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With a grimace, she took another sip of the French onion soup she’d ordered from the cafeteria-style restaurant. It was her last supper, she thought wryly, the last meal she’d have knowing Burke couldn’t hurt her—at least not with his own hands. And she’d decided to eat it alone.

She could’ve invited Jasmine and Sheridan to join her. Then she wouldn’t have had to feel quite so separate from other people. But she was too preoccupied to be good company tonight. And she was afraid the conversation would lead to an argument about her snooping into Burke’s life. When they’d checked with her an hour ago, she’d told them she was going home to bed, and they’d eagerly encouraged her to do so. She needed the rest, but David had recently called to tell her that the notebook she’d retrieved from the Griffins had Oliver’s fingerprints all over it, and that alone made any attempt at sleep futile.

Hard as she fought the paranoia that had ruled her immediately after the assault, it was taking over again, creeping into her life like a persistent vine. She could beat it back and beat it back, but it always found some crevice in which to grow.

Closing her eyes, she tried to avoid the anxiety attack that suddenly threatened. There was no reason for it. This was the slow, quiet part of her day, the first time she’d actually sat down for a meal instead of eating while working at the computer or driving her car. But it was also the night before Burke’s release.

Breathe deeply. Imagine you’re sleeping on a deserted beach, with the sun radiating heat and brightness overhead and the waves lapping the shore a few feet away. You’re safe and relaxed. You are content, comfortable, warm. Your mother is with you, smiling at you.

Because she refused to resort to medication, the psychologist she’d visited for almost a year after the attack had taught her how to use her mind to overcome her body’s autonomic reaction. It didn’t always work, but tonight she thought she’d regained control—until she opened her eyes and saw a man staring at her from across the room. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a long leather coat, and he was sitting alone. With his goatee and holes in his earlobes big enough for a pencil to fit through, it was difficult to tell how old he was, but she guessed around twenty-five.

She met his gaze. If he was staring without realizing it, she knew courtesy would dictate he look away. But he didn’t. He gave her an enigmatic smile and kept staring, which put her on edge and evoked the usual question: Was he another Burke? A psychopath who thrived on violence, abuse, power?

Her heart pounded as she brought her herbal tea to her lips. The beach. She was on the beach. The sun was warm. There was sand.

She glanced up again. He was still there, making no secret of his interest. And that smile. It was as if he understood how uncomfortable he was making her and enjoyed it.

Scowling at him, she felt in her purse for her gun. There it was. Forget the beach and the sun and everything else. She had a weapon, and she’d use it if she had to.

When she pulled her purse closer to her body, he returned his attention to his meal and she decided it was time to go. Despite the gun, she’d lost the ground she’d made up with her “mind over matter” technique and was beginning to perspire.

Grabbing her tray, she dumped her food into the wastebasket and headed for the door, but he moved to intercept her.

“Excuse me.”

Did this man have a knife hidden in his long coat? It was possible. He had his hands in his pockets….

She knew it was unlikely. Not every odd or rude person was a killer. But panic didn’t respond to common sense or statistics, especially when she’d already been that one in a thousand.

Tempted to pretend she didn’t notice that he’d addressed her, she raised her hands to push open the door and brush past him. But then she hesitated. Was she overreacting? Letting the past dictate the present? Maybe he thought he knew her from somewhere or recognized her from news clips on TV.

Determined not to run before there was sufficient cause, she forced herself to stop. “Yes?”

“I couldn’t help noticing you sitting over there by yourself and…well, I think you’re a very attractive woman.”

So that was it? She couldn’t help being irritated that he’d scared her for no good reason. “Thank you.”

He shuffled his feet, obviously trying to appear self-conscious, but it didn’t really put her at ease. “This isn’t the most original line in the world, but I’m new to the area and would like some companionship, if you’re not seeing someone. Is there any chance you might go to a movie with me?”

“Now?”

“Unless you have other plans.”

He was certainly direct. But he was handsome enough that part of her said she should be flattered. Another part said she should even consider going out with him. It wasn’t as if she had much hope of a relationship with David. How many times had she, Sheridan and Jasmine talked about the unfortunate way they’d let their lives become defined by their work? This was an opportunity to change that, to start seeing someone new. Even if he was a little younger…

“Not tonight, thanks.”

“You have plans?”

No, she just preferred to isolate herself. Much as she longed for human contact, she felt safer going back to the office, where she could take care of some of the work that was piling up. There were letters to answer, calls to make, notes of gratitude to write, fund-raisers to plan, help and support to solicit.

“I have things to do.”

“I see.” He grinned in an attempt to be endearing. “And there’s no way I can talk you out of it?”

If she was going to heal, truly heal, she had to make some effort to overcome her resistance to meeting strangers and taking chances. She repeated that sentiment to other victims all the time. But still… She’d never recommend driving off with a man who’d barely introduced himself. Maybe some women did that and lived to tell about it, but her trust had been destroyed. She couldn’t take the risk. “No.”

“I’m sorry. I’m being too forward. But could I give you my number, at least? Then you could call me if you ever feel like grabbing a bite or going to a movie.”

That minimized the risk, didn’t it? If she decided to call him, she could do a background check first. “Sure.”

She expected him to hand her a card, but he turned back to one of the tables and jotted something on a slip of paper he’d pulled from his pocket.


Tags: Brenda Novak Last Stand Thriller