Page 12 of Cornered

“Why on earth would you choose to be a CPA when you love the outdoors so much?” Steph had once asked her.

“Because it takes money to raise a family.” She shrugged. “And I love numbers. Truly, I have the best of both worlds. And the Bolins are wonderful.” She nudged Steph, shoulder to shoulder. “Cherry babysits when you’re not available.”

“Ah, the truth comes out,” Steph said with a laugh. “The real reason you spend as much time as possible there. Suck-up.”

Brenda had laughed too, and they’d finished their lunch.

On that happy memory, Steph finally allowed her eyes to close and sleep to come.

Something woke her. A soft pop? Then a scraping sound that came from her bedroom on the other side of the wall next to her recliner. A window opening? She rubbed her eyes and sat up, papers fluttering to the floor and the soft drone of the television still playing in the background.

She stayed quiet, listening. Was someone in her house?

When nothing else reached her ears, she almost closed her eyes once more, then stopped. She couldn’t just go back to sleep. Steph rose.

Another sound from the bedroom. Like wind blowing through an open window? She grabbed her phone and dialed James’s number. When it rolled to voicemail, she started to dial 911, but at a footstep behind her, she spun to see a figure dressed in black wearing a ski mask, a gun pointed at her. She shrieked and raced for the back door even while knowing she wouldn’t make it in time to flip the dead bolt, open the door, and get out.

He easily caught her sweatshirt and spun her to face him. “Where is it?” He was taller than she by several inches and his voice was a low, raspy whisper that grated over every nerve ending. And he was strong. Very strong.

“The police are on the way.” The words came out in a rush, and he pressed the weapon against her chin. Terror flooded her and she froze.

“I’m only going to ask one more time,” he said, his voice low. “Where is the notebook?”

“The—? I gave it to the police.”

He cursed and she flinched. “Of course you did. What was in it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know you read it.” He slammed her against the island and the barrel of the gun jammed harder.

“I tried! But it was all written in code. I have no idea what it said or even what the key is!” She wanted to fight, to push him away, but was afraid she’d jar the finger on the trigger. A musky cologne registered, and all she could think was that he’d taken the time to smell nice before he killed her.Get a grip, Steph!

“The guy that was here earlier. He’s the cop you gave it to, isn’t he?”

Did she dare admit it? Did he know who Tate was? And why did something about her intruder seem familiar?

“Isn’t he!”

“Yes! But he was taking it to put it into the evidence room! It’s probably already there.” She gasped the words, trying to force her fear-frozen lungs to work.

Another curse and he shoved her to a chair, the gun now in her face. When he pulled zip ties from his pocket, she trembled while her mind scrambled for an escape plan. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up and put your hands behind the chair. I can leaveyou alive or dead. Doesn’t much matter to me. I’ll do what’s easiest.”

Steph complied, and soon her hands were bound behind her. He secured them to the chair before he raced out her front door.

Tate! She had to warn Tate.

TATE COULDN’T SLEEP,so he’d been sitting at the kitchen island working on the code in the little notebook for the past two hours since he’d left Steph’s place. He’d have to turn it over first thing in the morning and log it as evidence—probably should have done that tonight, but the truth was, he’d wanted a little more time with it.

Fat lot of good that had done him. Part of it could have been his splotchy concentration. He kept circling back to Stephanie Cross. Steph.

Despite her eyes and nose reddened from her grief, she was a beautiful woman who’d captured his interest the moment he’d set eyes on her. The professional in him wouldn’t let that interest show. Not yet anyway. She was grieving and he needed to focus on finding who killed her friend.

But maybe in a couple of weeks there would be an appropriate time to ask her out.

His phone pinged and the security footage from the garage at Steph’s office popped up in file format. He thanked the sender and pressed play. There was Steph, walking to her car. And then stopping. She looked behind her before walking once more, picking up her pace. The video stuttered, then shifted to a different angle. One that allowed him to see a man dressed in jeans, a blue short-sleeved shirt, and a baseball cap. He kept his head down, but he was definitely watching Steph. So something had happened since she left the office.

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