Page 78 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

Up to sixty, back down to one.

Twice.

Three times.

It wasn’t until I got to five that I sucked in another greedy breath, and tilted my head to look around.

There was nothing.

Just my room.

My clothes from before my shower half hanging out of my hamper. My cup of coffee from earlier still on my nightstand.

What I didn’t see, though, was my phone.

I left it on my bed.

Hadn’t I?

Maybe I brought it into the bathroom?

I didn’t remember doing that, but I felt like I’d been a bit in a daze since I got home. I was trying to blame the lack of sleep, not the niggling grief that was trying to drag me to bed.

I pushed up onto all fours, then sat back on my feet for a second, my head spinning hard enough for my hand to shoot out, grabbing the edge of my bed to steady myself.

It was okay.

It was going to be okay.

I just… had to get to the bathroom to get my phone.

Call my dad.

Then hide and wait until he showed up.

Likely with half of the police force in tow.

With that in mind, I forced myself to stand, to walk unsteadily toward my bathroom, closing the door behind me as an added source of security.

One glance at the sink vanity said there was no phone, though.

IknewI had it in my hand when I went into the bedroom.

And I knew I hadn’t brought it out into the kitchen with me when I went to find…

“Oh, God,” I hissed, heart sinking.

Stan.

Uncle Stan.

Where was he?

Was he dead?

How the hell else had someone gotten to me?

What about the cop in the cruiser?

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