Thoughts tumbled in Reese’s head. If she opened the door, he could push her in and abduct her. But if she didn’t open the door, he would stand here all night, she was sure. She could throw the car in reverse, except a produce truck had slipped into the spot behind her. She couldn’t go forward. She could call the police, but she didn’t know where she was, and there were no street signs visible.
Telling the police you were somewhere near O’Hare outside a bookstore and a deli wasn’t going to cut it.
Maybe the produce truck driver would be her hero.
No. She could handle this. No problemo. Even if her knees were vibrating.
Trying to sound authoritative, she said, “Get back in your car and I’ll get out, okay?”
She would dash into the deli and abandon the stupid rental car. Let him have it. Of course, her suitcase was in her trunk, along with her laptop, but she could live without her PJ bottoms and her purple toothbrush. The paper probably had insurance for her laptop. If they didn’t, tough toenails, this was her safety in question here.
Estimating distance, she figured it was only fifteen feet to the front door of the deli, and people were entering and exiting on a regular basis. He couldn’t murder her in a deli, she didn’t think.
“Listen, lady, it’s not what you think. I’m with the FBI.” He started to put his hand in his pocket.
With hours of cop TV under her belt, Reese said, “Freeze! Get your hand out of your pocket.”
He stopped, startled. “I’m trying to show you my badge.”
“Yeah, right, you’re an FBI agent, and I can bake a cake from scratch.” Like she’d fallen off the turnip truck yesterday.
His lip twitched.
The jerk was laughing at her. “Get back in your car!” she ordered him, fury overcoming fear.
“Okay, that’s fine.” He held up his hands as if to reassure her and went back to his car.
The minute he closed the door, she grabbed her purse, her briefcase, and her Mace, and flung open the car door. Stumbling a little as her heels hit the sidewalk, her briefcase slipped out of her hand.
Instinctively, she bent to get it and the white Tyvek envelope that had slid to the ground with it.
“Hey, that’s my envelope!”
Oh, no. His voice sounded like it was coming from outside the car. She should have known not to trust him. Reese grabbed everything and ran for the door, still half hunched over. With her free hand, she pushed open the door and tumbled in just as she sensed his presence behind her.
His voice was smooth, low. It sent shivers dancing up her spine.
“I just want the envelope in your hand. If you hand it to me, I swear I’ll walk away and you’ll never see me again. Or at least let me show you my badge.”
When she bit her lip and paused, he added, “You realize you’re interfering with official FBI business.”
She wondered if she should believe him. He looked sexy enough to be a federal agent. Way better than that wimpy paranoid Mulder.
Besides, he didn’t really look like a murderer. But who really knew what a murderer looked like?
Taking stock, Reese realized she had not recovered the Mace after dropping it outside. Clutching her purse and briefcase, she looked around the room at a total loss as to how to act.
His hand touched her elbow just as she caught the eye of the twenty-year-old clerk behind the counter. She shot the clerk a pleading look, then took a deep breath.
Her dad had taught her always to speak up for herself.
“Don’t touch me!” she yelled, her elbow slamming into her pursuer’s stomach. “Someone call the police! Help me, he’s attacking me.”
She heard a grunt, stomped on his foot for good measure with the spiky heel of her shoe, and started running towards the kitchen, wishing she hadn’t quit going to the gym after the ripped leggings incident. Shit, she was out of shape.
A middle-aged woman behind the deli counter beckoned her forward. “Come in the back while we call the police.”
Reese fought the urge to look back to see if she was still being pursued. The fear must have been obvious on her face.