Free Fit to Kill by James Heneghan Page B

for business.” He smiled apologetically. “I come for you later, yes? Nine o’clock?”
    â€œMake it nine fifteen, okay?”
    She joined a thin stream of parents moving into the school.

    The rain had stopped when she finally got out, late, delayed by a mother intent on making Emma fully informed of her son’s history since the day of his birth.
    The same taxi driver was waiting. He seemed surprised to see her, as though surviving a parents’ night was an accomplishment deserving of congratulation. Which it was, thought Emma. Perhaps that was why she had unconsciously chosen the jungle outfit. There had been a good turnout tonight, but now all the parents had gone.
    The driver let her off at Killarney Place. She overtipped him.
    â€œThank you, miss.” He gave a friendly wave and drove off. She looked about her. The street was empty and quiet. Traffic activity had ceased.
    Key in hand, Emma approached the lobby door, breathing a sigh of relief that she was home. She pushed her key into the lock. She didn’t see the man in black step from the bushes. She was only aware that she’d been ambushed when his arm snaked about her neck and dragged her into the shrubbery.
    She screamed.

    Casey heard the scream.
    He had been standing on the opposite side of the street from Emma’s apartment, having arrived just in time to see her alight from the taxi. He watched her walk to the lobby door. And saw the dark figure attack her.
    Casey raced across the street, dove into the shrubbery. He leaped onto the man’s back. But the killer smashed his left eye with his elbow, and Casey saw stars. He fell beside Emma, dazed with pain.
    The attacker ran away. Casey rose groggily to his feet and tried to run after him. But, half blind with pain, he lost him in the darkness.
    He returned to Emma, still lying on the ground, and kneeled beside her. “Emma, it’s me, Casey. Can you stand if I help you up?”
    â€œCasey?” Her voice was a croak.
    â€œLet’s get you inside.” He took her weight on his shoulders. “I need your keys.”
    â€œIn the door…”
    The keys were in the lock. Casey opened the door and eased Emma into the lobby.
    From there he helped her into her ground-floor apartment. She collapsed, half conscious, onto the couch.
    Then she struggled, trying to get up.
    â€œStay where you are, Emma. Relax. He’s gone. You’re safe.”
    â€œWhere…?”
    â€œHe got away.”
    â€œDid you…get a look at his face?”
    He shook his head. “No. Did you?”
    â€œNo.” She noticed his eye, already swollen.
    â€œYou’re hurt.”
    â€œI’m all right.”
    â€œYour meeting…?”
    â€œDidn’t go. Had a feeling about you… Jack covered for me. Close your eyes and relax.”
    When her breathing settled, he called the police. Then he looked at his eye in the bathroom mirror. Swollen, closed, already discolored. But not too bad. Could be worse. He made an ice pack with one of Emma’s tea towels and waited for the police to arrive.
    THURSDAY, JANUARY 11
    Emma had nightmares.
    The killer with his knife. Her headless body in a dumpster.
    At dawn she crept quietly out for a run, leaving Casey asleep.
    The rain lashed down. She headed off into the wind, toward the park. She was soaked before she had run three hundred yards. But it didn’t matter. The rain and wind were what she needed to banish the images from her mind. Exorcise the devils. Wrench back the power that had been stolen from her.
    She ran hard, pushing herself until her muscles, lungs and heart protested. She moaned loudly, exulting in the pain. Running like a wounded animal—feral, wild, fierce. She attacked the hill up to Brockton Point, running recklessly, savagely. The rain lashed her with whips of ice, the wind tore at her face and hair. She cried tears and raged down the Siwash trail to the seawall, splashing