Page 105 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“Why?” Fred asked nervously, his gaze darting around the yard as if certain dead bodies would pop out of the ground at any second. “Do you think whoever broke into the apartment is back? Oh, my God, that would just be the worst. I’ve got to tell you that everyone in the building is nervous. Extremely nervous.” He adjusted his glasses and focused on Nikki. “They don’t like the fact that you’re attracting the attention of this killer, this Grave Robber, with your articles about him. It makes the tenants jumpy.” His hands were moving quickly as he gestured wildly to an apartment doorway. “Brenda Hammond on the first floor wants stronger locks on the doors and even more bars on the windows, and Mrs. Fitz, in 201, is considering moving. Can you believe that?” He wrung his hands in agitation. “She’s been here thirteen years and now, after last night, she’s ready to jump ship. Already packing.”

“I don’t think anyone else is a target,” Nikki said calmly, though the corners of her mouth were tight.

“But how do you know?” Fred demanded. “And what’s this ‘anyone else’? Do you think you’re a target, because if you are, that would mean he’ll be back. For the love of God, we can’t have a murderer stalking around the premises looking to get at you. Or…or anyone!” He was really upset now. He turned his fearful gaze on Reed. “Are the police providing round-the-clock protection for Ms. Gillette? Will there be extra patrols in this area? Surveillance?” He glanced nervously toward the street where several cars had been parked.

“The department is taking all the appropriate steps.”

“‘The appropriate steps?’ Meaning what? That just sounds like the company line to me.” He folded his arms over his ample chest.

“Believe me, Mr. Cooper, we are doing everything possible to get this guy. Just advise your tenants to be careful, use their heads, don’t go out alone and keep their doors and windows locked. Those who have security systems should use them. Those who don’t should get them installed.”

“And who will pay for that? Me?” Cooper was shaking his balding head, the horror of spending money edging out his fear of the killer. Temporarily. “Wait a minute.” He refocused. “Oh, dear God, you do think he’ll be back!”

“I don’t know what he’ll do, unfortunately. I’m only giving you the advice I’d give anyone in the city.”

“This is all your doing,” Cooper said, his features pinching as he glared at Nikki. His lips were pursed so tightly they turned white. “I warned you once before when you had that problem with that Sellwood boy.”

“It was my problem, not Corey Sellwood’s. I made a mistake.” She was getting angry now. Reed sensed the full-blown fight before it erupted.

“But he threatened you. Ever since then I’ve wondered if he’d try to get revenge by doing something outrageous. Or ugly. Or…or horrible. I’ve even thought he was the kind that might try to get even by torching this place.”

“Fred,” she said, holding up a hand, trying to rein in her temper, “you worry too much.”

“And you don’t worry enough. I’m serious about this, Nikki. I can’t have all the tenants here worried that someone might break in and kill them. It’s damned irresponsible of you to bring this kind of terror here.”

“All right. You’ve made your point. You’ve warned me,” she snapped. “So, now what? Do you want me to move? Are you suggesting that you’re going to evict me? Because some creep broke into my apartment?”

“Evict? Oh…no…I would never…” Cooper glanced anxiously at Reed. “I, um, just wanted to let you know that the other tenants are upset.”

“Fine. You’ve done your duty. I got it.” Leaving the manager standing on the walkway, Nikki stormed up the stairs. “I can’t believe it,” she muttered under her breath. “Like I’m trying to have my place broken into!”

“He’ll get over it.”

“You don’t know Fred!” she said, loud enough for the manager, still hovering at the base of the stairs, to hear. “He never gets over anything! He’s beyond anal!”

Two steps behind, Reed swallowed a smile and while following her, attempted not to notice the back of her leg peeking through the slit in the back of her raincoat as she climbed.

“Here goes nothing,” she said, reaching for her keys.

Reed caught hold of her wrist, then wrested her key ring from her fingers. “I’ll go first.”

“Wait a minute.” She turned affronted green eyes up to his and he noticed the way they were shaped over a sturdy, straight nose, the way they darkened with the night. “This is my house, Detective. You don’t have to act like I’m a damsel in distress or anything.” Her hair was damp, her lips shiny from the mist, her anger at the manager, Reed and all men in general, palpable. And ridiculously sexy.

“Damsel in distress? Nikki Gillette? Trust me, I never think of you in those terms.”

“Good.”

“But I’ll go in first, anyway. Consider it part of my job.” He slid the key into its lock, then pushed the door open. Reaching inside, he switched on an overhead light and surveyed the living room and kitchen just as a fat yellow cat streaked its way through the door.

“Jennings!”

The apartment seemed empty. Sounded unoccupied. Carefully, Reed stepped inside. Nikki was right behind. In the kitchen she bent on one knee and cooed to the striped feline, “So you finally decided to come home, you bad boy.” She scooped up the tabby. He let out a soft yowl before rubbing the top of his head under her chin and purring loudly enough for Reed to hear. “Did you miss me, hmm? Or just your dinner?”

Nikki rid herself of her coat, draping it over the back of a chair, leaving her in a slim gray skirt and fitted black top that showed off her curves. Jesus, why was he even noticing? This was Nikki Gillette, a woman who would only get close to him to use him for information. Sexy. Tough. And the adversary.

He searched the rest of the small apartment while she fed her cat. Her home was still messed up from the investigation, but no one was lurking in a closet or behind a door or under the damned bed. Reed checked every nook and cranny, but he didn’t linger too long in Nikki Gillette’s bedroom, didn’t study the antique-looking bed, nor touch the soft blue linens that covered it. Doing so would bridge an emotional gap he thought better left unspanned and bring images to mind, mental pictures of Nikki in a nothing nightie on the bedclothes that he’d rather not face.

“You know,” she said when he returned to the kitchen area, “I’ve been thinking.”

---