“What about her? Just tell me now.”
“I really need to speak with you face to face. It’s a sensitive matter.”
A sensitive matter? Did bloodthirsty criminals talk like that?
“Haven’t you ever heard of the telephone?”
“I’ve been trying to call you for days with no answer.”
Oh. Right. She’d unplugged the answering machine after the strange calls started coming, and finally she’d turned the phone’s ringer off too.
“Look, if you’re here about the pageant story, I don’t have any idea what your problem is with it.”
She turned off the intercom and pushed her sofa against the door, then climbed on top of it and pulled her legs to her chest. She was beginning to think journalism had been the wrong career choice. What she needed was a nice, safe job. Maybe in forestry, or library science.
No, that was just fear talking. She loved her work. She’d always dreamed of being a freelance writer, and now she was one. Was she really such a coward she’d let someone bully her out of writing the truth? Scared as she might be, in her gut, Jenna knew she wasn’t about to stop working on the article.
Fifteen minutes later, she was still sitting in the same spot staring at her chipped toenail polish when she heard Mrs. Lupinski hollering about the whereabouts of her free pizza, a sure sign that the guy with the sensitive matter to discuss had gotten into the building.
Someone knocked at the door, and in spite of herself Jenna jumped again.
“Ms. Calvert, this is urgent. It’s about your sister’s wedding.”
Kathryn was getting married? No surprise there, if he was telling the truth. Her sister had been dreaming of a rich Prince Charming ever since they’d been old enough to date.
“She needs your help.”
“Right, now I know you’re lying. And why isn’t she here asking for my help herself if she needs it?” Kathryn would no sooner ask for Jenna’s help than she would wear a designer knock-off dress.
“I’ll explain, if you’ll just give me a chance.”
“Go away before I call the police!”
She peered through the peep hole at him to see his reaction. Yow--what a cutie. Smokey green eyes, sand-colored hair streaked with blond and cut meticulously short, the kind of stern, masculine mouth that begged to be kissed into submission. Not exactly the face of a thug, but what did she know? Maybe criminals were going for the GQ look this year.
“I understand you and Kathryn haven’t spoken in some time, and you didn’t part on friendly terms.”
Okay, somehow he’d found some personal information to make his cover seem authentic. She sunk back down on the couch and chewed her lip.
“Jenna, please pen the door.”
She eyed the fire escape. Today was not a good day to die. For one thing, her roots were starting to show, and she had a zit on her chin. She’d look like hell in a casket. Maybe this guy was legit, but she couldn’t afford to find out. It would only be a short drop from the bottom of the fire escape to the ground.
She hopped off the couch, grabbed her backpack purse, slid her feet into the nearest pair of sandals, and hurried to the fire escape window.
The gorgeous maybe-assassin started pounding on the door, and Jenna pushed her window open and squeezed through it. Her breath came out ragged, and she imagined herself in an action movie as she climbed down the fire escape and dangled herself over the bottom edge for the drop. Five feet, no problem. She let go and landed with a thud in the scraggly mess of weeds that made up her building’s back yard vegetation.
Now what? She hadn’t exactly formulated an escape plan.
