Free One Week To Live by Joan Beth Erickson

muttered, still expecting the man to terminate her.
    “Why don’t you take a few days off until this blows over and we’ll hope that no one learns where you work?”
    She stared at him, shocked. She couldn’t believe what he’d just said. He wasn’t firing her, at least not right now.
    “Go home early today. When you leave, hand the accounts you’ve been working on to Ms. Silva. Tell her you’re not feeling well.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He started to leave, then stopped. “I’m not sure I believe in this psychic mumbo jumbo, but I hope you can help find that little girl before it’s too late. Good luck.”
    Watching him go, she let out the breath she’d been holding. She’d just escaped losing her job. Something she hadn’t done in San Diego. That boss wasn’t as tolerant. She wondered how far her current boss’s patience might stretch. She liked this job and wanted to hang onto it.
    The phone rang and she answered it. Hearing the kidnapper’s garbled voice, she cringed. He’d somehow found out her work number. Why not , she thought. He had her home address. Why wouldn’t he find out her work address and number?
    “Did you like the article? I thought you’d want to see it first thing this morning.”
    He’d been outside her apartment door again and delivered the newspaper. Again, she didn’t sense his presence. The fact that he’d once more invaded her space unnerved her.
    “Was that San Diego lady right? Are you a lying charlatan, Angie?”
    The phone went silent, and she thought he’d hung up, but he hadn’t.
    “Enjoy your bus ride home.”
    His diabolical laugh echoed in her ear after she slammed the receiver down. What did he mean by telling her to enjoy her bus ride home? What did he plan to do to her now? A chill traveled down her spine.

Chapter Seven
    Tuesday afternoon/Tuesday night
    Glancing out the window, he cursed. Another storm brewed. He hated the afternoon thunderstorms and the infernal winds that peppered the windows with disgusting sand. God , he’d be glad to be rid of this place. And rid of them.
    The kid tried his patience, and that damn reporter’s glowing words about Angie’s psychic ability made him sick. He’d be glad to put an end to her and all her lying prophecies.
    When he reached into his duffle bag, his hand touched something comforting. Smiling, he brought out the Beretta and removed it from its holster. He loved the weight of it in his hand, the power of it when fired. With this, he could take her out right now.
    “No,” he told himself. That would be too easy, too quick. To achieve the gratification he craved, he’d wait. Allow her to fail his game and pay a well-deserved, public price for that mistake.
    Marching into the child’s room, he grabbed her tiny ankles. She whimpered. He untied the rope wrapped around her legs, and yanked off her pink plastic sandals. He hated the color pink. Pink shorts, pink top, and little pink lips that wouldn’t stop their whining.
    He sucked in a deep breath. “Stay calm,” he told himself. It was time to initiate the next part of his plan. Once more the lying fake wouldn’t succeed. That thought made him smile again. I’ll be so close, but you’ll never know it, my dear Angie .”
    He held the gun for another moment savoring the feel of it, before putting it away.
    ****
    Hot, muggy air slammed into her as she left the office building. Thankfully, there didn’t appear to be any sign-wielding nutcases patrolling the plaza. However, to be on the safe side, she decided to scurry down the palm-tree lined sidewalk in the opposite direction. She’d walk another block to catch the bus, but she didn’t care.
    As she reached the bus stop, large drops of rain splattered the sidewalk. She ducked into the bus stop shelter. In the distance, the Stratosphere Tower glowed white against the black clouds billowing over the city. Distant thunder heralded the storm’s approach.
    Casino workers, weary from long shifts on their feet,