Killer Headline Read Free Page A

blew at Violet’s back, causing her hair to billow around her face. She yanked the flyaway strands into submission and climbed the stairs.
    The sound of a car engine broke the silence. Headlights turned on to her street. Violet’s neck tingled a warning.
    She jammed her key into the lock then glanced back as the car slowed. The driver’s face, hidden in shadow, stared in her direction.
    Violet turned the key, seeking the protection of her home. The door inched open, and she slipped into the dark interior.
    A floorboard creaked. She glanced toward the kitchen.
    A hooded, bulky form stood backlit in moonlight.
    Violet screamed.
    The man opened the back door and disappeared into the night.
    Heart pounding like a snare drum, Violet dug for the cell phone in her purse. Her fingers trembled as she clutched the cold metal. Before she tapped in 911, a rustling sounded on the porch behind her.
    Warm breath fanned her neck and a hand touched her shoulder.
    Violet pivoted, ready to strike, and screamed once again.

TWO
    “V iolet, it’s Clay West.”
    She stared at him, her eyes wide, limbs shaking.
    “What happened?” he asked.
    She gasped for air. “A man. In my kitchen. He ran out the back door.”
    “Call the cops. Stay inside. Lock your doors.”
    Clay raced through the house and out the kitchen door. A dog barked.
    Searching the darkness, he saw movement in the distance and raced into the alleyway. A fleeing figure turned on to the main road.
    Clay ran to the corner. The guy climbed into a late-model SUV, dark paint job, parked along the side of the road and drove away. Clay stood for a long moment watching the vehicle disappear then, hurrying back to Violet’s house, he tapped on the kitchen door.
    “It’s Clay. Open up, Violet.”
    She inched the door open and peered out at him from the shadows. Eyes wary, face drawn. His heart went out to her. For all her bravado, she looked scared to death.
    “I called 911,” she said. “The police are on their way.”As if in response, a siren sounded in the distance.
    “Did you see the guy?” Clay stepped inside and locked the door behind him.
    “Not his face.”
    Clay glanced around the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place. Moving into the living room, he flipped on the overhead light.
    The home was an eclectic assortment of mix-and-match furnishings. Comfy and cozy. Bright colors, soft pillows and knock-off artwork blended into a warm and inviting atmosphere he instantly liked. A desk in the far corner held a laptop, table lamp, phone and an assortment of papers.
    Violet wrapped her arms around her waist. The color had drained from her pretty face. She raised a hand to her throat, her breath ragged.
    “What…what are you doing here?” she asked.
    As much as he wanted to reassure her, she needed the truth. “The FBI in Chicago feel you’re in danger. Special Agent-in-Charge Jackson McGraw asked me to pay you a visit. You’ve been digging into Mafia business, Violet. The mob silences anyone who comes too close.”
    Her brows rose. “This wasn’t the mob. A bad element’s moved into the city. This was local, Clay.”
    “And you came to that conclusion because—?”
    “Because the intruder fled. The mob would have killed me.”
    A visual flashed through Clay’s mind. He envisioned her bound and gagged with a gun to her head. Swallowing the bile that instantly filled his throat, Clay blinked twice, relieved to find a flesh-and-blood and very much unharmed Violet standing in front of him.
    “You can’t be sure it wasn’t the mob.” Clay noted her drawn drapes, needing to turn his focus back to security issues instead of the way his pulse quickened whenever he was near her. “Are all your windows and doors locked?”
    “Of course.” Then she hesitated. “Except in the laundry room.”
    Violet stepped into the hallway and opened the door to a small room containing a washer and dryer. “I keep the window open to let out the hot air from the dryer.”
    Just as