Michael turns, then freezes. And then I turn and gasp. A man clad entirely in black is bounding down the stairs.
He’s holding a gun.
I stagger back against the bar. No one else seems to notice the air go cold. My heart hammers in my ears as he reaches the bottom, clutching the gun to his chest. His eyes meet mine.
“Can’t believe you got it,” Michael says. “No wonder we’re celebrating. Cheers to the new Glock.”
He holds up his glass and takes a drink as the stranger who must be Travis drops the gun to his side and extends his hand toward mine.
“You must be Colleen. I’m Travis. Pleasure to finally meet you.”
It’s only then that I get a good look at him. His clothes are expensively simple, much like his home. But his skin is a different story. A display of colorful tattoos wraps around both arms from biceps to wrist. I can’t exactly make out the shapes, and I don’t want to stare too long, though splashes of blue catch my eye. His hair is black as night, wild, and toppled over the buzzed-short sides.
A spark of recognition burns through me. Yes, I’d seen Travis pass by my desk on the way to Michael’s office a dozen or more times. He never stopped to ask if Michael was in. Never gave me a second look, actually. He was always dressed in suits, his hair tamed, tattoos covered. A far cry from the guy standing in front of me now.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, shaking his hand. “You scared me. With the gun, I thought—God, I don’t know what I thought.”
“That I was coming downstairs to kill everyone?” he says, his tone going flat. “Not today.”
After a long, awkward silence, he laughs, and Michael joins in.
As my smile falters, Rachael comes into the room and smacks him on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “Would you quit scaring our guests? It’s poor timing, isn’t it? The events of this morning have everyone on edge.”
I’m glad that I’m not the only one anxious about the corpse being found across the street. Local channels were flooded with stories about the discovery all day. Normally, I would have switched off the television and gone for a walk, but those detectives were marching around the scene like ants.
“Have you heard anything else about the murder?” Rachael asks. “I wonder who the woman is. I don’t remember there being any missing persons in the area.”
“How do you know it’s a woman?” Travis probes.
“Sarah Rhys says one of the detectives confirmed it.”
“And you think she’s local simply because the killer decided to stash her body across the street?” Travis kinks his head, glaring. “That’s kind of a leap, don’t you think?”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, she could be anyone then. Someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe she was a marathon runner training in the city, and ran through a rough neighborhood. Or maybe—and wouldn’t this be perfect—it was someone who had it coming. Oh!” She bounces up and down on her toes. “What about that young nanny who worked for the Pinkertons down the street? Kira, that was her name. She was sleeping with Paul for months, right beneath Bernadette’s nose, and quit out of the blue last summer. Bernadette might’ve snapped. Could’ve been her.”
“We could be speculating all night,” Michael says. “And it won’t get us any closer to figuring it out, so what’s the point?”
“I have to agree with Rachael,” I offer with a shrug. “I bet it’s going to be a criminal, or someone really evil. Someone who deserved to die. I hate to imagine someone innocent would be buried out there.”
“Can’t we leave it?” Travis snaps in exasperation. He’s looking at his wife. “It’s been on the news all day. I’d rather use this time with our friends to talk about other things.”