Page 9 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

Maybe we never would.

And in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t personally invested in this guy. What did I care what happened to him?

What mattered was replacing him as soon as possible before we felt the financial strain of being down one driver.

I reached for my phone, calling up Zeno to tell him to prioritize the five truckers I liked best. Then I called Leo to tell him my picks before shredding all the files that were absolute “no” for me.

The rest of the files were put in a drawer in my desk in case Zeno’s background search meant I needed to go back to the profiles.

With that, I wandered through the house, ordering food, tidying up, then sitting at the dining table with my book, waiting for the food to arrive.

“The fuck?” I grumbled, checking my phone for the fourth time.

It was nearly half an hour after the delivery window. For an order from a restaurant just a few blocks away. And it was late as fuck, so it wasn’t like I got lost in the dinner rush.

I was about to call the damn restaurant—my idea of a fucking nightmare—when I heard the buzzer.

I hit the button for the door then grabbed a drink, plate, and cutlery to bring to the table.

There I sat, waiting for the delivery confirmation.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Fifteen.

What the hell was going on?

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

I sighed, shaking my head.

I’d been clear about this being a no-contact delivery. I’d tipped with the order. There was no reason someone was knocking on my damn door.

I waited, watching the door, trying to decide if I heard the steps retreat or not.

But just as I was sure I would be able to retrieve my (likely cold) food the way I wanted, the knocking started up again.

With a grumble, I made my way toward the door, pausing to look out the peephole.

The delivery person was turned, looking over his shoulder, his head covered in a blue ball cap.

Normally, the hairs on the back of my neck would raise. You didn’t open the door to unknown people when you were in my line of work. But I saw the brown bag sitting inside a plastic bag in their hand.

My food.

And my stomach was fucking churning.

Maybe this was some new delivery guy who had no idea how to work his app and didn’t see that it was no-contact and that there was a tip.

I slid the locks and pulled open the door.

My focus had been on the delivery person’s face as it whipped forward.

That was how I missed it.

Until the gun was pointed at my face.