SHE SLAMMED ON THE BRAKES, ramming hard into the curb. Somehow her brain functioned to takecare of little matters: turn off the ignition, take out the key, pull open the door. She wasshaking in the late evening heat. An earlier rain and rising temperatures caused mist to spiralup from the pavement. She ran through it, looking frantically right, left, back over hershoulder.
The dark. She’d nearly forgotten there were things that hid in the dark.
The noise level rose as she pushed open the doors. The fluorescent lights dazzled her eyes. Shecontinued to run, knowing only that she was terrified and someone, anyone, had to listen.
She raced along the hallway, her heart beating a hard tattoo. A dozen or more phones wereringing. Someone cursed in a low, continual stream. She saw the doors marked Homicide and bitback a sob.
He was kicked back at his desk, one foot resting on a torn blotter, a phone tucked between hisshoulder and ear. A Styrofoam cup of coffee was halfway to his lips.
“Please help me,” she said, collapsing into the chair facing him. “Someone’s trying to killme.”
Bantam Books by Nora Roberts