She walked briskly down the hallway, unable and unwilling to look back at the man she had left. She didn't need this right now, not when she was finally beginning to get her life back in order. She pressed the elevator button and waited, wrapping her arms around her midsection in a futile attempt to keep away both her demons and her tears.
She had killed a man. Moreover, he had intended to kill her. If he had gotten his way, she would be on a slab in Garret's morgue instead of standing and waiting for his elevator.
She jumped and reached to her hip for her gun when she heard the ding of the elevator, an instinctual reaction that shamed and frightened her. She pulled her hand away before making contact with her weapon and sighed, allowing her shoulders to sag as she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the main floor. She was so tired. All she wanted to now was to go home and drown herself in a bottle of scotch and the scent of her infant sons' head.
She would do anything to erase the past several days, starting from the moment she saw Garret wearing her tie until tonight when she almost died at the hands of the man she had worked so hard to put away.
She had always known that her job was dangerous, but she hadn't quite realized the extent of the danger until she was told she had evil in her eyes. Until she was thrown from her car and until a man looked at her with the purest hate she had ever seen.
She stepped out of the elevator and walked quickly towards the door, the parking lot, and her car. She didn't want to stop to think about what had happened to her. She didn't want to remember that Emmett Parker had been in the same parking lot, waiting for her to emerge so he could have his way with her. She didn't want to think about the fact that he had grabbed her when she was in her car, when she felt safe. She didn't want to feel the fear that was creeping up her spine and becoming more intense with every step she took.
She tried to rationalize with herself. She was a relatively logical person after all. She reminded herself that the chances of two attacks in one night were a million to one, at least, and that she really had nothing to worry about. Even if there was something lurking in the bushes, she was armed and she had already proven that she wasn't afraid to pull the trigger. She reached to her hip for reassurance and stopped walking when she found nothing. Her heart began to pound. She didn't have her gun. Woody had taken if after the shooting. She wouldn't get it back until the police cleared her and declared Parkers' death a justifiable homicide.
She didn't have her gun. She didn't have anything to protect her. If one of Parkers' murderer buddies showed up, she'd be dead. Like she almost died earlier that evening. Her son wouldn't have a mother, he'd go into foster care before his father would take him. She would be dead, raped, beaten, maimed. He would hurt her again, drag her into the alley and rip off her clothes. He'd beat her and smack her and force himself upon her. She would cream and no one would listen. No one was there. No one was ever there. She was helpless, weak, defenseless, prey to anything she might encounter. Weak and helpless.
She began to jog across the parking lot, her heart pounding her and her mind filled with images of the attack. His eyes as he hovered over, his grip on her hair, her blouse as he dragged her, kicked her, shoved her into the alley. The knife. It caught the moonlight so well, it shined and she could see it gleaming. She knew what was going to happen to her.
Every time she closed her eyes, even to blink, she saw him. Evil. Absolute evil.
She reached her car and threw open the door, shoving the key into the ignition. She had to get home. She locked the car doors and glanced in the back seat to make sure she didn't have any unexpected company. She heaved a sigh of relief when she realized that she was alone, both in her car and in the parking lot. The only other car was Garrets' piece of trash and she was fairly certain that she didn't have to worry about him raping and stabbing her.
She breathed deeply and turned on the radio. She didn't need silence right now. Throwing the car into drive, she tried to focus on the music, on the violins and the cellos and the soprano's haunting melody. It soothed her. Classical music always could. There was something about it that lessened her fear, something that lowered her blood pressure and calmed her breathing. She was alive. Parker wasn't. She was safe, and he was off the streets. There was some semblance of justice in the nights' events.