Page 44 of Hunt Me
Maybe the guy was on the phone and had left the door open on purpose. I rang the doorbell but didn’t hear anything coming from inside.
Yet I waited in case he just didn’t hear the bell. After a couple of minutes of the bottom of the box burning my hand, I knocked on the door. When I did, it swung open by a few inches and like out of a horror flick, the hinges creaked.
The foyer was dark, but I could see lights coming from a different area in the house. Since Callie had been inside before, he’d been expecting her, and had left the door open. The noise appeared to be coming from a television with the volume very loud. “Hello?” Taking tentative steps, I moved just inside.
Oh, this was not the best decision I’d ever made, yet the quicker I could get this over with, the sooner I could be home holding a glass of wine.
Girl, you are crazy for doing this.
“Hello. Door Dash, Mr. Pavel, I have your pizza.” My voice was far too timid and likely not heard over the television, but I had to admit this made me very nervous. Where I stood muffled the moonlight and I blinked several times, trying to allow my eyes time to adjust. Hearing nothing, I took another step inside.
I went down hard, tripping over something. The pizza flew from my hand, smashing against the wall. Even while I was going down, I had the good sense to snap my mouth shut. The last thing I wanted was to alarm the owner. Not that he wasn’t going to be pissed as hell.
When I landed, pain tore through my palms and knees, but something caught the brunt of my fall. I scuttled backward, managing to keep from crying out. Panting, my eyes became accustomed to the dim light. I squinted, trying to figure out what I’d tripped over.
Fuck. That hurt like hell. Breathing out, I tried to think of an adequate excuse not only for being in the man’s house, but for tossing the pizza all over his wall. I had a bad feeling this was my last night working for Door Dash.
I shook my head and realized there was something large in the middle of the room. A sculpture? No. A table? An eerie feeling swept down my spine as creepy-crawlies took over. This was so not good.
Was that… No. No. No.
Sweat beaded across my forehead.
Someone was lying on the foyer floor. Oh, my God. Hesitating, I blinked several more times in a crazy attempt to get my bearings.
Maybe Mr. Pavel had experienced a heart attack. At least I knew CPR. I crawled closer, my hand shaking as I reached out. “Mr. Pavel?” I touched his arm, shaking him slightly. He was lying on his side. Cringing, I gently rolled him over, immediately reaching for his neck to check his pulse. My hand hit something cold and hard, my fingers instantly wrapping around the object.
The moonlight streaming in through the now wide-open door provided a macabre illumination of my fingers holding the handle of a knife.
With the blade driven into Mr. Pavel’s chest.
Panic was immediately driven into my system. This wasn’t good. Oh, this was so bad. I released the knife, panting several times. There wasn’t a chance in hell that anyone would believe I’d stumbled onto the scene and just happened to have my hand, including my fingerprints, on the murder weapon.
Think, girl. Think.
Before I had a chance to react, Mr. Pavel gasped, the darkness unable to hide that he’d snapped his eyes wide open. He grabbed my wrist and I was shocked at his strength. I bit my lower lip to keep from wailing, shocked he had the strength to pull me down.
I could tell he was trying to say something. Leaning down, I held my breath.
“Ma…” The gurgling sound was worse. He was spitting up blood.
“I’ll call an ambulance.”
“Na… No,” he managed. “Mlad… brat. A… A…”
“What?” Hold on. Was that Russian? Yes, it was. This was bad. Oh, so bad. The fear tripled and for a few brief seconds, my thoughts drifted to the wedding and all the Russians who’d been in the room. “Okay. It’s going to be okay.”
His hot breath tickled my skin as fear rushed into every cell. Suddenly, his fingers relaxed, his arm slipping to the floor. With my hand shaking, I tentatively touched his neck. There was no pulse. Shit. Shit. Shit. What was I supposed to do?
He was suddenly very still. Too still.
Jerking my arm away and with my hand shaking, I pressed two fingers against the man’s neck, searching for the pulse.
He was dead, oh so dead.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My skin crawled as I fisted my hand, taking deep breaths.
