’s not my blood, Jack.”
“Wait, what?” My phone crashes down to my side. “What do you mean it’s not your blood? Whose is it?” Something silver glints in my periphery, and I look past her to my driveway. “And whose BMW is that?”
