O'Halloran's Lady

Now that she knew there was definitely someone behind her, the fact that he hadn’t either veered off, or walked briskly past, but had chosen to remain approximately the same distance behind and maintain her snail’s pace sent a chill shooting down her spine. The farther she walked away from the lights of the mall, the more sinister the trailing footsteps had become.

As she approached an SUV, in an effort to catch a glimpse of whoever was behind her, she slowed and glanced in the wing mirror.

Apart from wet cars and dark, thin air wreathed with mist, as far back as she could see, the parking lot appeared to be empty.

In that same instant, she registered that the footsteps had stopped. Somehow that was more frightening than if she had actually caught a glimpse of whoever had been following her.

Heart pounding, she swung around and skimmed the rows of cars. The background hum of city traffic, the distant blare of a car horn, seemed to increase the sense of isolation in the misty parking lot, the muffling, encapsulating silence.

Somewhere off to the left a car engine coughed to life. She let out a relieved breath. Mystery solved. Whoever had been behind her must have stopped to unlock their car just seconds before she had gotten up the courage to check on him.

Castigating herself for the paranoia that had leaped at her from nowhere, she adjusted her grip on the carrier bags, and continued on toward her car.

She had parked on the far side of the lot, next to the clothing department stores, because when she’d made the decision to do some late night shopping, she hadn’t originally counted on buying groceries. Her goal had simply been to get out of her house, away from her office and the memories that, at this time of year, always seemed to press in on her.

Normally a dedicated shopper, happy to price and compare until she found exactly what she wanted, she’d found the items she’d needed too quickly. Unwilling to leave the bright cheerfulness of the mall and the simple human comfort of being amongst people, even if no one bothered to speak to her unless she handed money over a counter, she’d strolled on into the supermarket.

Shopping this late was ridiculous; the task could have waited until morning. But tomorrow was the anniversary of her cousin Natalie’s death and she hadn’t wanted to do anything as frivolous as buy pretty clothes. Especially since her aunt and uncle, who still struggled with their grief, expected her over for dinner.

Behind her, she could hear the car her “stalker” had climbed into accelerating toward the exit, going too fast. She caught a glimpse of a glossy, black sedan, pumped up at the back, and the flare of taillights as he braked. It occurred to her that the car, an Audi, looked like the same model the villain had used in her latest book, which seemed appropriate.

Annoyance at the casual cruelty of the man, if he really had been trying to scare her, replaced the last wimpy remnants of fear. She didn’t normally wish bad things on people, but a sudden, vivid fantasy of the Audi being pulled over and the driver being issued with an offence notice was warming.

Feeling a whole lot more cheerful, she angled across the lot toward her car.

Ahead, a noisy group of young people exited the mall and stopped right next to the shiny new Porsche she had bought to celebrate the release of her book. She saw with relief that they were trailed by a uniformed mall security guard who was keeping an eye on them.

Simultaneously she registered that the obnoxious Audi, which had apparently missed the exit ramp, was now doing another circuit of the lot. Distracted by the kids milling around her car, she sped up. As she did so, she automatically hitched the carrier bags higher and in that instant one of the handles broke and the contents of the bag cascaded onto the pavement.

Staggering a little at the sudden release of weight on one side and muttering beneath her breath, Jenna set the bags down. Luckily the bag that had broken had been filled with packets and cans, not fruits and vegetables. One eye on the kids, who were still grouped around her Porsche, she started retrieving cans, some of which had skittered across the lane.

As she bent to pick up a packet of rice, the throaty sound of an engine caused her to jerk her head up. Twin headlights pinned her. Adrenaline shoved through her veins, momentarily freezing her in place. The black car, which she had momentarily forgotten, was roaring straight for her.

Dropping the rice and cans, she flung herself into a gap between two cars, hitting the wet concrete of the parking lot a split second before the car accelerated past, so close the vibration shimmered up through pavement and hot exhaust filled her nostrils.

Loose hair tangled around her face, Jenna pushed into a sitting position, logging grazed palms that burned, and a knee that seemed temporarily frozen and which would hurt like blazes in a minute or two. Thankfully, her handbag, which had been slung over one shoulder, was on the ground next to her, although the contents, including her car keys and phone, had spilled across the concrete.

“Are you all right?”

The calm male voice jerked her head up. For a split second, heart still pounding with an overload of adrenaline, she saw O’Halloran. The illusion winked out almost immediately since, apart from hair color and a lean, muscular build, the security officer didn’t look anything like her long-ago ex.

Although, she could be forgiven the error, she thought a little grimly, as she allowed him to help her to her feet.

The last time she’d had a run-in with a car, nine years ago to be exact, it had been O’Halloran who had come to her rescue.

She noted the name on a badge pinned to the pocket of the security officer’s shirt and dredged up a thin smile for Mathews. “I’m fine, thank you. Just a few bruises.”

And a whole lot of mangled shopping.

While Mathews asked her questions about the near miss and made some notes, Jenna tested out her knee. It hurt and was already stiffening, but at least she could put weight on it. Although, it would be black and blue by morning.

Limping, she began gathering up her things, starting with the contents of her handbag. The rice was history, grains were scattered all over the concrete, but she found the broken plastic bag and stuffed it into another carrier bag, along with other grocery items that had rolled loose.

Mathews collected the bags containing her dress and shoes and insisted on carrying everything to her car and stowing them for her.

As he closed the passenger side door he cast a steely look at the kids, who had drifted farther down the mall and were now grouped outside a cafе.

“Are you sure you’re okay? If you need medical attention we’ve got a first-aid station in the mall.”

Ignoring the burning pain from the scrapes on her palms, Jenna checked in her handbag, found a business card and handed it to him. “I’m okay. The only thing I’d like is the registration of the vehicle, if you can get it.”

He tucked her card in his shirt pocket. “No problem. I’ll check out the security footage, but with the lights at this end of the lot knocked out by vandals and the mist, I can’t guarantee anything.”

Feeling increasingly stiff and sore, Jenna climbed into the leather-scented interior of the Porsche although, for once, she couldn’t take pleasure in the car. With a convulsive movement, she locked the doors, fastened her seat belt then sat staring at her shaking hands and grazed palms.

No, she definitely wasn’t okay.

The driver of the black Audi had to have seen her. She had been standing in the middle of the lane, caught in the glare of his headlights, and yet he hadn’t so much as slowed down. If she hadn’t gotten out of his way she would have been hit. At the speed he had been travelling, she would have been, at the very least, seriously injured.

Maybe she was going crazy, or she’d written one too many suspense stories, but she was almost certain that what had happened hadn’t been either a joke or an accident.

Someone had just tried to kill her.

Lamplight pooled around Jenna as, too wired to sleep after the near miss in the mall parking lot, she set a mug of hot chocolate down on her desk and booted up her computer. Sliding her glasses onto the bridge of her nose, she vetoed any idea that she could work on her manuscript. Since she couldn’t settle to sleep, it stood to reason that she was way too jittery to write.

Clicking on the mail icon, she decided to stick with the less brain-intensive task of answering emails until she got tired enough to actually sleep. Her laptop beeped as a small flood of emails filled her inbox.

Minutes later, she opened an email and froze. Fighting a cold sense of disorientation, she pushed her glasses a little higher on her nose and forced herself to reread the message that had just appeared in her fan mail account.

I hate your latest book in which you have portrayed ME as the villin. Besides the romance and the hero being unreel (no one looks that good) the villin is not as bad as you’re making out, he deserves a medal for not trying to do away with Sara in the first chapter. Take “Deadly Valentine” off the market NOW. If you don’t you will regret it.

Jenna drew a long, impeded breath. As chilling as the content was, and the veiled threat, the writer of the email, ekf235, had no particular literary aspirations. He had misspelt villain and unreal and had committed the cardinal sin of joining two independent clauses with a comma instead of a semicolon. If her editor, Rachel, saw it, she would have a fit.

Jenna sat back in her office chair, her normal determination to see the positive side of every fan letter she received, even if it was scathingly critical, absent. The misspellings and dreadful grammar, the sideswipe about her characterisation, didn’t take away from the fact that whoever had written the letter was nutty enough to think she had patterned the villain on him.

Since Jenna had never heard of ekf235, let alone corresponded with him, that claim was highly unlikely.

For long seconds, Jenna stared at the screen of her laptop, and tried to catalogue all of the men she had known through her life, but her mind seemed to have frozen. It was mild shock, she realized.

For the second time in one night.

Hooking her glasses off the bridge of her nose, she sat back in her chair, and rubbed at the sharp little throb that had developed at her temples.

She was tired and sore, despite taking a couple of painkillers and rubbing arnica and liniment into her bruised knee. She shouldn’t have started on emails this late. Buying in to the ramblings of an emotionally disturbed person, who didn’t have the courage to reveal their real identity, was always a mistake.

Taking another deep breath, she let it out slowly and tapped the button that generated her auto-reply, thanking the fan. A small whooshing sound indicated that the reply had gone.

She glanced at her collage board, which was littered with all of the various materials she had used as inspiration for the highly successful series of novels that had shot her to the top of bestseller lists.