She was midway along the trail and nearing the end of the first field when the gunshot came. Startled, she dropped her shoes, as the unexpected crack came from nowhere. As she scooped to pick them up, a second bullet whizzed past her head.
Her attacker.
Forgetting about the shoes, Shannon broke into a sprint heading for the woodland that still seemed so far away.
Have to get away. Have to make it to the safety of the woods.
A third and fourth bullet, both close, but not hitting.
Was he missing deliberately?
As she ran, panting heavily, sudden realisation of the significance of the paint dawned.
It was a target. He had been marking her up.
He was never planning to let her go. She was supposed to run; it was part of the game. And the object of the game was for him to kill her.
8
Amy was a couple of blocks from the bar when she realised she was being followed.
After saying goodnight to Gage and Tom and stepping outside the Velvet Lounge, she had an uncomfortable feeling she was being watched, but put it down to paranoia. The vandalism of her car, followed by the visit from the cops, had rattled her, and the return of her nightmare hadn’t helped. She hadn’t slept properly in three nights and exhaustion was starting to play tricks on her mind.
The bar was only twelve blocks from her apartment and, apart from when the weather was bad, she tended to walk. The streets were well lit and even at one thirty in the morning there were usually a few cars about.
Given recent developments, Gage had offered to escort her home, but he had to lock up and Amy, who really needed her bed, didn’t fancy staying later than necessary. Besides, it wasn’t fair to make him walk all the way to her place only to then have to backtrack to his own home. Half an hour and she would be back in her apartment and ready to attempt sleep.
The evening was warm and humid; the air heavy with warnings of a storm. She had her umbrella, but didn’t think the rain clouds would break before she reached the safety of home. The Velvet Lounge was on the edge of the city centre and the surrounding area was still lively with people milling around, which was probably why she hadn’t heard the footsteps immediately.
As the streets became less busy, the pedestrians mostly left behind and even the traffic on the road unusually quiet, every sound around her magnified. Normally she took no notice, preoccupied only with getting home, but tonight she was aware of every noise: the clack of her feet hitting the pavement, the distant slam of a door, the screech of a cat, someone’s car alarm going off. And then, less than five minutes into her journey, the low thump of another set of footsteps behind her.
The second she heard them, Amy stopped and looked around. The street was empty. A little perturbed, but putting it down to her vivid imagination, she continued walking, mind already thinking ahead, plotting out a quick pee break for Huckleberry followed by a shower and bed.
The footsteps started again.
She told herself it was nothing, probably another pedestrian making their way home, but still she felt uneasy. Again she glanced over her shoulder. About half a block back she could make out a shadowy figure standing motionless watching her. Although she couldn’t make out the features, the build suggested it was a man.
Why had he stopped?
Amy weighed up her options. She could return to the Velvet Lounge, but in doing so she would have to pass the figure.
He was probably harmless and there was likely an innocent explanation for why he was out roaming the streets and had stopped at exactly the same time she did, but she didn’t want to chance it. Option two was to carry on towards her apartment. This was the sensible plan, but the roads were becoming quieter and less built up. If she found herself in trouble she would be screwed.
Weighing up her options and not fancying either of them, she continued on shaky legs, repeatedly glancing over her shoulder to see if the man followed.
He did.
Reaching in her jeans pocket, Amy grabbed her door key, holding it as a weapon in her closed fist. She glanced around again. He was closer.
Heart jumping into her mouth she broke into a jog. Behind her came the footsteps – louder, pounding the concrete.
He was running after her.
Biting down on the panic that was clawing its way up her throat, Amy sped up. Pizza Paradise was up ahead. It was only a small takeaway business and usually dead at night, but it was a safe haven between here and her apartment. Reaching the door, she yanked it open and almost fell inside.
The young assistant behind the counter looked up from the magazine he was reading and eyed her with concern.
‘I’m being followed,’ Amy told him, glancing out of the window, trying to catch her breath.
The man who had been pursuing her had disappeared. Either that or he was hiding somewhere, waiting for her to emerge.
She turned back to the counter assistant, who was avoiding eye contact, clearly uncomfortable with conversing with the crazy lady who had burst into his shop. Amy drew in a shaky breath, unsure what to do. Although she couldn’t see the man, she wasn’t brave enough to go back outside, especially when her apartment was ten blocks away. She could call Gage, but he would still be locking up and didn’t have a car, so would have to walk down to the takeaway. That would take time.
Another option came to mind. Pulling the card from her purse, she dialled the number on her cell phone. After six rings, her call was answered.
‘Sullivan.’
He sounded tired and Amy guessed she had woken him. The detective might be a jerk, but he had told her to call if anything happened, so she swallowed her pride.
‘It’s Amy Gallaty. I’m sorry to be calling you so late, but there’s a man following me.’
He was immediately alert. ‘Where are you?’
‘Pizza Paradise, the takeaway place on Main Street.’
‘I know where it is. And the guy following you, where’s he?’
Amy glanced out of the window again. ‘I can’t see him. He disappeared after I came in here.’
‘Okay, stay in the pizza place. Don’t go outside. I’m on my way.’
Before Amy could say anything else, he had hung up. She glanced over at the counter assistant who was eyeing her suspiciously and gave him an apologetic smile.
‘I’ll be gone in a bit.’
He didn’t respond, instead buried his head back in his magazine. Amy wrung her hands together and paced the small room back and forth, feeling uncomfortable. While she waited she perused the wall menu, going through the different combinations of pizza available, thinking the prices were a little inflated for the quality of pizza sold. She’d had takeaway from here once or twice, but it wouldn’t be her first choice. Every now and again she glanced out of the shop front window, but could see no sign of the man.
She didn’t have to wait long. Sullivan showed within ten minutes of her call, pulling to a halt outside the pizza takeaway. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, probably thrown on in a rush, and a grim expression on his face.
‘Any sign of him?’ he asked Amy, by way of greeting.
She shook her head. ‘Not since I came in here.’
He glanced briefly at the counter assistant, who was trying hard to look like he was concentrating on his magazine and not what they were saying.
‘Okay, stay here.’
Sullivan disappeared outside the shop. He was gone for five long minutes, and when he returned Amy noticed the butt of a revolver poking out of the top of his jeans.