Page 125 of Obsession in Death

Do not, under any circumstances, open the door to someone you don’t know. Do not, under any circumstances, open the door to anyone you’re not expecting.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, it’s just a messenger.”

But Eve’s flat, cop’s eyes seemed to bore into her brain.

“Fine, fine.” Nadine pushed the intercom. “Yes?”

“Yeah, Mercury Messengers. Package for Nadine Furst.”

“Let’s see it. Hold it up to the peep.”

“What’s the problem, lady?” But prepared, always prepared, she reached in the messenger bag, pulled out a thick envelope. “For Nadine Furst, from Bing Corbett, Channel Seventy-five. You want it or not? I’m on overtime here.”

Dallas had her spooked, Nadine thought, and reached for the locks again. So she’d compromise and leave the thick chain on, open the door just enough to get whatever her producer had sent her, and be done with it.

She clicked off the locks, let the door open two inches. “Pass it through.”

The brief hesitation had her angling back to look through the peep again.

“You gotta sign.”

“Pass it through,” she repeated, and this time felt a chill along her skin.

She called herself a nervous idiot when the envelope started through the gap. She shifted again, started to reach for it, then stumbled to the side as the stunner followed.

The stream blasted heat on the chill, left her left arm tingling numb from the edge of the jolt. She half fell against the door as the stunner fired again, and whoever fired it threw their body weight on the door.

The next stream angled lower, skimmed along her calf, took her down to her knees.

She told herself the chain would hold, she could crawl away, out of range, get to her ’link. Get help.

But she wasn’t sure the chain would hold.

Why had she put off moving?

Her body trembled, not just fear, but a reaction to the stream swipes. She put her back against the door, drew her legs in thinking another hit, even a glancing one, might be enough to put her down.

A weapon, she told herself as the door vibrated and the chain thunked from another body blow. Any weapon would do.

Desperate, she dug in the pocket of her silly pants, closed her hand over the fancy little lighter Corbett had given her for Christmas—for the herbal habit she wasn’t supposed to have.

She flicked it on, prayed, then, inching up the door, waited for the next thump.

The instant it came, she stuck the lighter, flame on high, through the gap.

The resulting scream emboldened, empowered. Nadine threw her full weight against the door, sobbing as it slammed. It took her three tries to secure the locks.

When she gathered the courage to look out the security peep, no one was there.

The lighter fell out of her trembling fingers. She cradled her tingling arm as she hobbled across the room. Once again she went down to her knees, but now she had her pocket ’link with her.

“Dallas. Nadine, I’m working.”

“She was here, Dallas. She was at the door. She’s gone now.”

“Are you hurt?”

“A little, I think. I can’t tell. I think you’d better get over here. I need help.”

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