MacDougal had been right about more than the head injury.
Apparently, ignoring the Thrall was no longer an option.
3
The sun was past the horizon by the time I reached LoDo. The orange brilliance that chased away the night struck the mirror and caught me right in the eyes. I had to flip the rearview to night mode, which meant I couldn't see cars behind me very well, and the lancing pain I got every time I turned my head made me want to scream.
Gee, it wasn't even eight o'clock, and the day already sucked.
Traffic downtown was moving at a crawl. I can remember a time when there was almost no traffic in the early hours of the morning. That time is long gone. The Denver area is growing faster than the city facilities can support it.
The long, slow drive gave me far too much time to think about things I'd rather not have
contemplated. Dylan Shea was at the top of that list. But I didn't have enough information to make a decision about Dylan. Better to think of something else.
Probably because of the conversation with
MacDougal, my thoughts were of my brother
Bryan. I originally became a courier because I wanted to travel. Be careful what you wish for. I now spend the bulk of my life in foreign countries. But I'm good at the job, and it pays well. I need to make good money to pay my share of the costs for Bryan's care.
I fought down the wave of hurt and anger that threatened to overwhelm me. My nose and eyes burned for a moment until I slapped myself sharply on the cheek. Don't knock it—it works. I can't afford to cry while driving.
Bryan had been the best and brightest of our family. Captain of the football team; class valedictorian. Why in the hell he'd gotten involved in drugs, especially something so horrible as Eden, is beyond me. It breaks my heart to look into those vacant green eyes and realize that he doesn't recognize me, Joe, or anyone else. No glimmer of intelligence is left. He does what he's told if the commands are simple enough. Eden zombies have even less will than the Herd. He eats because Mike tells him to. He sweeps up the church and helps with the lifting in exchange for food, shelter and protection. Between them, Michael and his small staff keep Bryan and the others from wandering off and either starving to death or getting run over in traffic.
I took the highway exit that goes past Coors Field. Downtown was deep in shadows, still and cool. The open window let in a chill breeze that was filled with city smells. I love city smells. Cold steel, exhaust and brewing coffee, with a hint of morning dew. I slowly calmed down. Drivers racing to work cut me off more than once but I was just too exhausted to cuss them out. Now that the
adrenaline and caffeine were both gone my entire body felt leaden. I turned the corner, stopped and entered my code on the keypad. A metal grate rose and I drove down the ramp to the parking area beneath my building. It was good to be home. I own a converted factory, a four-story red brick building, with huge multi-paned windows. I bought it with my inheritance and the last of the volleyball money, back when the neighborhood was bad. The price was reasonable enough for an injured pro beach volleyball player to afford, and that's saying something.
When they moved in Coors Field, Six Flags, and the Pepsi Can—oops, I mean the Pepsi Center, the neighborhood became upscale and expensive. Now the place is worth a fortune. Renovating it helped me get through the pain and anger of Dylan leaving me for Amanda.
Joe is probably right that I should either sell the units as condos or raise the rents. But I love the place and want to get in tenants who will stay forever and love it too.
One of the biggest selling points for this particular building was that it had parking. The previous owner had been foresighted enough to convert part of the basement. It only has six spaces. There will be one for each of the other tenants, plus one for a guest. As the owner, I take two. One for Edna, and one for my motorcycle.
I watched in the rearview mirror to make sure no one tried to sneak under the gate as it came down. It was just that sort of a day.
The grate clanked as it hit the ground, and I pulled the truck forward into its usual slot. I didn't feel like unpacking right now, so I left the bags in the cab and locked up. I felt the wave of exhaustion flood my muscles and make them ache. All I
wanted was to get up to my apartment, grab some food and rest.
When I want exercise, I take the stairs. They're narrow and steep, guaranteed to give me a great workout. Not this morning. I wasn't taking one extra step I didn't have to. Mornings like this were why I kept both elevators during the renovations. The freight lift that opens into the garage is a massive, fully functional relic of the industrial age. It's noisy and it's ugly, but it works. I got used to it while hauling things upstairs during the remodel of my apartment. The freight elevator is now walled off on every floor but mine.
The elevator in the lobby is small and elegantly decorative with ornate brass that matches the kick plates on the door. I'm sure the tenants will love it. But, perversely, I like this one better.
My body felt leaden. It was almost too much effort just to climb out of the truck. But I was alive, and I was home. I closed the door of the truck and started across the parking area. My footfalls on the concrete echoed off of the brick walls. I could hear the street sounds through the grate behind me. There was a long honk and a screech of tires. I held my breath for a moment and waited for an impact. Nothing. Another accident narrowly avoided. I made it to the elevator without meeting another person. As soon as I got upstairs I planned to lock the door, turn off the elevator and collapse in bed after some food. I don't usually turn off the elevator, but I was feeling more than a little paranoid. My mind kept repeating the same thing over and over— I'm Not Prey. That means they're supposed to leave me alone or issue a one-on- one challenge—as if by repetition I could undo the events of this morning. I couldn't, and I knew it. But I was afraid enough that I was only a half-step away from panic. My home was supposed to be off limits, but what if all the rules changed? I reminded myself that Monica shouldn't know where I live. I'm unlisted and keep a low profile—but I couldn't be sure. Dylan shouldn't have had my telephone number. We haven't spoken since I left my old apartment. The fact that he had tracked it down, or gotten it from someone I knew was unnerving. If he could get the number, there was a good possibility he, and they, had the address. Shit. The elevator took me smoothly but noisily up to my apartment. I pulled open the reinforced gate and stepped into the foyer of my apartment. I had thirty seconds to shut down the alarm system, so I hurried across the kitchen to where the controls are discreetly mounted on the wall next to the fridge and entered the code.
Then, before I could forget, I grabbed the spare key to the elevator out of my junk drawer. I'd given Joe my copy of the elevator key and the pass code for the system ages ago so he could take care of the plants when I'm away on business. I was beginning to think that had been a mistake, but in the meantime I'd use the spare. I glanced at the answering machine next to the phone on my way back to the lift. There were four new messages, but judging from the small amount of tape still showing through the window, Joe hadn't managed to erase the calls he had heard.
But first I needed to unwind. I turned the key and heard the elevator lock "snick" into place. The tension in my shoulders relaxed a bit.
It was good to be home. My apartment takes up what was once the entire third and fourth floors of the building. I left the red brick walls mostly unadorned; the only exception is a six foot framed coat of arms with the Reilly family history that has a place of honor on the north wall.
The only interior wall is on the lower floor where a set of wide steps curve up to the bedroom loft. The wall's painted a pale peach. The walk-in coat closet and downstairs bathroom are behind it. The north and south walls have no windows, but the east and west walls more than make up for it. The thick rippled glass of the old factory windows seems to capture rainbows and then spray them across the room. I love to lie on the floor and watch the colors dance across my skin as the sun sets behind the mountains. They're not energy efficient, but I like them. So do the plants—the living room is part jungle.
I walked directly into a large living room with a ceiling that is open to both floors. Industrial size ceiling fans circulate the air, making the custom vertical blinds rattle sharply if the setting is on high. Joe had left the blinds open when he watered the plants, and the sunlight streaming into the living area was almost blinding. I crossed over to the wall by the entertainment center and hit the switch for the motor that would close them slightly. I hit the button to rewind the tape on the machine, and then straightened one of the picture frames on my way back to the kitchen.
I keep all of my important pictures on the wall above my stereo system. They're all different shapes and sizes, with a variety of frames. It gives it an eclectic look that contrasts the smooth clean lines of the curving staircase that leads to the open loft I use for my bedroom.
I opened the fridge. It was achingly empty. Only a half-empty carton of eggs, a partial stick of butter and a six-pack of bottled water. My trip had been planned, so I hadn't bothered to go grocery shopping before I left. There was more in the freezer, but I didn't have the patience to wait for something to thaw.
Beep! "Kate, hey . . . um, well, I've got some good news and some bad news." I recognized Chuck's voice. He's my brand new tenant in 2B, right underneath my apartment. He's a cop on the Denver force. I pulled the egg carton from the fridge and unhooked one of the copper-bottomed fry pans from the rack on the wall. I flicked the switch to open the gas jets and put the skillet on to heat. I didn't really need to hear any more bad news, but with Chuck it probably just meant he'd lost the lease I gave him to sign. Not critical, but a pain.
Excitement filled his voice. "The third time was a charm! You were right. I passed my Detective test yesterday. I really appreciate you taking the time to go over the materials with me. It really helped." Now his voice was nervous, filled with worried sighs. "Which is why it's so hard to tell you—" I closed my eyes so I didn't have to watch the boot drop on my head. "Actually, it's good news, but I know you've been strapped for cash. I got offered a slot on the Fort Collins squad, as a full detective. The guy who's leaving got a promotion and is going to Boston. He, um, said I could sublet his apartment until the lease expires. I hate to, Kate—I really do, but it's a hell of a drive from here to Fort Collins every day. I won't be able to take the apartment, and I feel just rotten about it. I know I promised."
I rubbed my temples with tired fingers and
angrily grabbed a plastic spatula to turn the eggs. He was right, it was good news. And he was also right that the drive would be hell. It's over an hour on a good day. I was happy for him . . . sort of.
"So, I guess that's it. I'll check around the squad room to see if anyone is looking for a place. I really liked what you've done with the building, but I just can't sign the lease. Hope you're not mad or anything. Anyway, well, I have to get to work. You can keep my deposit if will help you right now. You can get it back to me when you can."
No. I'll give him back his security deposit. It's in a different account, and that's just . . . well, just no. I'm not that desperate. Of course, I haven't checked the mail yet, either.
I slid the fried egg onto a plate and punched down the bread in the toaster. While I was waiting for it, I clicked off the machine. First things first. I grabbed the portable phone and the White
Pages, and still managed to catch the toast just as it was popping up. Considering the size of the Denver phone book, that's no small feat. A quick slather of butter later, and breakfast was served. The scent of the frying egg made me hungry enough that the entire meal took about five minutes to finish. I flopped to the business listings, found the number for the Denver Post classifieds and dialed. Might as well get it over with.
The bright perky voice almost made me more
grumpy. "Thanks for calling the Denver Post Classifieds. This is Tina."
I sounded even more tired than I felt, if that was possible. "Hi, Tina. My name is Kate Reilly. I placed an ad for an apartment for rent a few months ago, and I've got another vacancy. Do you, by any chance, still have that ad on file?"
"Is the ad under your name personally, or billed to a business?"
"Nope. Just me. I think it was about two months ago. Do you keep them that long?"
"We do on business listings. Okay, let's see—" I heard clicking in the background as perky Tina tiptyped the search for my file. I held the phone to my ear with my shoulder and rinsed off my plate.
"Ah. Kate Reilly, here we go. Sure, we can . . . oh, wait." Tina's friendly voice dropped a few notes and became more businesslike. "I'm sorry, Ms. Reilly, but we seem to have an outstanding invoice for the last time you ran this ad. We'll have to get payment for that bill before we can place this new one. Would you like me to connect you to
accounting?"
I felt heat in my cheeks. "Are you sure? I could have sworn I paid that bill last month."
"Well, I don't have your payment files down here. I just have a flag on the account so that I can't place it again. I can transfer you to one of the bookkeepers, though."
I sighed and shook my head. "No, not right now. Let me check my bank statements first. I'll give you a call back later today."
Bright and animated was back in a flash. "Okay, then. Thank you for calling the Denver Post Classifieds."
A perfect ending to a perfect morning. I stumbled up the staircase to my bedroom. I was on the verge of collapse, but I was a good girl. I followed Dr. MacDougal's orders and set the alarm.
I barely managed to pull off my shoes before falling on top of the bed fully clothed.
I couldn't have been asleep long when the