Page 19 of Roughing
Counting to three, I got out and sprinted down the sidewalk. Just as I rounded the corner to turn into the alley, I glanced over my shoulder. The car had moved away from the curb and headed toward me at an alarming rate of speed. Legs pumping and lungs burning, I raced to the back of the building. I dropped my keys and felt around for them in the dark. My fingers closed around the ring of metal. I riffled through them for the right key. I heard a car, and the dark alley entrance suddenly lit up.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I recalled a nightmare as a kid where I was running from a monster, and I couldn’t get away. Only this monster was real. I willed my shaking hands to hold still long enough for me to insert the key and turn the dead bolt. I dived inside and fell to my knees. I whipped around and snapped the bolt.
A cold sweat beaded my forehead and slithered down the base of my neck. I hauled myself to my feet and slunk to the window, peeking out. An unidentifiable dark sedan crept down the alley and slowed near Gone Missing’s entrance. I couldn’t make out the face inside, and the car looked like thousands of others in Portland.
After what seemed like a lifetime, the car left.
I paced inside the office, running through my options. Walking to the nearest bus stop wasn’t one of them. I didn’t know where to go or if they were running in this area at this time of night. Nor did I want to be waiting for a bus if this guy came back.
There was only one person who’d come to my rescue without question, and he was the one person I shouldn’t contact. After all, I’d told him we were through. Calling him would send mixed messages.
I heard another sound and peered through the blinds. The guy was back. His car idled in the alley. His headlights pointed right at the door, blinding me to the point where I couldn’t begin to guess even the color of the car.
Anger mixed with fear. That fucking Gordon was stalking me again. I should stomp out that door and give him a piece of my mind. And then what? Gordon was dangerous, and I knew that better than anyone. Confronting a probable serial killer would be all kinds of stupid. I might be a little scatterbrained at times, but I wasn’t stupid.
The car crawled down the alley. After what seemed like an eternity, the red glow from the taillights disappeared from sight. Would this jackass come back a third time?
Either I stayed here all night, or I called the one person I shouldn’t. Staying here wasn’t an option. I wouldn’t be able to change clothes or take a shower, or do my hair. I never emerged in public without full makeup, perfect hair, and impeccably pressed clothes. Fashion was the least of my concerns.
I was in training to be a fucking PI. I had to get a handle on things. I’d slacked off over the past few months since Gordon had stopped harassing me. I should’ve known his absence from my life wouldn’t last. Growing up in a family of boys, I could somewhat shoot a gun, but I hadn’t handled one in years. It was long past time I armed myself in some manner. A small weapon that’d fit in my purse made the most sense once I was confident in my ability to properly use it.
Right then, I had to deal with the present. I wasn’t armed. I’d forgotten my Mace, which would not happen again.
I didn’t see any other way out. My decision was made.
I texted Briggs.
ME:My car won’t start. Could you give me a ride home?
I waited. Briggs didn’t answer for several minutes.
BRIGGS:Where?
ME:The office.
BRIGGS:On my way.
ME:Sorry to bother you.
Briggs didn’t respond, and I didn’t expect him to. He wasn’t a big talker and hated texting, so the fewer words, the better, as far as he was concerned. I double-checked the lock on the door. Gripping my keys, the only weapon I had, I settled in to wait while keeping an eye on the alley outside.
After what seemed like a lifetime but was only minutes, a truck pulled in and stopped in front of the door.
I held my breath as I waited to see if it belonged to Briggs or Mr. Unknown. The keys jingled in my sweaty, shaking hands. I gripped the windowsill, waiting, waiting, waiting.
The driver's door opened and the silhouette of a large guy strode toward the door. Briggs. I’d know that body anywhere, even in the gloomy darkness of the alley. Briggs walked with a confident purpose as if he owned the world and he knew it. I admired that man’s self-assurance even if I didn’t appreciate his negativity.
I gasped for air, not realizing until that moment how long I’d been holding my breath.
I rushed to unlock the dead bolt and swept the door open. At the sight of Briggs, I collapsed into his arms and held on tight. Briggs was shocked and didn’t put his arms around me at first, but he recovered quickly and held me close.
He didn’t say anything, just held tight and waited for me to talk. That was Briggs.
“He was here,” I blubbered. “He was in the alley. He followed me to my car, and it wouldn’t start. I didn’t know what to do or who to call, so I called you and I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to drop everything and run over here because I shouldn’t be bothering you with my problems.” I talked a mile a minute, and he let me babble on and on. When I finally ran out of steam, he extracted himself from my tight grip and led me to a plastic chair. I sat down and gazed up at him. He pulled another chair close and also sat. Our knees touched. Right now, I needed that contact.
I grabbed a tissue and dabbed at my eyes, not caring if I ran my makeup.
