Page 53 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

Very likely, though, she hadn’t thought I’d be able to escape from upstairs. Smoke rises, and you really have very little time to get out of a burning building before the smoke gets you. I know because I watched a documentary about house fires and how fast they spread. By covering my mouth and nose with the wet towel, I’d bought myself a couple of precious minutes. The other wet towel over my head and shoulders had likely kept me from being burned by the sparks and hot ashes. The rest of it, getting out the second-story bedroom window and climbing the fence, had a lot to do with being angry and desperate, plus having good upper-body strength.

You never know when being a former cheerleader will come in handy.

To get a timeline, they coordinated my statement with my call to 911, of which they had a copy—thus every cop in the building got to listen to me tell the 911 operator that the fire department could tell which condo was mine because it was the one with flames coming out the windows. For some reason they all had to hear it more than once, too.

Then I had to watch the video of the crowd at the scene.

I sat in Wyatt’s office with him and Detectives Forester and MacInnes watching the video on a small monitor. Wyatt had made the call to videotape even before talking to me, so I got to see myself, looking as horrible as I remembered, weaving in and out of the picture as the camera had slowly panned from left to right and back again. What I didn’t see was the blonde wearing the hoodie.

I was so disappointed. I wrote,I don’t see her. She isn’t there.

“Keep watching,” said Wyatt. “The crowd was filmed more than once.”

So we did, frame by frame. Finally the camera caughtpartof her, because her face was turned away—the hood pulled up, a curl of very blond hair escaping from beneath the jacket to lie across her clavicle, maybe half of her right jawline. She was mostly behind some guy in a red shirt, so there was no way to enhance the film and get a better picture of her.

Mentally reviewing my memories, I analyzed the moment when I’d realized she was my stalker, when she’d stared at me with such open malice. Yes, this same guy had been standing beside her; I remembered his red shirt. This film must have been made just seconds either before or after, probably after, because her face was turned away as if she was leaving. MacInnes said it was likely she’d spotted the camera.

“That guy in the red shirt is a start,” Wyatt said. “He might remember something about her, might even know her.”

“We’re still canvassing the neighborhood,” said Forester. “I’ll get this photo out to the guys. Someone will recognize him.”

I had been sipping on something hot all morning long, to ease my throat. Wyatt had even scrounged a tea bag from someone and made a cup of hot tea for me; I don’t know what the difference is, but tea seems to work better on a sore throat than coffee does. A couple of aspirin also helped the pain, but I still couldn’t make a sound. Wyatt mentioned taking me to the ER to get checked out, an idea I vetoed with aNO!that took up an entire sheet of paper.

Things seemed to drag on for a while. During a lull, Wyatt talked to both my insurance adjustor and his. He also called Mom, which definitely earned him points in her book, and gave her a report. He talked to his mother, reassured her that I was fine and he was fine.

By lunch, I was very tired of the whole scene. I was tired, period. I needed to go shopping and replenish my wardrobe, but for the first time in my life I couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for shopping. I had liked my old clothes; I wanted them back. I wanted my books, my music, my dishes. I wanted mystuff.It was just now beginning to sink in that my stuff was truly, irrevocably gone.

Jenni, bless her, had bought me two sets of underwear and two tops; I didn’t absolutelyhaveto go shopping today; it could wait until tomorrow. Maybe by tomorrow I’d be able to talk again. Today, I just wanted to do normal stuff. I wanted to go to work.

I’d given the police my written statement; I’d watched the video and pointed out the psycho bitch, for all the good it had done. I didn’t see any reason why I should hang around any longer.

I wrote Wyatt a note, telling him that I was going to work.

He leaned back in his chair, looking grim and lieutenant-ish. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I wrote another note.I think it’s a great idea. She knows she can find me there.

“Which is why I’d much rather one of my female officers drives your car around.”

Then set it up for tomorrow. I’m tired of this. I want my life back. The only normal thing I can do now is go to work, so I’m going to work.

“Blair.” He leaned forward, green eyes intent. “She tried to kill you just a few hours ago. What makes you think she won’t do the same thing to Great Bods?”

Oh, God, I hadn’t thought of that. Great Bods was at risk, anyway, though it’s possible she thought I just worked there, not that I was the owner. I mean, I don’t answer the phone with “Hi, I’m Blair, and I own Great Bods.” It’s likely most of the members didn’t know I owned the place, because it just isn’t info that’s advertised all over the place. I could as easily be the manager, which of course was the job I did.

The only thing that set me apart from the other employees was that I drove a Mercedes, but even that wasn’t a complete oddity because Keir, one of my fitness instructors, drove a Porsche.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, thinking. Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly—gee, wonder why that was—but it seemed to me I couldn’t leave Lynn in the lurch again. She had a life outside of Great Bods, and though she’d been great about covering for me, I couldn’t take advantage of her or I’d end up losing a top-notch assistant.

I wrote all of that down, explaining it to Wyatt as best I could. I was getting tired of all that damn writing.

To my surprise, he read my explanation, then simply studied my face for a while. I don’t know what he saw there, maybe that I really needed to go to work, or maybe on reflection he agreed with me that the risk to Great Bods might not be that high. “All right,” he finally said. “But I’m going to put someone with you at all times. Sit here, and I’ll go clear it with Chief Gray.”

He could have pulled a fast one on me, he’s done it before, but I sat there. When he came back, he got his suit jacket from the hook on the back of the door and said, “Let’s go.”

I got my tote and stood, my expression asking the question for me.

“I’m your bodyguard for the rest of the day,” he explained.

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