Author's note: Sorry this is so short, you guys. I meant to spin it out much longer but the end sort of snuck up on me. There was no getting rid of it. So this is it for now, but I'm already working on the next one. Please continue Reading & Reviewing. Let's keep this fandom alive!
3.
Gillian Foster was creeped out.
Her whole stance screamed it—even if only for a second. The widening of her eyes, the slight tightening of her lips, the way she stood arrested on her way to the door. Then she collected herself and the moment was gone.
Yep, Gillian Foster was definitely freaked—and for some reason this unreasonably disturbed Ria. It wasn't like she'd never seen the older woman afraid before. They dealt with so many demented psychos and risky situations, being scared out of your wits was almost an everyday occurrence.
It was the object of her fear that unsettled her. A bunch of flowers, of all things. What could it be about them that scared her so bad?
Ria knew she was nosy by nature. Like a dog with a bone, she couldn't let go of a mystery once she'd got her hands on it. It had caused her so many problems in the past—with family, friends, coworkers—especially Lightman, who had low tolerance for anyone's intrusiveness but his own. She didn't care. For better or for worse, she had to get to the bottom of the matter. It was worth any collateral inconvenience.
Making sure Foster and her lying husband were well down the hall and no one else in sight, she slowly inched back to the bouquet. Nothing strange or menacing about it—perfectly standard gift-wrapped sprig. Foster had seemed genuinely surprised—and not overly pleased—at being the recipient. That meant she either didn't know the sender or he was somehow undesirable. And it wasn't her husband. That glassy-eyed stare of his had as much as said so.
Who then? A lover? A stalker? Lightman?
She nearly laughed out loud at that one. Lightman worshipped the ground Foster walked on, but didn't have a romantic bone in his body. He'd probably shoot himself before sending anyone flowers. Or giving a compliment. Even sending a Christmas card would probably be beyond his scope of possibilities.
Lover?
No way. Ria wasn't really friends with Foster, but everything she knew about her pointed to her being a straight arrow and a genuinely nice person. Too nice, sometimes. The kind of nice other people took advantage of. There was no way she was cheating on her husband—not after all the crap she put up from him.
Stalker? Secret admirer?
Sadly, it seemed the most likely possibility. And fit with the fact there was no name on the card. Come to think of it, Loker had been kind of cryptic about Foster lately. A couple of times in the break room he had seemed on the verge of disclosing something. Maybe he knew something she didn't?
She decided to seek him out but was promptly quenched by a dour-looking Lightman. "What are you still doing here? Out!"
Always the charmer, she mused irritably, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "I'm looking for Loker. I need—"
"He's gone home—everyone's gone home. And so am I. So either get out, or I'm locking you in."
"Fine."
Still seething, Ria clattered out the door and down the parking lot toward her car. The man could be so infuriating! She honestly didn't know how Foster and Loker—hell, even his own family—put up with him. It was like he enjoyed pushing her buttons— sadistic little bastard. Everyone made excuses for him, from the receptionist up. But Ria knew the truth. He took pleasure in watching his subordinates squirm. Brit humor or not, you had to make a true effort to be as hurtful as he sometimes was. Not for the first time, she wondered if leaving airport security had been a good move. It had been mind-numbing work—true. But at least she'd been respected there. Around here she always felt like the company drone—overused and underappreciated, alternately bullied and overlooked.
Something caught her foot and she angrily shook it off, cursing when it wouldn't loosen. "What the f-?"
The hand came out of nowhere, catching her on temple and sending her flying to the blacktop. Before her terrified wits could recover, she found herself pinned to the ground by a knee to the back and a hand on her hair, while a breathy voice whispered in her ear, almost sensually, "When are you bitches gonna learn to mind your own business?"
"What?"
"You heard me." A cold metallic object trailed down her face, Ria's heart going into overdrive when she recognized it as the muzzle of a gun. Her life virtually flashed before her eyes.
Not today… oh God, not today.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The gun disappeared, the pressure on her back lessened, and she opened her eyes to find her assailant gone.
Shakily she rose to all fours, appraising herself for signs of damage. Aside from her bruised forehead and skinned hands, it didn't seem to be too bad. Her heart was still pounding in her ears and her knees shook so badly, she doubted she'd be able to get up. Much to her chagrin, a shuddering sob made its way out her throat.
A shadow materialized at her side and the sob turned into a scream, heart racing, arms flailing out in defense.
"Jesus, Torres!" Lightman's voice pierced through the darkness, clearly surprised himself at finding her there. Surprise turned to shock as added, "What the hell happened to you?"
