backed up to the curb, then he ran across the street, hopped in his Lexus and sped off.
“Good luck,” she muttered under her breath. All the jewelry stores in the area were closed too by now. She dialed the valet at the parking garage she used two blocks down. “Hi, Jim, it’s Isabel.”
“Ready for your car?” he asked in an always cheery voice.
“Yes.”
“It’ll be waiting for you by the time you get here.”
“Thank you.” She hung up.
Smiling, Isabel tossed the mace and phone back in her purse. She turned off the rest of the lights and grabbed the Patrón Añejo tequila from behind the front counter.
The bottle was for Jim. He didn’t have to go out of his way to accommodate her, sparing her the curbside wait while he went to fetch the vehicle. She showed her appreciation with a bottle of his favorite spirit once a month. It was easier to hand him a fiver when she picked up her car, but the personal touch of getting to know someone and making them feel special was important.
Her gallery was on the one block within a quarter mile that had a red curb, prohibiting parking, thanks to the fire hydrant and bus stop. She’d kill to have a parking meter out front she could feed all day. Proprietors had authorized spots around the back of the shops, but the rear door was steel, and anyone could be waiting on the other side. Anyone of course being him.
The back-side parking was also isolated, away from public view and passersby who might be able to save her life by calling the cops. Lord knew she certainly couldn’t depend on any help beyond someone dialing 911.
She peered through the large display window, to the left and right, cursing the angle of the alcove in front. It was a great spot to hang a backdrop and photograph people as they arrived for special events, but it also limited her view. She scanned across the street.
Nothing. All clear as far as she could tell.
But unease slithered through her, making her shoulder blades hitch together. She had that familiar feeling again that she was being watched. Maybe it was her pervasive paranoia, which had become her new normal. Maybe it was just another Thursday when the memories surfaced, putting her on edge. Or maybe someone was out there, watching her.
Once she got to her car, she’d be all right, she told herself.
After grabbing her keys, Isabel set the alarm, unlocked the door and stepped outside. A creepy-crawly prickle shot down her spine, but she tried to shake it off.
She turned to lock up. First, the bottom latch on the handle and then the dead bolt at the top, but the key wouldn’t go in.
She summoned her patience with a deep breath that did little to relieve her tension. Trying to tamp down the hopped-up energy zipping along her nerves, she double-checked that she had the right key and tried sliding it in the slot again.
Darn it. For the third time, it wouldn’t go in. Was the problem the key or the lock?
Bending over for a closer look, she saw what was wrong.
The keyhole was jammed with something. What the hell?
A shadow lunged up behind her.
The hot burn of alarm flared through her chest. Isabel whirled around, sucking in a fearful breath. A man she’d never seen before had her blocked in. Five-o’clock shadow. Dark, hateful eyes. The hood of his zip-up jacket was pulled over his head.
Steel glinted in the dying sunlight. A cold knife pressed against her throat as panic slammed into her.
He shoved her backward. “Scream and I’ll cut you,” he said in a low, harsh voice.
Her throat constricted. Her mouth went dry. She shut her eyes against a shattering sense of chaos and the stark threat of violence.
“Give me your weekly bank deposit,” he demanded.
Brenda made the deposit on Wednesdays. Sometimes Fridays. She found her voice, the words like gravel in her throat. “We never make deposits on Thursdays.” Her heart thundered in her ears. She pressed her lips together as if the small gesture would keep the rest of her from falling apart.
She hadn’t learned how to defend against weapons yet in her Krav Maga class. There was nothing she could do with the knife to her throat.
Stay calm. Cooperate.
“Don’t lie to me. I want the bank deposit.”
Tears stung her eyes. Something brittle inside her cracked. “I’m not lying.” Her voice was steady, but she trembled with terror.