Edge of Midnight

26



Allan felt as tense as a coiled spring, his muscles quivering. The hair on his forearms prickled as her shadow passed by him on the darkened landing. She held a box, its white cardboard luminescent in the thin slant of moonlight.

She wore flats, not heels.

Something was wrong.

Too tall, the head capped by a mass of curly brown hair. Not the sleek bob he’d expected. His heart stopped. It wasn’t her.

“Mia?” the woman called as she knocked on the door.

He made out the words printed on the box. Slice of Life. He recognized the name—that hippie eatery in San Marco Square. It was the third-floor tenant who drove the red Prius and never came home before midnight. What was she doing here now? She tilted left and peered between the window blinds into the lit apartment, then turned. Allan pressed himself against the stair’s underbelly, trying to soak into the blackness. Go away. Her gaze fell to the ground. His shoes. Visible. She dropped the box, a frightened squeak emitting from her mouth. Then she was stumbling, making a mad dash for the stairs, starting to scream louder.

Panicked, Allan lunged after her. He had to shut her up before lights started snapping on all over the neighborhood. His gun was equipped with a silencer he’d bought from a spy store online, but it was tucked into the back waistband of his pants. The needle was faster, already poised. He jabbed it into her neck. But before he could push the plunger, she broke away. He made a final grab for her, snarling, catching her wrist and whipping her around at the top of the steps. Off balance, she fell headfirst, plummeting down the staircase, her body gaining momentum and tumbling over itself in a sickening series of thuds. Cursing, Allan hurried down the stairs. She lay at the bottom. Her left arm was twisted at an awkward angle, undoubtedly broken. Her nose was broken and bleeding, too. Blood from her badly scraped leg leaked onto the concrete.

He hadn’t accounted for this.

Unable to help himself, he stopped to gawk at the damage. Her eyes slowly fluttered open. To his mild surprise, she was still alive. Her mouth worked soundlessly until a moaning keen came from her throat. Allan knelt and put his hand over her mouth, silencing her. The gardenias hid them from street view.

He couldn’t take this one—she was too damaged. Nor was she who he’d come for. Leaning over her, he peered into her dazed eyes. He let go of her mouth and cradled her face between his palms, his thumbs hooking into the soft skin under her jaw.

“Shh.”

“P-please,” she begged, voice garbled. Blood from her nose dripped down her face, making a mess. “Don’t kill me!”

She knew him. Even with the horn-rimmed glasses he had taken to wearing instead of his contacts. The damned sketches. He wondered again about the unnamed witness the news had reported.

She began to cry out for help.

This woman had ruined everything. Even if he hid the body, the blood staining the courtyard would attract attention. And a neighbor could have heard her and be on the way now. His plan, his daring—all of it wasted. She wasn’t even supposed to be here. Anger surged inside him as she wailed again.

“Shut up!”

With a forceful grunt, he slammed the back of her skull onto the concrete and felt it bounce. She fell silent. He did it again—three, four times—until he was breathing heavily with exertion. Blood bloomed slowly behind the woman’s head, soaking into the thick, brown curls. The light in her eyes had faded, and her jaw had gone slack. He had to get out of here. Rising, he wiped a shaking hand over his mouth and dove back through the shrubbery toward the car.

Mia turned into the driveway, her mind still on the disastrous dinner with Grayson.

She had driven home barefoot, her sandals on the passenger seat next to her clutch bag. Even now, the ocean’s scent lingered in her hair and on her skin. Granules of sand still clung to her calves and feet, between her toes. She’d lingered on the beach, lost in her thoughts, until the trail of passersby had begun to thin and it no longer seemed safe to remain alone.

She got out of the car and pressed the key fob to lock it, then walked toward the courtyard. Penney Niemen’s Toyota Prius sat in the first parking spot. At least she wasn’t the only one in the building tonight. Still, Mia increased the pace of her steps, aware of the shadows and the fact that Will and Justin were out of town.

As she turned past the line of gardenias at the courtyard’s entrance, she slowed. Something lay in shadow at the base of the stairs.

Penney?

She dropped her shoes and purse. Tiny pinpricks of fear traveled over her as she rushed forward. Penney’s body was sprawled out, one foot still on the bottom step, her curly brown hair spread out like a halo on the concrete.

“Oh, God! Penney!”

She reached her, falling to her knees. Penney gazed blankly upward. The blood pooling around her head glistened darkly in the streetlight’s filmy glow. Mia let out a strangled cry, aware she was kneeling in wet crimson. Blood was everywhere—Penney’s face, her legs. Her surroundings spun as she was hurtled back to a cinder-block room and another dead woman staring up at her.

“Someone help me! Please!” Her plea echoed off the courtyard walls.

Despite the tremors racking her body, Mia felt for a pulse at Penney’s neck. Nothing. She recognized the small particles and glimmering globs stuck in her beautiful hair. Skull fragments and bits of brain matter—she’d seen it before in crime scene photos of a convenience store clerk shot at point-blank range. She gagged reflexively, the fact that she’d had nothing to eat or drink the only thing stopping her from vomiting.

Too shaken to stand, Mia crawled to her purse. Somehow, she managed to close her trembling fingers around her cell phone and dial 9-1-1.

“Operator. What’s your emergency?”

Her voice sounded unfamiliar to her own ears. “I’m at 1211 Alhambra Avenue. Please hurry! There’s been an accident, a woman’s dead!”

An accident. Even as she said it, she felt a wave of certainty that this was more than a freak fall down the stairs. She shivered uncontrollably. How long ago? The body, the blood—they were still warm.

“You’re certain the person is deceased?” the female operator asked. “Have you attempted CPR?”

She looked back at Penney. Tears blurred her vision.

“She’s dead. There’s no pulse. Her head’s…” Mia couldn’t finish the statement. The words caught in her throat. “She’s dead.”