Killing Spree (46 page)

The calls from her agent, however, kept coming every day. Gillian’s book sales had tapered off a bit, but remained healthy. The flurry of film offers had died down as well, but there were some parties still genuinely interested and looking for backing. And her agent wanted to know how far along she was with her outline.

Maybe she would spend her Saturday night alone working on that.

Gillian found a parking space at the edge of the mini-mall’s crowded lot. Emerging from the rental car, she felt a chill, and hiked up the collar of her trench coat. She noticed the lights and the garland trim around the store’s windows. It reminded her that this would be her first Christmas as a widow. They wouldn’t have those hoods hanging around the duplex, waiting for Barry to show up. He wasn’t ever coming back. There was no more hoping for that.

She expected the place to be crowded with Christmas shoppers. Maybe she’d sell twenty books. “
A signed paperback is a great stocking stuffer!
” she imagined telling anyone who stopped by her table.

Walking into the bookstore, Gillian saw a line of people pressed against one wall, and winding around three aisles. “Who else is signing here?” she asked the store manager, Kris.

“Just you, Gillian. Some of them have been waiting three hours.”

Kris was a thin, twentysomething redhead with glasses. She stood by Gillian’s desk and kept the line moving. Gillian had never had a signing with this kind of turnout. Several customers wanted to have their pictures taken with her. There was barely enough time to talk to each one. Kris made sure nobody lingered for too long.

One person set a package on the desk in front of her instead of a book. Gillian stared at her name scribbled across a slightly bulky padded envelope. Then she glanced up at the handsome, golden-haired man in the aviator jacket. “Jason,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to return any of your calls,” he explained under his breath. “They sprung me out of the hospital too early here. I got really sick my first night back in Missoula, some kind of infection. I ended up in the hospital there for over a week—and then at Rachel’s house for another few days. It was a jolly setup there with my ex and her husband looking after me.”

“But you’re okay now, aren’t you?” she asked.

He nodded. “How about you? How’s Ethan?”

Gillian shrugged. “We’re both—well, we’re great. Thanks.” She glanced at the line of people behind him. “Um, can you stick around?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m flying back to Missoula early tonight.”

“Oh, I see,” she murmured. She picked up the envelope. “What’s this?”

“You might want to open that later,” he said. He glanced at Kris, and then looked over his shoulder at all the people behind him. “In fact, better wait until you get home to do it.”

Gillian nodded. “All right.” She tucked the envelope in her purse—on the floor by her feet. “Well, thank you for coming. I—I hope you’ll keep in touch. In fact, could you call Ethan? He’d love to hear from you. He misses you.”

“You bet. Of course I’ll call him.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Gillian whispered.

He leaned forward. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

The woman behind Jason cleared her throat.

Gillian smiled up at him and shook her head. “Nothing. It was good to see you again, Jason.”

He nodded. “Congratulations, Gill.”

Then he turned and walked away. Gillian watched him from the desk.

“Could you make this one out to Tina? And the other book is for my friend Kim.” The woman set two copies of
Black Ribbons
on the desk in front of Gillian.

Gillian worked up a smile. “Of course. Would you like me to say, ‘Happy Holidays’?”

“Yeah, that would be great. I really love your books, Gillian. They’re addictive.”

“Well, thanks. And thanks for coming too.” Reaching for one of the books, Gillian stole a glance at Jason as he left the store. He didn’t look back.

Gillian wished she could run after him. But she couldn’t. She told herself to keep smiling. All these people had come to see her, and she didn’t want to disappoint them.

Gillian grabbed her pen, opened the book, and started writing.

It was 4:45 and dark out when Gillian walked back to her rental car. She’d signed 137 books. Her face hurt from smiling so much, and she was exhausted.

She got behind the wheel, and paused before slipping the key into the ignition. There was no way she could wait until she got home before opening the envelope from Jason. She switched on the dome light, took the envelope out of her purse, and tore it open. She pulled out the framed photo Jason had borrowed, the one of her and Barry in front of the Pike Street Market. There was also a smaller envelope. Gillian opened it, and found a cashier’s check made out to her for $37,000.

She also found a note—handwritten on plain white paper:

Take care,
Jason

Gillian put down the letter and the cashier’s check, then studied the photo of Barry and her in front of the Pike Street Market.

“Hi, Gillian!” someone called to her. It was a woman’s voice.

She glanced up to see a young couple, passing in front of the car. They had been at her signing. They were cute, and friendly, and very much in love. They waved.

Gillian worked up a smile and waved back.

“She can’t wait to get home to read this one!” the young man called, pointing to the shopping bag his girlfriend carried. “Drive safely!”

Gillian kept smiling and nodded. From this distance—and through the windshield—they must not have seen the tears on her face. Gillian waved again, then switched off the dome light. With a sigh, she put the picture and letter on the passenger seat. She wiped the tears from her eyes. Then she started up the car, and headed for home.

She couldn’t find a parking place in front of the duplex, and had to settle for one two blocks away. Walking down her block, Gillian numbly gazed at the Christmas lights decorating her neighbors’ houses. She thought about the $37,000, and figured Barry was going to be part of their Christmas after all.

Trees swayed in the frigid wind. She wondered if it would snow tonight. She’d have herself a glass of wine and a good cry in front of the fireplace.

She saw the duplex just ahead. The motion-activated light above the cellar door was on.

Gillian stopped dead.

She reached into her purse—past the big envelope Jason had given her, and through all the junk in there. She finally found her pepper spray near the bottom of the bag. When she looked at the house again, the cellar light was out.

With apprehension, she took a few steps toward the duplex. Her heart was racing. She stopped again when she caught a glimpse of a tall figure coming around from the side of the porch. For a moment, she couldn’t move. As he emerged from the shadows, Gillian recognized the dark blond hair and the aviator jacket. Gillian put the pepper spray back in her purse, and stepped toward the house. “Jason?” she said.

He met her in front of the porch. “Hi. I’m sorry. Did I scare you again?”

“A little,” she admitted. “But I’m all right. I don’t scare quite so easily anymore. You missed your plane. I’m sorry.” She let out a tiny laugh, and quickly shook her head. “No, I’m not. Actually, I’m
glad
you missed your plane. I was hoping you’d stick around.”

“Really?”

Gillian nodded.

“Good, because I missed my plane on purpose,” he said. “Did you get Barry’s money?”

She nodded again. “And your note. Thank you, Jason.”

“I meant what I said. I can’t understand how anyone could leave you and stay away. I tried to leave tonight. But I couldn’t.” He took hold of her hand, and glanced at the front door. “Is it really okay if I stick around?”

Gillian smiled. “It’s more than okay. It’s great.”

PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022

Copyright © 2007 by Kevin O’Brien

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-0-7860-2324-0