Free I Think I Love You by Stephanie Bond

anyway."
    "We'll walk you out—there's quite a press mob outside."
    The crush of reporters shouldn't have surprised her. In Shively, where the headlines usually consisted of art festivals and school board meetings, a workplace shooting was big honking news. Toss in a disgruntled housewife of a community pillar and heck, a local reporter might land a twenty-second spot on the network evening broadcast.
    Justine held up her purse to cover her face until they were clear of the crowd, then used the panic button on her key chain to locate her custom yellow Mercedes in the parking lot. As she walked, her mind raced in conflict to the pleasant July weather, trying to process the day's events and figure out what might happen next.
    "Nice ride," Lando said as she opened the door.
    "Thanks." She set her briefcase on the floorboard, her purse on the seat, and nodded toward his partner, who stood on the sidewalk talking on a cell phone. "What happened to your other partner?"
    "Milken?" Lando worked his mouth side to side. "He and his wife split up, then got back together and decided to move closer to her family for the sake of the kids."
    "Oh. That's nice."
    He shuffled his feet. "Listen, it's not every day a person gets shot at. Are you going to be okay?"
    "Fine."
    "A unit will patrol your street. If the Crane woman shows up, we'll know about it."
    "Thanks, Lando." She slid behind the driver's wheel.
    "Justine?"
    "Yeah?"
    Lando scratched his head. "I don't get it. You're a great-looking dame with a good job, and you're no slouch in the smarts department. Why do you fool around with married men?"
    Molten anger hemorrhaged through her at his self-righteous stance. "Don't you dare judge me because the men I sleep with don't have the fortitude to be faithful to their wives. They took vows, not me."
    Lando stepped back, and she slammed the door. She turned over the V-8 engine and revved it twice before peeling out. Lando looked after her, shaking his head. She offered him her finger in the rear-view mirror and pulled out of the parking lot onto a side street. When she stopped at an intersection, she lit a cigarette and flipped on the radio.
    "—armed and dangerous. Bobbie L. Donetti, the Cocoon employee who subdued the assailant, is recovering from a gunshot wound to the shoulder. Doctors report her prognosis is good. No official word on the motivation behind the shooting, but unofficial sources say the Crane woman was distraught over an alleged affair between her husband, who was seriously wounded in an earlier incident, and another Cocoon employee. Lisa Crane was last seen wearing a brown sweater—"
    She flipped off the radio and gripped the steering wheel. A cold sweat enveloped her, and her arms shook as the gravity of the situation slowly sank in. She could be dead right now. Or maimed like poor Randall. Dead over an affair whose importance to her fell somewhere between having a pleasant meal and finding the perfect shade of red lipstick.
    A beeping horn sent her heart into her throat. Spent ash dropped from the tip of her cigarette and scorched a circle of precious pearl leather next to her thigh. Her gaze shot to the rear-view mirror, her pulse pounding in anticipation of seeing Lisa Crane at the wheel of the car behind her. Instead it was a minivan mom, with kids hanging out the windows. The woman honked more insistently, and Justine pulled through the empty intersection, tingling with new awareness. She drove slowly, glancing back and forth, expecting to see the madwoman leap out behind every tree to gun her down.
    What if Lisa Crane was lying in wait for her in her driveway? In her garage? In her bedroom? Justine had no illusions about the ability of the police to protect her.
    At the next light, she snubbed out her cigarette and turned away from the expressway that led to her zip code. Twenty minutes later, the surroundings had deteriorated considerably. After two more turns her car was starting to attract attention.
    She