Free Cold Target by Patricia; Potter Page B

room—her room—of a foreign, malevolent presence.
    Suitcases. She needed a small suitcase. Three of various sizes were in the back of the closet. When she opened the closet door, a new shock ran through her.
    Her clothes had been torn from the hangers. Some had been slashed. One suitcase had been ripped. She grabbed the smallest one. It was intact. Apparently her intruder had tired of his destruction.
    Frissons of new fear ran through her. Someone really hated her to tear up her clothes like that. She tried to dismiss the thought as she found a pair of good black slacks that had survived the carnage, along with a cotton shirt and a silk blouse. They were wrinkled but whole.
    The next stop was her bathroom for a few toiletries. It was the least ransacked, probably because there was little of value there. She located necessities—toothpaste, toothbrush, deodorant—and threw them into the bag. She always carried makeup in her purse.
    Shutting the bag, she returned to the living room, where she had left her purse. She met the gaze of the detective.
    â€œThe lock …”
    â€œDidn’t keep anyone out. I’ll return after I get you to a hotel. I have some work to do here anyway. I’ve ordered a crime scene technician.” He hesitated, then offered, “I know a locksmith who is on call twenty-four hours a day.”
    â€œPlease call him.”
    He nodded. She looked at him for the first time. He had that rumpled, overworked cop look. He was older, probably nearing retirement age, yet he had not hesitated to go inside her apartment to look for an intruder.
    â€œThank you,” she said. “You’ve been more than kind.”
    He gave her a long, searching look. “I don’t think I have to tell you to be careful.”
    â€œNo,” she said.
    â€œMost women would be in hysterics after being nearly killed and seeing a mess like this.”
    â€œI’ve never been good at that.”
    â€œI know. You had a reputation in the DA’s office.”
    She wasn’t surprised. Though she’d left the office two years ago, she was very aware that the police often discussed members of the district attorney’s office. Some they liked. Some they dreaded. She’d been told she had been put in the “dreaded” category. She’d always been hard on the police officers. She hadn’t liked losing cases because they didn’t dot the i’s and cross the t’s. Or worse.
    â€œI’m surprised you didn’t let me come home alone,” she said wryly.
    â€œI was on your side,” he said with a slight smile. “You didn’t plead out cases as others did.”
    â€œThat was usually the DA’s decision.”
    â€œAnd that depended on how well the case was prepared. Some of us appreciated it.”
    It was a brightener on what had been the worst night of her life. “Thank you.”
    â€œI’ll bring the key to the new locks over to the hotel and leave it at the desk,” he added.
    â€œI’m forever grateful.”
    He just nodded and opened the door for her to leave.
    She walked outside and turned to look back. All the lights were on, though they looked diffused by the rain. She swallowed hard at the thought of the destruction inside.
    Tomorrow. Like Scarlett, she would think about that tomorrow.
    But tonight she knew she would think about who hated her enough to try to run her down and then destroy everything dear to her.
    And when would he, or she, strike again?

six
    B ISBEE
    Despite its small size and seedy condition, Holly took pleasure in the small house. It was hers . Sort of. More, certainly, than any other place she’d lived.
    She loved the desert sunrises and sunsets. She loved taking Harry for walks, carrying with her a book of flowers and plants she’d found at the library. She didn’t have to meet anyone’s expectations but her own.
    Still, fear was never far away. She flinched at