The Killing League - By Dani Amore Page 0,39

offered to pick her up and take her out for a light meal at a seafood restaurant just up the street from her house.

“Yeah, it was good. I enjoyed it,” she said. “Good food, good company.”

They were standing just outside the front door of her house and Nicole could tell Kurt wanted her to invite him in, but it seemed like a hurdle. A very real, physical obstacle that she had trouble facing.

The thing was, it felt too soon. But she wondered even as she felt it, that it might always be too soon. Forever. Or it may be that she simply didn’t feel it with Kurt. Would she ever feel it again? The last time was with-

From behind the front door, Salvatore let out a deep bark and a soft growl.

Kurt smiled at Nicole. “Yikes,” he said.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “He’s harmless. Well, he’s harmless to me, you not so much.”

Kurt laughed. “Good to know.”

“I’m kidding, he’s a good guy once you get to know him,” she said. She almost blushed at the insinuation that Kurt would get to know her dog. He must have read it on her face, too.

Kurt smiled and leaned toward Nicole. She knew what was coming, and was surprised at her reaction. She leaned back, away from him. Her body went rigid.

“Did I do something wrong?” he said. His face was neutral, but Nicole wondered if there was a flash of anger in his eyes. Geez, she thought. Dinner hadn’t been that expensive, like she owed him something.

“No, not at all,” she said. “My last relationship…let’s just say it wasn’t great.”

“Oh, okay,” he said. The awkward silence hung on for a moment too long.

“I’d like to see you again,” Kurt said.

“I’ll see you again,” Nicole said. “At class. Wednesday, right?”

He looked at her. Nicole saw in his eyes that he got the message.

“Wednesday,” he said. “Sure.”

Nicole went inside the house and locked the door.

Sal stood at attention and watched Kurt get back into his car.

“It’s okay,” Nicole said to him.

But she didn’t feel that way, at all.

51.

Truck Drivin’ Man

They called her The Nailer. Her real name was Deborah Nahler but as the prosecuting attorney on some of the biggest murder cases in San Francisco history, the Nailer seemed more appropriate.

She had left the district attorney’s office several years back for a lucrative position with one of San Francisco’s most respected law firms.

She quickly became an equity partner, and her name went on the letterhead.

Now, she walked out of her law firm’s office and took the elevator to the basement parking garage. The garage itself served other companies besides her law firm. Her SUV was parked in the first space across from the elevator. It was a symbol of her position and her power.

Although she had prosecuted some of the most notorious killers in California history, and had received more than her share of death threats, Deborah Nahler knew no fear.

Despite this, she had never been afraid inside or outside a courtroom.

Her office had state-of-the-art security monitoring systems. Her home, a restored Victorian on Beacon Hill, was its match, maybe even better. Her car, a Cadillac Escalade, had extra thick glass and reinforced body panels as well as run-flat tires.

She had chosen to surround herself with such tight personal security not out of fear. It was merely a product of her preparation strategy. Although she was not motivated by fear for her own safety, she knew that life was like a criminal case. You never knew where it might lead, so the best plan was to plan for every contingency and then play it as it came.

Now, her mind was on the case she was preparing to go to trial within a few weeks. It was the exhibits that were bothering her. She needed more, and she needed things that would make more of an impact with the jury. Yes, juries loved articulate, moving speeches from a good lawyer like herself. But they also loved the concrete evidence that would assuage their guilt over returning a verdict that would essentially end a person’s life—

She heard the soft scrape of a shoe on the concrete behind her and for a brief moment she realized that the sound of the shoe was way too close. And that there had been no one with her on the elevator, nor waiting—

A great pain shot down her spine and her body went limp. She had the thought to reach for her cell phone but she couldn’t feel her arms,