Desperate Strangers - Carla Cassidy

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Thank goodness he sounded strong and healthy.

      “Where the hell are you?” The next voice spoke. “It’s bad enough I usually have to cover Casey’s shifts, but now you’re going to be a flake, too?” The message had been left by her older brother, Max. Some things never changed and the irritation in his voice was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat.

      She needed to call her family and tell them about her accident. Max should know her well enough to know she’d never shirk her responsibility at the pawn shop for no reason. She wasn’t like their younger sister who often called in to get out of working. Or was she? She had no idea who she’d become over the past year.

      “Don’t tell.”

      She reeled back at the gravelly, unrecognizable voice that hissed over the machine. An icy chill instantly gripped her soul.

      “You’d better not tell a soul or I promise I’ll kill you.”

      The answering machine clicked off. Still, she remained unmoving, staring at the phone that had suddenly become an instrument of evil malevolence.

      Was the call a joke? She instantly dismissed the idea. She knew instinctively that nobody she knew would think that kind of thing funny.

      Oh, God, what did she know? What had she forgotten that was so important somebody would threaten to kill her to keep it a secret? Who had made that call? The Caller ID read “Anonymous.”

      There was no way she was going to nap, not with that horrendous voice and threat ringing in her ears. Her legs trembled beneath her as she hurried to the front door and made sure it was locked. She then returned to the family room and sank down onto the sofa.

      She needed Nick. Maybe he knew what this was all about. She hoped he hurried back because she’d never been so scared in her entire life.

       Chapter Three

      Nick ran out of the cul-de-sac, his brain on overload. All he wanted to do at the moment was move his car off the neighborhood street where he’d parked it last night. Had it only been last night? It felt like a lifetime ago.

      His nerves were totally shot. It wasn’t just a lack of sleep that had him on edge. It was a combination of murder and lies that ricocheted around in his brain, leaving him with a nauseating anxiety.

      First things first, he told himself. Get the car. He slowed his pace to a brisk walk as he reached the street where he’d parked the night before.

      Relief washed over him as he saw in the distance that the car was still where he’d left it. The relief was short-lived as he drew closer and saw a man in the front yard next to where he’d parked.

      His stomach knotted and his mouth dried. He’d hoped to get his car and get out of there without anyone seeing him. Hopefully, when the body was found, the police wouldn’t question people this far away from the scene. Would they?

      The man was an older gentleman and he held a garden hose that spewed a small stream of water on a bed of red and purple petunias. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully as Nick approached the car.

      “It’s a fine one,” Nick replied, grateful his voice held nothing of his apprehension.

      “It’s going to be a hot one. Stay cool and have a good day,” the old man said.

      “You, too,” Nick replied and quickly got into the car. He set the gun with the ski mask and the gloves all wrapped in his hoodie on the passenger seat, started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

      Thank God there was no parking ticket under his wiper. And thank God none of the neighbors had gotten suspicious of a strange car parked on their street and had called the cops.

      He headed for home, his heart thundering as he glanced at the hoodie. He wouldn’t feel better until he got rid of the gun. Even though it couldn’t be traced to Brian McDowell’s murder, Nick had no idea what other crime it might be traced to.

      He had been instructed to throw it into the bushes at the crime scene, but when he’d seen Brian’s body, rational thought had fled his brain. Also the very last thing he wanted to do now was to toss it in a place where a kid might find it.

      For the first time in twelve hours he felt relatively safe as he pulled into the driveway of his brick three-bedroom ranch house. He got out of the car with the hoodie in his arms, then unlocked the door and stepped inside.

      The air smelled clean...like furniture polish and bathroom cleanser. Although by no means a clean freak, he’d spent the day before cleaning the house in a frenzy to occupy his mind before heading out to murder a man.

      He’d known the risks, that he might be arrested or killed himself. He’d supposed that if either of those things had happened, he’d at least be at peace that the police would find that he kept a clean house.

      He sank down on his sofa and rubbed a hand across his forehead where a headache threatened. He hadn’t had a chance to breathe since he’d stumbled onto Brian’s dead body.

      You could just stay right here, a small voice whispered. Julie doesn’t know your address. She doesn’t even have your phone number.

      There was no question the thought was more than a bit appealing.

      Then he thought about the hug he’d shared with her. Her slender body had felt so fragile in his arms. He’d felt not only the press of her breasts against him but also the rapid beat of her heart.

      How frightening was it to wake up and lose almost a year of your life? How scary would it be to not have a single memory from that length of time? He couldn’t imagine. But he’d love to go to sleep and wake up and magically lose the last three agonizing, lonely years of his life. He’d welcome the amnesia that would wipe away all memories of the brutal murder of the woman he’d loved.

      Debbie. She’d been a go-getter. She’d gotten her real-estate license and had landed a job with an upscale real-estate company. She’d been dynamic and a hard worker and, within two years, she’d established herself as one of the top sellers in a four-state area. Nick had always said she could successfully sell the swamps in Florida.

      Nick had loved her, but he’d grown to dislike her job, which kept her busy at all hours during the days and late evenings.

      That job was what had taken her to an empty mansion to meet a potential buyer. That job was what had led to her murder. Nick shook his head to dispel his train of thoughts.

      He couldn’t go there. He couldn’t think about her murder right now. He had bigger decisions to make at the moment. Should he just stay here or should he go back to Julie’s and continue his pretense?

      Debbie wouldn’t want him to leave Julie hanging, especially given the fact that Nick had filled her head with a bunch of lies to save his own ass. By claiming her as his fiancée, Nick had given Julie an instant sense of false comfort.

      He looked around, the very room where he sat evoking agonizing memories. He and Debbie had bought this house just before her murder. They had painted the master bedroom her favorite shade of light blue and had updated the kitchen. They had also planted a small redbud tree in the backyard. She hadn’t lived long enough to see its first buds.

      They had planned for children to fill the spare bedrooms. Dammit, they had planned a life together and some man—some animal—had taken her away from him.

      He swallowed the familiar rage and got up from the sofa. He grabbed the hoodie with the gun, ski mask and gloves wrapped inside. He then went into his bedroom and opened the closet door.

      On the top shelf were several folded blankets. He shoved the hoodie between them, knowing sooner or later he needed to get rid of that damned gun.

      He picked up a duffel bag and placed it on his bed. He’d stay with Julie for a couple of days to help her navigate. Maybe during that time he could manipulate a fight and a breakup.

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