Chasing Shadows (First Wives #3)(61)

Avery started back toward her hotel and walked past Bergdorf Goodman. She stopped and tilted her head to take in the high-rise department store. It was one of her favorite stomping grounds when she was in New York. The last time she’d been there was the day of the attack.

Someone bumped into her while walking by, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Sorry,” the guy said, walking away.

“No problem . . .” Her words trailed off when her eyes landed on the parking garage she was attacked in.

Without thought, she followed the rush of people crossing on the not quite green light until she stood where she had been nearly a year before.

She walked in and down the ramp, ignoring the fact that her heart sped up and her palms started to sweat. There had been no anxiety when she’d walked in before. She had finished her first real day of work, and the mom bag she’d used to carry all of Trina’s late husband’s treasures had been empty. Having several hundred thousand dollars of watches and pens had made her feel like a target. The irony wasn’t lost on her now.

Fluorescent lights hummed above her head and attempted to stay lit. The flickering sparked a memory. She glanced up. Fire sprinkler lines crisscrossed the concrete ceiling, which served as a floor for what sat above. Black stains from smog-producing engines stained the dingy white walls. Well, they were once white, though now they sported a dirty gray patina that couldn’t be duplicated with a can of paint. You would think a garage on Fifth Avenue would be better maintained. Then again, the garage would always be full, and the people leaving their cars there would pay a premium regardless of how pretty it was or wasn’t.

The low ceiling started to weigh on her as she walked deeper. Anyone watching would probably think she was staking out a car. Normally she looked like she belonged there. Fancy shoes, nice skirt, sunglasses that cost what those college kids made in a month. Today she wore black leggings, a comfortable flat boot, a T-shirt, and a short-waist jacket. No makeup and not one accessory. She hadn’t even packed a pair of earrings for her trip.

After a year, Avery wouldn’t have remembered the space where she’d parked. The injury and trauma had caused some memory loss. But now things were starting to come back to her. And the police report she’d read over and over had spelled it out. Space 16B was currently occupied by a compact Toyota. Not the car she’d been driving.

She’d been digging through her purse when something hit her. She closed her eyes and willed her mind to let the image in. A deep breath through her nose repeated the smell of asphalt. Only it wasn’t asphalt, but oil and grime. She moved to the front of the car. There was a little more space in front of 16B than the others in the garage since a support pillar shared the space with the wall. Enough room to dump a woman left for dead where she would not immediately be seen.

Avery ran her hand along the wall and knelt closer to the ground. The smell of tires and oil . . . that’s where she’d gotten asphalt.

Lights flickered above her head.

She looked up, flinched, and fell back on her butt, which had been only a few inches off the ground.

“Don’t look at me. Jesus, don’t look at me.”

He wore a worn-out sweatshirt with a hood. Most of it covering his face. But not all.

With shaky hands, Avery removed her cell phone from her zippered pocket and opened a voice recording app.

“White. Not too tall, average. Stubble. Lack of shave. Strong chin. Tired eyes.” She closed hers. “What color?” Nothing came.

She rewound the tape in her head.

I’m walking through the garage with my head in my purse. How fucking stupid could I be? She shook away her stupidity. Avery wasn’t that girl any longer.

He hits me, like a body slam to the ground. I see the boot coming and close my eyes. I open them briefly and see brown pants. Big and loose and too short. Avery lifted her phone to her lips. “His pants don’t fit him. They’re too loose and too short. Like you’d see on a homeless guy. Only he’s fast. And fidgeting. He kicks me a lot. I keep my eyes closed until he starts to drag me.” She looked at the ground in front of the car. “I feel my head hit the concrete car stop. He dropped me and that’s when I see him. He’s cussing and telling me not to look at him. He kicks my face again. His boots are brand-new. There’s a plastic tag on the bottom that hasn’t worn off yet.” Avery went on describing everything she remembered about her assailant until there was nothing left to tell.

Footsteps broke her blank stare and prompted her to her feet.

Twenty feet away, a security guard had a hand on his flashlight. “Whatcha doin’ over there?” His accent was pure Jersey.

Avery brushed at her butt. “I was here last week. I lost an earring. Thought maybe it fell out when I was taking my jacket off.” She pretended to look around the cars.

“Expensive?”

She shrugged. “Sentimental.” A few more passes around the car and she lifted her arms in the air. “Guess I’m outta luck.”

The guard relaxed. “You can give me ya number. I’ll call if I find somethin’.”

“It’s okay. Chances are if it is here, it’s unusable now.” She turned and walked away. “Thanks anyway.”

“No problem.”

He was definitely watching her ass as she left the garage.

Avery grabbed a taxi and returned to the West Village.