Nightwatcher (Nightwatcher #1)(85)

“I think I should go,” she tells Lynn, looking around for a place to set down her half-full beer. It’s her second—or maybe her third.

“Don’t you want to finish that?”

“No, I can’t. I really need to get home. Do you want to come, or . . . ?”

“Hang on. Let me see if Mack’s there yet.” Lynn pulls a cell phone from her pocket, dials, and holds it to her ear. After a minute, she shakes her head and hangs up. “He’s still not home. I’ll stay here until I reach him.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind if I leave, then?”

What else can Lynn say but “Um, no. Go ahead.”

Allison realizes she probably expects an invitation back to Allison’s apartment, and she’s tempted to extend one. But really, that wouldn’t be a good idea. Not because she fears for her safety, but because in this frame of mind, having company isn’t a good idea.

Out in the cool night air, she immediately feels better. Not well enough to turn back, but at least her head feels clearer.

As she walks toward home, she tells herself that she did the right thing.

But when she turns onto her block and sees her building looming, she isn’t so sure. It would be a lot easier to walk into that empty apartment with company than it will be alone.

Well, get a grip. You are alone, and that’s how you wanted it, remember?

She walks closer, glad that at least she left the lights on when she went downstairs to meet Lynn. She even locked the door behind her.

Now, taking her keys from her pocket, she realizes, belatedly, that she never heard back from Detective Manzillo about whether he’d found her spare key in Kristina’s possession.

It’s all she can do to make herself unlock the door and walk into the building.

Strength is your strength.

She rides the elevator up to the fourth floor.

Strength is your strength.

She considers knocking on Mack’s door to see if he’s there, but Lynn just called him from the bar less than fifteen minutes ago. Either he’s still out, or he doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

Just leave him alone, Allison tells herself, and goes past his door to her own.

Strength is your strength.

Unlocking it, she steps inside.

As always, everything appears to be just as she left it.

See? You’re home, safe and sound. You can relax now.

She locks the door behind her, still feeling a little woozy from the beer. She isn’t used to drinking much, but Lynn ordered more beers without asking her if she wanted another.

Wait—should she have locked herself in before she checked to make sure no one is here, lying in wait for her? Isn’t she supposed to do that part first?

She turns back to unlock the door, then stops. That’s not a good idea, is it? What if she walks away and then forgets to lock it again?

Just do a quick check. I’m sure it’s fine.

She looks into the kitchen. Not a thing out of place, and really, not a single spot where someone could be hiding. In the living room, as she checks behind the curtains, she wonders what she would possibly do if someone jumped out at her.

You’d be helpless, wouldn’t you? So a lot of good this searching does.

With the building empty and the windows closed up tightly, no one would even hear her scream if something happened.

You should have grabbed a knife when you were in the kitchen, like you did before.

Her heart begins to pound. She peeks into the narrow space between the couch arm and the wall, and the shadowy corner near the armoire. So far, so good.

As she walks toward the bedroom, her gaze falls on the answering machine, sitting on the end table beside her art books. The message light is flashing.

She presses play.

“Ms. Taylor, this is Detective Manzillo. Give me a call as soon as you can. We checked Kristina Haines’s apartment for your keys, and they aren’t there. Be careful, and like I said . . . call me as soon as possible. I need to speak to you about . . . a new development in this case.”

Rattled by the news that her keys have apparently gone missing, Allison instinctively reaches for one of the granite bookends on the table. It’s so heavy she can barely lift it with one hand, heavy enough to be a weapon.

All she has to do is check the bedroom and the bathroom. Then she can put down the bookend and breathe easily as she returns the detective’s phone call.

Crossing into the bedroom, she glances around and is caught off guard by the unmade bed. She never—

Oh, that’s right, she’d been just about to—

Suddenly, she remembers: she was standing here with the chef’s knife when the buzzer rang earlier. She tossed it onto the bed and went to answer it.

Allison takes a step closer to the bed, her eyes searching for the knife.

It isn’t there.

But that can’t be right.

She left it there, it has to be there . . .

Dear God, where is the knife?

Someone moved it.

Someone took it.

She has to get out of here, before—

Out of the corner of her eye, Allison sees a figure looming.





Chapter Fourteen

A rush of sound startles Jerry awake. He opens his eyes to darkness.

It takes a few seconds for him to figure out where he is: home.

He can tell by the faint stink that hangs in the air.