Page 22 of Parker

Justin may not have physically written the words, but they were his. She was sure of it.

Her convict of an ex had been keeping tabs on her. Quinn felt the truth of that to her bones. But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out how.

The answer was there, she just had to find it. And once she did…

He’ll be the one to pay.

Several turns and one secluded underpass later, Quinn was parked beneath a bridge, her car concealed by its dark shadow. She fell back against her seat, the air in her lungs expelling loudly.

Pinpricks of tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Now wasn’t the time for a breakdown. That could come later.

Right now, she needed to figure out what the hell she was going to do. And where the hell she was going to go.

Doing her best to ignore the tiny needles poking the tips of her fingers and toes, and the quivering in every muscle in her body, Quinn breathed through the aftershocks of a massive adrenaline rush and did her best to think.

Where can I go?

The townhouse was out. Statistically speaking, it was probably the safest place in town since most home invaders never hit the same location twice. But Quinn knew better than most that statistics could be skewed to fit their creator’s needs.

And since this wasn’t your average break-in…

Her scattered thoughts had her abandoning her quest for a safe haven and turning in her seat. Quinn’s thumping heart sank as she reached for the passenger seat only to discover her tablet wasn’t there.

Damnit!

It was back at her house. The same house she couldn’t return to. Along with everything else.

“Ahhh!” She shouted at the universe, giving her steering wheel a white-knuckled shake in the process.

Everything she needed was still back at the house. Her tablet and laptop. Her purse and wallet. Her driver’s license and cash.

How’d that go-bag work for ya, huh?

The sarcastic thought sparked a low, frustrated growl. Everything had happened so fast, she hadn’t had time to grab it without risking her chances of getting away.

You also didn’t have time to put your shoes back on.

Quinn froze a fraction of a second before glancing down. She closed her eyes, a hysterical bubble of laughter escaping from the sight of her wine-stained socks.

“Perfect.” She shook her head at herself. “That’s just perfect.”

With a groan, she bent forward and rested her forehead on the steering wheel’s padded center, careful not to activate the horn and give herself away.

She needed the tablet to check Justin’s status as an inmate. The program she’d designed was supposed to alert her of any change to the contrary. It hadn’t pinged her, but technology wasn’t perfect.

Not even her own.

One of the first things Quinn had learned during her good-Samaritan hacker years was no matter how sophisticated the code, there was always a chance for a glitch.

That’s why checking on Justin’s status was the first thing she did every morning, and the last thing she did before falling asleep. It was a sucky way to live, for sure, but at least she’d been living.

Have you, though? Or have you simply been existing?

Ignoring the ill-timed questions, she cleared her rambling thoughts and focused on her most urgent issue at hand.

Someone had broken into her house tonight. He’d been in the one place she should have been safe. Or as safe as someone like her could feel, anyway. And he’d had a gun.

I’m coming for you.

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