But, no, Mr. Frosty appeared again, the front of his cart cutting in her direction like the prow of a battleship, his look anxious and his pace quicker. Would he make a scene? Where was pepper spray, or self-defense kickboxing training, when she needed it? Or was this klutz just socially inept, like so many men?
Calm, Rominy. Just another of your countless admirers.
As if.
But then his jacket opened slightly and she gave a start. There was something black on his hip.
Let the ice cream melt. She abandoned her cart, squeezed by the rump of another overfed matron tapping password numbers into a debit card reader, and headed for the door. Sorry, Safeway. No sale.
Rominy’s experience (which included more than a few dead-end dates as excruciating as an IRS audit) was that intriguingly eccentric men turned out to be . . . weird. Politeness only encouraged them. Avoidance was a mercy.
Nor could she call for help.
Please, a man with a grocery cart is looking at me.
But instinct screamed that something was wrong.
Rominy had dropped some overdue bills in the mailbox at the lot’s outer limits, so her car was parked a good fifty yards away. The vehicle was her pride and joy, a silver 2011 MINI Cooper scrubbed bright as a new quarter, suddenly as distant as a football goalpost. It had taken the trade of her ancient Nissan, a diversion of funds that should have gone into her 401(k), and the commitment to four years of monthly payments to buy the runabout, but my, how she loved its cuteness and handling. Now it represented refuge. She knew she was probably hyperventilating about Abominable Snowman, but she’d never had a grocery guy track her relentlessly as a cruise missile without first attempting a friendly hi.
“Miss!”
He’d come out of the store after her. Rominy quickened her pace toward her car. This clumsy come-on would make a snarky text message for her girlfriends.
“Wait!” Footsteps. He was starting to run, fast.
Okay. Get in the car, lock the doors, start the engine, engage the transmission, crack the window, and then see who this lunatic was. If harmless, it would be a story to tell the grandchildren.
So she ran, too, purse banging on her hip, low heels hobbling her speed.
“Hey!”
His footsteps were accelerating like a sprinter. Wasn’t there anyone in the lot who would interfere? Run, Rominy, run!
Her MINI Cooper beckoned like a castle keep.
And then without warning the creep hit her from behind, sending her sprawling. Pavement scraped on hands and knees. Pain lanced, and she opened her mouth to scream. Then his weight crashed fully on top of her, a body slam that knocked out her wind, and the bastard clamped his hand over her mouth.
This is it, she thought. She was going to be raped, suffocated, and murdered in the broad daylight of a Safeway parking lot. Frozen food guys, it seemed, were psychopaths.
But then there was a boom, the ground heaved, and a pulse of heat rolled over them. Her eardrums felt punched. She lay pinned, in shock. A cloud of smoke puffed out, shrouding them in fog, and then there was the faint rattle of metal pieces clanging down all around them.
Her beloved MINI Cooper had blown up. She still had thirty-nine months of payments, and its shredded remains were bonging down around her like the debris of some overextended Wall Street bank.
Her assailant put his mouth to her ringing ear and she winced at what he might do.
But he only whispered.
“I just saved your life.”
3
Berlin, Germany
March 21, 1938
N ational Socialism is based, Herr Raeder, on the inevitable conclusion one must take from modern biological science: we are locked in Darwinian evolutionary struggle.” Himmler took the tone of pedantic lecturer adopted by men who have risen so high that none dare disagree. “Just as species vie with one another in nature, and individuals struggle within those species, so are the human races locked in eternal conflict. This is the lesson of all history, is it
Calm, Rominy. Just another of your countless admirers.
As if.
But then his jacket opened slightly and she gave a start. There was something black on his hip.
Let the ice cream melt. She abandoned her cart, squeezed by the rump of another overfed matron tapping password numbers into a debit card reader, and headed for the door. Sorry, Safeway. No sale.
Rominy’s experience (which included more than a few dead-end dates as excruciating as an IRS audit) was that intriguingly eccentric men turned out to be . . . weird. Politeness only encouraged them. Avoidance was a mercy.
Nor could she call for help.
Please, a man with a grocery cart is looking at me.
But instinct screamed that something was wrong.
Rominy had dropped some overdue bills in the mailbox at the lot’s outer limits, so her car was parked a good fifty yards away. The vehicle was her pride and joy, a silver 2011 MINI Cooper scrubbed bright as a new quarter, suddenly as distant as a football goalpost. It had taken the trade of her ancient Nissan, a diversion of funds that should have gone into her 401(k), and the commitment to four years of monthly payments to buy the runabout, but my, how she loved its cuteness and handling. Now it represented refuge. She knew she was probably hyperventilating about Abominable Snowman, but she’d never had a grocery guy track her relentlessly as a cruise missile without first attempting a friendly hi.
“Miss!”
He’d come out of the store after her. Rominy quickened her pace toward her car. This clumsy come-on would make a snarky text message for her girlfriends.
“Wait!” Footsteps. He was starting to run, fast.
Okay. Get in the car, lock the doors, start the engine, engage the transmission, crack the window, and then see who this lunatic was. If harmless, it would be a story to tell the grandchildren.
So she ran, too, purse banging on her hip, low heels hobbling her speed.
“Hey!”
His footsteps were accelerating like a sprinter. Wasn’t there anyone in the lot who would interfere? Run, Rominy, run!
Her MINI Cooper beckoned like a castle keep.
And then without warning the creep hit her from behind, sending her sprawling. Pavement scraped on hands and knees. Pain lanced, and she opened her mouth to scream. Then his weight crashed fully on top of her, a body slam that knocked out her wind, and the bastard clamped his hand over her mouth.
This is it, she thought. She was going to be raped, suffocated, and murdered in the broad daylight of a Safeway parking lot. Frozen food guys, it seemed, were psychopaths.
But then there was a boom, the ground heaved, and a pulse of heat rolled over them. Her eardrums felt punched. She lay pinned, in shock. A cloud of smoke puffed out, shrouding them in fog, and then there was the faint rattle of metal pieces clanging down all around them.
Her beloved MINI Cooper had blown up. She still had thirty-nine months of payments, and its shredded remains were bonging down around her like the debris of some overextended Wall Street bank.
Her assailant put his mouth to her ringing ear and she winced at what he might do.
But he only whispered.
“I just saved your life.”
3
Berlin, Germany
March 21, 1938
N ational Socialism is based, Herr Raeder, on the inevitable conclusion one must take from modern biological science: we are locked in Darwinian evolutionary struggle.” Himmler took the tone of pedantic lecturer adopted by men who have risen so high that none dare disagree. “Just as species vie with one another in nature, and individuals struggle within those species, so are the human races locked in eternal conflict. This is the lesson of all history, is it
Similar Books
Red Rose
Mary Balogh
Crying for Help
Casey Watson
Indulge
Megan Duncan
Prince of Legend
Jack Ludlow
Lucky Break
Liliana Rhodes
PrimevalPassion
Cyna Kade
A red tainted Silence
Carolyn Gray
Nighttime at Willow Bay
Kasey Moone
Fencing You In
Cheyenne McCray