Staying Alive. Debra Webb
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in her purse for the money, then peeked out the window. There were three cars at the curb in front of her house. One, the one in the center, was marked with the name of the restaurant she’d called. The other two were generic looking sedans.
The guy in the delivery car had gotten out and stood with his hands braced on top of his car. A man behind him started to pat him down.
“What in the world?”
There were four men in all, all dressed in suits, swarming around the delivery guy.
Before her brain had time to override her reaction, she’d stalked to her front door and jerked it open. She stormed out onto the porch and yelled, “What’s going on? That’s my dinner he’s delivering!”
Two seconds after she’d bellowed the words, she realized that only a “large” girl would go nuts when her food delivery was threatened. She rolled her eyes and wanted to kick herself. But, hey, she’d been through literal hell today. She deserved a decent meal.
Two of the men strode up the sidewalk toward her. For the first time since she’d barreled out onto her porch an inkling of uneasiness trickled through her. Maybe rushing out here hadn’t been such a good idea.
“Ma’am.” The first guy to reach her steps flashed a badge. “I’m going to have to ask you to step back inside the house.”
She looked from him to his companion who displayed his badge as well.
“What’s going on?”
“We’ll explain everything, ma’am,” the first guy said as he escorted her back to the door, “just as soon as you’re inside.”
Inside, Claire threw up her hands stop-sign fashion as the two older men came in and closed the door. “Just a minute. Why are you two here? Why are you shaking down my delivery guy?”
“Calm down, ma’am,” the second guy said. “We have orders to ensure your safety.”
“My safety?” She looked from one to the other. “What are you talking about?” The idea that somehow, something about today wasn’t over yet nagged at her, but she refused to consider the notion. Three of the terrorists were dead. One was in custody. Everything was okay now. It had to be. She was too tired to deal with anything else.
“Ma’am, the prisoner, Bashir Rafsanjani, taken from the scene today, killed two police officers and escaped during transport. We’re not exactly sure what happened. We feel you may be his next target.”
“He escaped?”
You are dead!
The words echoed inside her head.
The man who had uttered them so vehemently had escaped from the police. Her brain finally wrapped around the words echoing inside her head.
He would want his revenge…on her.
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