sheâd had hers installed when sheâd moved in. Now, she wondered if she should move out.
Was someone looking for her?
There was no reason for someone to be looking for her. No reason at all. That was her problem . . . this deep-seated fear that could never be fully quashed. She just couldnât help feeling like she was being watched. Like someone wanted something from her.
She rechecked the locks on her door, then made sure all the windows were closed, then rechecked everything again before heading to her closet, pulling out the shoe box on the floor, the one sheâd buried beneath a pile of shoes that she never wore. Placing the shoe box on the bed, she lifted the lid, then gently reached inside for her handgun. She hadnât purchased it; Della had confiscated it from Hague years before when heâd been suicidal and had found it at some gun show. Back then, Della thought Liv was an ally, that they were both interested in Hagueâs well-being, but sheâd slowly lost faith in Liv over the years. Now, Della only warmed to her when they had a common enemy like Lorinda. Liv had gotten the .38 out of the deal, however. Sometimes she asked herself why she had a gun. She knew how to load and unload it, but she wasnât proficient in its use. Still, it made her feel secure, just knowing it was at hand, and tonight she put the .38 under her pillow and fell asleep wondering if she should load it, never wakening to do so.
Chapter 4
On Friday Liv was late for work and caught the stink-eye from Paul de Fore as she hurried through Zuma Softwareâs front door. Sheâd almost parked her car in front of the building instead of the employee lot on the west side, just to save time, but she sensed that might come back to bite her somehow, so she backed into her usual spot and walked around to the front, taking the heat from Paul as she strode quickly to her desk. Paul had no serious authority to admonish her, but that never stopped him. She listened with half an ear for his footsteps, expecting him to follow after her to give her a good tongue-thrashing, but he got tied up at the door when Jessica Maltona slipped outside for a coffee on an unscheduled break.
âHey,â he yelled after her. âYou canât leave without authority! Mr. Upjohn will hear about this!â
Definitely a tool.
Liv ducked down below the half-wall of her cubicle, switching on her computer and locking her purse in the drawer as she settled into her rolling chair and wheeled up to the desk. She laid down the package from her mother, eyeing the manila envelope thoughtfully as she waited for the machine to click and burp its way to âready.â
It was the envelope that had made her late, or more accurately, the contents within. Sheâd pored over the pieces again this morning while she was drinking her coffee and the time had swept by so quickly that sheâd looked up at the clock and gasped, and then raced to the office.
Was the stalking, angry man in the photo Hagueâs zombie, and therefore the person the police had dubbed Deborah Duganâs Mystery Man? Was he her motherâs friend? Her lover, maybe? Why was he in the photos? And what was its meaning to Liv?
What did she know about her mother, really, she asked herself now. Only vague childhood memories that had been tainted and colored with time.
About lunchtime Aaron came around her partition and rapped his knuckles on her desk while she was on the phone with a supplier missing an invoice. She shook her head at him, and he motioned for her to meet him outside. Nodding, she waved him off, and as soon as she finished her call and hung up, she grabbed her purse from its locked cabinet, got up from her chair, straightened it, threw a glance at the package which sheâd now stuck in the slot of the message holder at the side of her desk, then turnedâand nearly ran smack into Kurt Upjohn, owner of Zuma Software.
âHi,â Liv said
Was someone looking for her?
There was no reason for someone to be looking for her. No reason at all. That was her problem . . . this deep-seated fear that could never be fully quashed. She just couldnât help feeling like she was being watched. Like someone wanted something from her.
She rechecked the locks on her door, then made sure all the windows were closed, then rechecked everything again before heading to her closet, pulling out the shoe box on the floor, the one sheâd buried beneath a pile of shoes that she never wore. Placing the shoe box on the bed, she lifted the lid, then gently reached inside for her handgun. She hadnât purchased it; Della had confiscated it from Hague years before when heâd been suicidal and had found it at some gun show. Back then, Della thought Liv was an ally, that they were both interested in Hagueâs well-being, but sheâd slowly lost faith in Liv over the years. Now, Della only warmed to her when they had a common enemy like Lorinda. Liv had gotten the .38 out of the deal, however. Sometimes she asked herself why she had a gun. She knew how to load and unload it, but she wasnât proficient in its use. Still, it made her feel secure, just knowing it was at hand, and tonight she put the .38 under her pillow and fell asleep wondering if she should load it, never wakening to do so.
Chapter 4
On Friday Liv was late for work and caught the stink-eye from Paul de Fore as she hurried through Zuma Softwareâs front door. Sheâd almost parked her car in front of the building instead of the employee lot on the west side, just to save time, but she sensed that might come back to bite her somehow, so she backed into her usual spot and walked around to the front, taking the heat from Paul as she strode quickly to her desk. Paul had no serious authority to admonish her, but that never stopped him. She listened with half an ear for his footsteps, expecting him to follow after her to give her a good tongue-thrashing, but he got tied up at the door when Jessica Maltona slipped outside for a coffee on an unscheduled break.
âHey,â he yelled after her. âYou canât leave without authority! Mr. Upjohn will hear about this!â
Definitely a tool.
Liv ducked down below the half-wall of her cubicle, switching on her computer and locking her purse in the drawer as she settled into her rolling chair and wheeled up to the desk. She laid down the package from her mother, eyeing the manila envelope thoughtfully as she waited for the machine to click and burp its way to âready.â
It was the envelope that had made her late, or more accurately, the contents within. Sheâd pored over the pieces again this morning while she was drinking her coffee and the time had swept by so quickly that sheâd looked up at the clock and gasped, and then raced to the office.
Was the stalking, angry man in the photo Hagueâs zombie, and therefore the person the police had dubbed Deborah Duganâs Mystery Man? Was he her motherâs friend? Her lover, maybe? Why was he in the photos? And what was its meaning to Liv?
What did she know about her mother, really, she asked herself now. Only vague childhood memories that had been tainted and colored with time.
About lunchtime Aaron came around her partition and rapped his knuckles on her desk while she was on the phone with a supplier missing an invoice. She shook her head at him, and he motioned for her to meet him outside. Nodding, she waved him off, and as soon as she finished her call and hung up, she grabbed her purse from its locked cabinet, got up from her chair, straightened it, threw a glance at the package which sheâd now stuck in the slot of the message holder at the side of her desk, then turnedâand nearly ran smack into Kurt Upjohn, owner of Zuma Software.
âHi,â Liv said
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