Page 73 of Deep Tide

That voice was not Emmet or McDeere. Her pulse was racing now. She shouldn’t have come here alone.

Silently, she set down the sketchbook and eased the weapon from her holster. She should announce herself. It could be Amelia’s brother. Or maybe her landlord.

But something—some inexplicable, deep-rooted instinct—told her it wasn’t. Should she confront them or wait?

She remembered her shoes beside the door, and her heart skittered.

No more shuffling. The place had gone silent. Had the person spotted her shoes and realized someone else was here?

Gun raised, she crept silently across the bedroom to the door. A wedge of light spilled in from the kitchen, but she stayed in the shadows.

The apartment was quiet. Not a sound.

Creak.

“Police!” she yelled, whipping around the doorway.

The front door slammed shut.

She raced across the living room as footsteps pounded down the walkway. She yanked open the door and lunged out just in time to see a dark figure darting into the stairwell.

“Police! Stop!” She dashed after him.

A weight slammed into her, sending her to the ground with an oomph!

Her breath whooshed out, but she managed to hang on to her gun. She rolled to her back as what felt like a sledgehammer crashed into her ribs. Pain rocketed through her. Another blow to her ribs, and she hunched into a ball as a blur of black hurdled over her. Gasping with shock, she heard footsteps thundering down the stairs.

Nicole rolled to her back, wheezing and gripping her weapon. Her side was on fire, and pain pulsed through her body. She managed to get to her knees, then grabbed the railing along the walkway and pulled herself up. She peered over the rail, searching the shadowy lawn. But she didn’t see or hear anything—just the distant buzz of cicadas in the marsh.

She staggered down the walkway, dizzy and gasping for breath. No one in the stairwell.

In the distance, a car door slammed. Someone fired up an engine. Clutching her side, she heard a squeal of tires as they peeled away.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Where are you?” Moore asked Sean over the phone.

“Just getting home.”

“Home?”

“The condominium.”

“Listen, Gagnon’s on the move.”

Sean had been about to turn into a parking space. Instead he pulled over.

“He just passed through the gates at the front of his subdivision,” his boss said.

“Red Tesla?”

“Negative. He’s in a black Jeep hardtop. The team got a plate. It’s Echo, Charlie, Foxtrot—”

“Wait.” Sean grabbed a napkin from the cup holder and dug a pen from the console. “Okay, go ahead.”

Moore recited the license plate as Sean jotted it down. Then he drove to the edge of the parking lot.

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