Page 67 of Kill For Me Kill For You
Cupping his face in her hands, she said, ‘I know it’s hard. But he brought this on himself. It was either him, or me. You did the right thing, so no more tears.’
He nodded, cleared his throat.
Ruth said, ‘Why don’t you make yourself some coffee? I’ll go to the store and get us breakfast.’
He looked at her, astonished. And then his brows furrowed into doubt.
‘Are you leaving me?’
‘Don’t be stupid. I’m going out on my own. Like I used to do. There’s no reason to be afraid any more. You’ve given me my life back. I’m going to take it.’
33
Amanda
Three hours icing her knee gave her time to think.
Time to plan it all out.
She sat in front of the TV. Front door locked. Chair under the handle. Phone charging beside her.
There were various news bulletins mentioning the home invasion by the axe-wielding maniac, and press conferences on other violent crimes. And then, in the afternoon, they flashed up his picture.
It didn’t give an occupation, just his age and his name.
Frank Quinn.
So that was his real name. But there was nothing about him online. She had checked.
The channel used a photo of Quinn that Amanda had not seen before in any of Naomi’s fake online articles. He had brown hair. Strong, masculine features – a broad jaw, angular cheekbones. Gray-blue eyes.
Amanda needed more than that.
She would have to do it the hard way. That meant going out late. And in the full knowledge she might never come back. There was no other way to get the information she needed to trace Naomi. This man, Quinn, was her only link. She needed to get inside his house and learn everything she could about him.
Last chance to find Naomi.
And it had to be tonight, before the cops kicked down her door.
She put her pants back on, her knee feeling looser, and cooler. The ice had brought down the swelling from the morning’s exertions. It still hurt like a son of a bitch, but nothing compared to the hurt Naomi would feel if Amanda ever got hold of her.
She ate little, dozed lightly and waited for dark.
She put on Doc Marten boots – black, of course – a dark hoody and a black leather jacket. Her hair was hidden under a beanie hat. In addition, she packed a small bag containing a flashlight, a flathead screwdriver with a long shaft, a pocketknife and a fresh pair of disposable latex gloves.
Riding the subway to Greenwich Village, she thought about the man who had tailed her last night. In the blinding light of Naomi’s betrayal, she hadn’t had time to think about him. Maybe he’d be waiting at her car, still parked a few blocks from Quinn’s house? Maybe he’d spoken to the police? Maybe he’d told them that someone was in the area, acting suspiciously on the night of the murder and this was their car?
The more she thought about it, the more Amanda was convinced that the cops could be looking for her already. She had to find Naomi as fast as possible.
Her thoughts turned to tonight’s job. She had been at the back of the property before. She knew what to expect, and she’d planned this. It wasn’t going to be easy. But it had to be done. Her first twenty-four hours were up.
She left the subway station, walked to the street where she’d parked the night before. Her car was visible in the distance, no other vehicles around it. She looked for the dark-colored Escalade, and the big man who’d tailed her, but the street was quiet, the sidewalks clear as far as she could tell. Still, there were pools of darkness in between the streetlamps, and she tensed every time she had to step out of the light, her fingers locked around the pocketknife in her coat, anticipating a pair of big hands grabbing her from behind and dragging her deeper into the shadow – never to emerge again.
Still, she walked on, because she had no choice. On past the brownstone that belonged to Quinn, who now lay in a nearby hospital, still in a critical condition. No cops outside the property. The front door was covered in strips of blue-and-white NYPD crime-scene tape, and there was a notice pinned to the door – doubtless the notice prohibiting entry. The house looked to be in darkness. No lights on in any of the rooms facing the street. No sign of the Escalade.
She kept walking, performing a loop of the block. No cop cars anywhere. No cops on the street. There were some cars parked along both sides of the sidewalk like last night, but none of them were NYPD patrol cars, none were occupied and none were Escalades. She thought that neighbors might be on high alert, because of the attack last night, so she had to be even more careful than before. The pain in her knee was still there, but tolerable. If anything, those little jolts of dull pain that came with every step helped keep her alert.
Amanda turned the corner, walked to the alleyway that led to the back wall and yard of the brownstone. The same wall she had vaulted the previous night.
