Free Caught in the Middle by Gayle Roper Page A

age, Lord. But if You could be with me tonight, I’d certainly appreciate it.
    I was reading the verse for about the tenth time when a thought flashed across my mind.
    God said he’d be with you. Would He lie? Stop asking Him to do what He already promised!
    I lay down, and Whiskers moved to my pillow, curling himself against my shoulder.
    It’s just another experience in the process of pressing on, isn’t it, Lord?
    I stared at the ceiling and actually felt my eyes growing heavy. I was getting ready to fall asleep!
    Then I heard a car come down the alley. I sat straight up, heart whomping in my ears, dislodging Whiskers from his spot on my pillow. He stared at me through slitted eyes, yawned and turned round and round until he was satisfied he was settling into exactly the same indentation from which I had thoughtlessly dislodged him.
    I looked at him resentfully. No fear, no concerns, no threats to his life. My fate, on the other hand, appeared debatable enough to be the subject on Crossfire. O’Reilly and Geraldo would have an absolute field day. Regis and Kelly would offer tea and sympathy.
    I strained to hear. Surely the car would drive on. There could be no reason for it to stop here.
    But it didn’t drive on. It pulled into our lot.
    I forced myself from bed and walked to the living room, feeling like the heroines of all the gothic novels I’d read through the years, the idiots who walked foolishly into danger and death when, if they’d stayed cozily in their beds, they’d have been fine.
    I turned out several of the lights and stood in front of the closed drapes, trying to get up the nerve to peek out. Was it peeking that got those imbecilic women into trouble? Or was it running up the tower stairs or down to the deserted beach or into the moldering mausoleum? Surely peeking was safe, especially if one was careful.
    After all, there might be no reason to be terrified. It could be someone who belonged in the building coming home extra late. It could be someone who had a new job with strange hours. It could be any number of things.
    I straightened my spine, took a deep breath and separated the drapes enough for one eye to peek out. Sure enough, there was an extra car in the lot, parked where mine would be if the police didn’t have it.
    As I watched, a man climbed out of the front seat and stretched. He was huge!
    My heart palpitations would have given a pile driver a run for its money.
    The man opened the rear car door and reached inside. He pulled something out and shook it. A piece of material unrolled, dangled, hung limp. He bent and placed it on the rear seat of the car, then climbed in after it.
    In the few seconds the dome light was on before the door slammed shut, I got a good look at the face of the man and drew my breath in surprise.
    It was Curt!
    I let the curtain close, turned all the lights back on, and went thoughtfully to bed.
    Curt Carlyle was spending the night in my parking lot, huddled in the backseat of his car in a sleeping bag, all to keep an eye on me. My own private watchman on the wall.
    I was very taken with the chivalry of the whole thing, and his kindness was far enough removed from my actual person to induce only gratefulness and a sense of security. I sniffed disdainfully at all those gothic heroines and their solitary struggles. They just didn’t know the right people.
    I actually slept well for what little remained of the night.
     
    Friday dawned so dreary that I kept all the lights on. It was obvious the snow would be here shortly.
    When I pulled the living-room drapes open and looked out the window, Curt was gone. Not certain whether I was more disappointed or relieved, I called the car rental man.
    “You need another car, Miss Kramer?” I could hear the man’s disbelief. Well, I understood his reaction. I couldn’t believe it, either.
    “Yes, I need another car. Can you help me?”
    “What happened to the one you rented yesterday because your own car had a body in it