Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,47
aftereffect of that teen breakdown was that every now and then, Robyn had the feeling Hope wasn’t really there, that she’d slipped off someplace else. Her gaze would empty and she wouldn’t hear what anyone said. Or, like now, she’d leap from “Oh, Karl can take care of himself” to “Oh, my God, I have to help him!”
But Robyn wasn’t going to sit back and let her friend tear after a potential killer.
As she stood, she noticed a piece of paper on the ground. She picked it up. A printout of the photo Portia had taken. She pocketed it and took off.
ROBYN WAS NOT AN ATHLETE. Had she dared take a fitness test, she suspected she’d score below average for her age, which was as good a reason as any never to subject herself to one.
When the wives of Damon’s friends had urged her to join their softball team, she’d demurred until she felt like a snob and a poor sport. So she’d gone out for three games . . . and they’d discovered what a poor sport she really was, and quickly found a replacement.
“Oh, I’m sure you’d be good,” they’d said before seeing her play. “Look how skinny you are.”
She was not skinny, as she’d pointed out to Damon that night. She was average size. He’d pointed out that, in comparison to some of the other women on the team, she was indeed skinny, but that was beside the point. Just because she wasn’t overweight didn’t mean she was in good shape, a truth brought home once again as she huffed and puffed running after Hope.
By the time Robyn had made it around the ice cream stand, Hope was disappearing behind a strip mall. Then she’d zipped into an adjoining three-story walk-up lot, then behind that building . . .
Robyn slowed to catch her breath as she watched Hope’s ponytail bob in the distance.
How the hell did Hope know where she was going? She hadn’t stopped once to look around.
Robyn groaned and kicked it into high gear before she lost her friend completely. She made it around the next building as Hope was cutting through yet another parking lot.
Between the two parcels of land was a chain-link fence. Robyn ran toward it, expecting to see an opening when she drew closer. There wasn’t one. The only way around was where the fence ended over a hundred feet away. Hope couldn’t possibly have run that far so quickly.
The only option was . . . Robyn looked up at the six-foot fence.
No way.
Exactly how much of this sort of thing did a tabloid reporter do? Obviously Hope led a lot more adventurous life than Robyn had imagined. She felt a pang of something like envy.
As she jogged to the fence, she thought of how much Damon would have enjoyed this. But surprisingly, how Damon would have reacted hadn’t been the first thing that popped into her head but, rather, that jab of envy, the fleeting thought that she wouldn’t mind leading a more adventurous life.
Was that progress?
She paused at the foot of the fence, looking down to the distant end, then up. Hope was long gone. Time for Robyn to take a chance. Do something unexpected.
She grabbed the fence and started to climb.
Soon she was praying that the office behind her was empty and no one was watching her. At one point she was sure going around—even walking—would have been faster, but it was too late, and when she finally did touch down, the surge of adrenaline gave her a much-needed energy boost and she raced off in the direction she’d last seen Hope.
That surge didn’t take her far. It couldn’t. She ran around the next building and saw an empty parking lot. Beside it was an industrial complex, an interconnected maze of offices, quiet and vacant.
As she walked to the curb, a security car rolled past. The driver looked at her, but only nodded. Apparently, even in sweats, a ball cap and shades, she still didn’t fit anyone’s image of a thief, much less a fugitive.
Robyn headed into the complex, walking purposefully, a solitary worker putting in weekend hours. The lanes ahead snaked around the buildings and she followed them, looking and listening as she walked. Finally she heard the murmur of a man’s voice. She darted to the nearest cover—a shadowy overhang. With her back to the wall, she crept along it until she reached the end and peered around.