Ыоуве Been Warned   ::   Patterson James

There’s a noise outside the darkroom.

Footsteps.

Someone’s inside my apartment!

I stop everything – every movement, every muscle. I’m not breathing. I’m not even blinking.

Just listening for another sound.

Only it’s gone. I no longer hear anything. My exhausted mind is playing tricks, and here’s another reminder that I should be in my bedroom, not my darkroom.

Seriously, call it a night, Kris!

Stifling a yawn, I’m about to head out of the darkroom.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

I hear the footsteps again.

They’re right outside the door.

They’re not in my head.

And unfortunately, that’s not exactly good news.



Chapter 72



I GRAB THE STEEL tripod stashed in the corner of the darkroom. If there’s danger waiting for me on the other side of the door, I’m at least going down swinging.

In the sliver of space beneath the door, I can see the shadow of feet -big feet – creeping near. I grip the tripod tighter with both hands and pull it back over my shoulder. Batter up. Whoever’s out there is going to get hurt. I’m in the mood for it.

“Ms. Burns, are you in there?”

I recognize the voice.

I open the door and I’m staring at Detective Frank Delmonico. “How did you get in here?”

“I walked,” he answers sardonically. There’s not even the hint of an apology from him. “You think maybe I flew in an open window?”

The cocky line works. I’m speechless.

“Your door was open,” he says. “I knocked, and I guess you didn’t hear me, huh? Now, if you’re done with your third degree, it’s my turn to ask a few questions.”

Delmonico removes the same pen and tattered notepad from inside the same dark gray suit. I smell his aftershave, or whatever it is, and tobacco. Even more than before, the detective gives me the creeps.

This is happening too fast – and too late – I think. It’s near midnight. What is this guy doing in my apartment?

“I told you I’d answer any questions, but does it have to be now?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think you’ve been leveling with me,” he says. “And I’ve got a problem with that.”

In light of his tone, that’s the understatement of the year.

Be careful, Kris. “All right, how can I help you? I don’t know anything about those murders,” I blurt out.