Free Consigned to Death by Jane K. Cleland

car was heading toward me. I tensed and pulled back from the window, terrified that my gut had been right after all, that there had been an intruder who, for whatever reason, had returned.

CHAPTER FIVE
    F orcing myself to look through the window once again, I recognized Max’s car, and sighed with relief. Wrenching open the door, I flung it wide, and stepped out into the damp, foggy night.
    “Hey, Josie,” Max said, smiling, lowering his window. “Are you ready?”
    “Max ...” I took a step and stopped. I didn’t know what else to say. I couldn’t figure out how to begin. The look of weariness on Max’s face alerted me to the fact that asking my lawyer to accompany me on an evening venture threatened to cross the line between capitalizing on his dedication to duty and imposing on his good nature.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked, his smile fading slowly as he looked at me.
    “Someone ... I think someone was inside,” I said, sounding calmer than I felt.
    He climbed out of his car, and I noted that he was still wearing his bow tie and jacket. “What?” he asked.
    “I heard something. I saw a shadow.”
    “My God,” he said, sounding aghast. “Are you all right?”
    “I guess.”
    “Are you sure?” he asked, walking toward me.
    I looked away under his scrutiny. “I’m okay, just a little shaken up.”
    “Did someone break in?”
    “Maybe. No, I guess not. Probably they just came in. The door wasn’t locked.”
    “When did it happen?”
    “Now. Just now.”
    “In the warehouse?”
    “Yes.”
    “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “You bet,” I answered, trying to smile. I didn’t want to upset him.
    “Come on. Let’s go see.”
    “Okay.”
    He led the way, and I followed close behind, switching on lights. We stood together in the center of the warehouse, looking in all directions, listening.
    “I thought the noise came from over there,” I said, pointing to the stacks of crates.
    “I don’t see anything. Do you?”
    “No. I must have imagined it,” I said.
    “Maybe,” he answered. “Let’s take a look around, to be sure.”
    “Okay. Thanks.”
    We walked the length of the warehouse, peering down each row, looking through the open shelving and around corners, and climbed the staircase to my office. In the auction area and by the loading dock, Max tugged on the outside doors to ensure they were locked. As we confirmed each section was empty, I switched off the lights. We made our way back to the front door.
    “Thanks, Max. I feel better.” I took my coat from the hook by the door. “Ready?”
    He nodded toward the alarm box. “It wasn’t set?”
    “No. The last person out for the night sets it.”
    He nodded. “And you were alone in here?”
    “Apparently,” I said, trying for a grin.
    “Don’t joke about it, Josie,” he admonished. “Someone might have been inside and left before I got here.”
    “How? I was here, watching and listening.”
    “You said you climbed back up. It’s a spiral staircase so sometimes your back would be to the open area.” He shrugged. “The sound of your own footsteps might have covered theirs, no matter how quiet you tried to be.”
    “I guess,” I said, anxiety returning.
    “Lock up, okay?”
    I nodded and punched the alarm code, saw the green light turn to red, and stepped outside. Max followed, pulled the door shut, and wiggled the knob to be certain it held fast.
    He took my coat and draped it over my shoulders for the short walk to the passenger side of his car, cupping my elbow as if to support me, a service I didn’t need but a kindness that I appreciated. Old-fashioned courtesy unwomaned me even when my emotions were under control. Now, raw from worry and exhausted from stress, I wasn’t on even ground, and his gesture left me feeling irrationally cared for. I thought of an incident, years ago, when my father and I lived in the suburbs of Boston, before I left for Princeton. My father told me that if a man didn’t open the car