Fatal Connections

Chapter 49

I took one last photo and hurriedly replaced the appointment book where I found it. Then, I retreated into a position under the desk. As I double-checked that my phone was on but silenced and its flash for the camera off, muted footfalls drifted from down the hall to where I crouched. Now and then, they faded out to a brief moment of near perfect silence. When the footsteps started up again, they were very faint.

That is not the cleaning staff or anyone else who has legitimate business here. So . . . it's either a common burglar or someone like me. A person looking for something in particular or something they will know they want when they see it.

Noises were coming from the locked door. Well, not from the door, but from the mysterious visitor. If he or she made it this far, they clearly had the ability to crack that lock.

By this time, my shins were beginning to whine. My back also had a few unkind words for me, but I told them all to shut the hell up. I remained in my crouched position and made myself ready for whatever came in. The lock sprung with a clatter. My head swam with a quick rush of adrenaline. Whoever it was picked the lock as ably as I had. Maybe even faster.

The footsteps came toward me, louder but still low and stealthy. In the gloom, I could just barely see the dark outline of legs. Slim, but well-muscled. Large feet in dark mesh sneakers. The shuffle of papers on the desk. I kept my eye on the outline, considering the angles and waiting. Then, the shushing sounds of drawers, as they were opened and closed. The intruder kicked the desk chair aside. I adjusted my footing.

His body shifted enough for me to know he was bending down to peek into my hiding place. As his midsection became visible, I took aim, launched myself through the leg hole, and hit him square in the solar plexus. My attack seemed to knock the wind out of him.

My trajectory sent us both hurtling against the wall. But while my unexpected partner in crime sprawled almost comically backward against it, his body provided me a cushion and a springboard for pushing myself clear of him. I shoved myself away from the collapsing man, dropped into a roll, and sprang to my feet. My back yipped and my head throbbed, but their complaints were smothered by pure adrenaline.

The man, who'd slid partway down the wall, curled in on himself, stuck a hand out at me, palm forward, while he regained his breath. The gesture seemed like a combined request for me to wait and to back off. After breathing heavily for a few moments, the man stood fully upright and turned my way. The light was dim, but the face was familiar even so.

"Hello, Ms. Jensen." He bared his teeth in a fleeting smile and followed that with the thousand-yard stare.

"Hi, Mr. Adams. Or should I say Parker? And why don't you call me Erica, since we keep running into each other?"