Chapter17

MarleneCoxworked the ten-to-two shift, three nights a week at Riley’s Irish Pub. It was her uncle’s place, and his name was actually Waterman, but his mother had been born aRiley, andUnclePete figured that was close enough.

It was a good way to help finance her post-grad work atColumbia. She was studying horticulture, though her plans for what she wanted to do with the degree once she’d earned it were vague. Mostly she simply liked college, so she remained a student at twenty-three.

She was a slight and pretty brunette with long, straight hair and a pair of guileless brown eyes. Earlier in the summer her family had worried so much about her-several college students inNew York had been murdered-that she’d canceled her summer classes.

She had to admit she’d been a little scared herself. She’d known the first girl who’d been killed. Only slightly, but still, it had been a shock to have recognized the face of a fellow student in the media reports.

She’d never known anyone who’d died before, much less known anyone who’d died violently. It hadn’t taken much persuasion to convince her to stick closer to home, to take extra precautions.

But the police had caught the killer. She’d actually known him a little, too. That had been not only a shock but also a little exciting in a weird way.

Now that things had quieted down again,Marlene didn’t give much thought to the girl she’d known slightly, or the killer she’d chatted with briefly at a cyber-club. Between her family, the part-time job, and her studies, her life was as normal as normal got.

In fact, it was just a little too normal at the moment. She couldn’t wait for classes to get into a serious rhythm again. She wanted to get back in full swing, spending more time with friends. And she was toying with getting a bit more serious with a guy she’d started flirting with during her aborted summer session.

She got off the subway two blocks from the apartment she shared with two of her cousins. It was a good location-family approved-with quiet streets and a neighborhood feel. The short walk didn’t worry her. She’d been taking the same route for over two years, and no one had ever bothered her.

Sometimes she almost wished someone would, just so she could prove to her doting family she could handle herself.

She turned the corner and saw a mini moving van, one of the rentals from the same company she’d used when she’d moved from her parents’ place to the one she shared with her cousins.

It was a weird time for somebody to be moving in or out, she thought, but she heard thumps, and a couple of breathless male curses as she came up alongside of it.

She saw the man struggling to get a small sofa into the back. He was well-built, and though his back was to her, she took him to be young enough to manage it. Then she saw the thick white cast on his right arm.

He tried to muscle it up left-handed, using his shoulder, but the weight and angle fought against him, causing the end of the sofa to thump onto the street again.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it.” He took out a white handkerchief, mopped at his face.

She got a look at him now, and thought he was cute. Under his ball cap, curly dark hair-her favorite on a man-spilled out over the collar of his shirt.

She started to walk by. Cute or not, it wasn’t smart to talk to strange men on the street in the middle of the night. But he looked so pitiful-hot, frustrated, and just a little helpless.

Her good nature had her pausing; herNew York caution had her keeping her distance. “Moving in or out?” she asked.

He jolted, making her bite back a laugh. And when he turned and saw her, his already flushed face went pinker. “Ah, looks like neither. I guess I could just leave the stupid thing like this and live in the truck.”

“Did a number on your arm, huh?” Curiosity had her edging a little closer. “I’ve never seen a cast like that.”

“Yeah.” He ran his hand over it. “Two more weeks. Broke it in three places rock-climbing inTennessee. Stupid.”

She thought she’d caught the South in his voice, and edged a little closer. “Pretty late at night for moving day.”

“Well, my girl-ex-girlfriend,” he said with a grimace, “works nights. She said if I wanted my stuff, I had to haul it out when she wasn’t around. Another bad break,” he added with a hint of a smile. “My brother’s supposed to be here, but he’s late. Typical. I want to get this stuff loaded beforeDonna gets back, and I’ve only got the rental till six A. M.”

He was cute. A bit older than her usual type, but she liked the hint of twang in his voice. Plus he was in a jam. “Maybe I could give you a hand with it.”

“Really? You wouldn’t mind? I’d really appreciate it. If we could just get this bastard in, maybeFrank will show. I think I could handle some of the other stuff.”

“No problem.” She stepped closer. “Maybe if you get up in the back, I could push it, and you could guide it or something.”

“We’ll give it a shot.” He climbed in, hampered somewhat by the cast.

She did her best to lift and shove, but the end of the sofa thudded on the pavement again.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He grinned at her, though she thought he looked exhausted. “You’re just a little thing, aren’t you? If you’ve got another minute, we could try it the other way. I can take the weight. Use my back, shoulders. Maybe you could come up in here, hold it steady, sort of pull while I push.”

There was a vague ring from a warning bell in the back of her mind, but she ignored it. She clambered up into the truck, warmed by his grateful smile as he slid out.

He called out instructions as he grunted and cursed his brother, Frank, in a way that made her laugh. As the sofa began to slide in, she backed up, tugging it along with a fine sense of accomplishment.

“Missionaccomplished!”

“Hold on, just a minute. Let me…” He boosted himself in, swiping his good arm over his brow. “If we could just shove it, that way.”

He started to point, and though the warning bell had pealed louder when he’d climbed in with her, into the small dark cave, she glanced over at the direction of his finger.

The first blow caught her on the side of the head, and sent her staggering. She saw lights flash, and felt a terrible and confusing pain.

She stumbled, catching her foot on the leg of the sofa and pitching to the left without any idea that the spill saved her skull from a second, brutal blow with the cast.

It smashed her shoulder instead, had her whimpering as she tried to crawl away from the attack, from the pain.

She could hear his voice through the screaming in her head, but there was something different about it. Something ripped-her clothes, her body-as he hauled her back.

No, you don’t. Sneaky little twat.

She couldn’t see now, there was only dark and those awful flashing lights. But she tasted blood, her own blood, in her mouth. And she could hear, just hear through the screams in her head, horrible things panted out in a horrible voice.

She was crying, making tiny animal sounds that turned to moans as more blows rained on her back. With a trembling hand, she reached into her pocket, fighting to stay conscious, fighting to make her numb fingers grip the gift her uncle had given her when she’d gone to work for him.

With blind instinct, she pointed it toward the sound of his voice.

He howled-a grotesque sound that told her the mugger spray had hit the mark. The panic siren attached to the device wailed. Sobbing-she thought she was sobbing, but it might have been him-she tried to crawl again.

Pain, more pain exploded inside her when a vicious kick hit her ribs, her jaw. She felt herself falling, falling, and the world was already dropping away when her head hit the pavement with a violent crack.