“The kids would have been fine!” He glared at me, blood dripping over his eye. “I would have dusted myself off and bought the damn tree they picked out, and then I would have driven them home. But you couldn’t even let me have that, could you?”
Vero flashed the headlights as she started the car. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow. Please, file a police report,” I begged him as I walked away. I just wanted to get my kids out of there. Steven had been mugged, but not for his money. His wallet had been in that very same pocket, which meant whoever came after him only wanted one thing—his phone. Or, more likely, the information in it … his schedule, his contacts, records of the places he frequented. Everything a contract killer would need to plan the perfect murder.
Vero was right. Just because no one had taken the job didn’t mean they weren’t planning to.
CHAPTER 7
Monday morning dawned far too early. I tossed back the blankets and sniffed. Rolling over, I spotted the culprit beside my bed. By the time I rubbed the remnants of sleep from my eyes, Zach was gone, already giggling in the hall, his business in my room clearly concluded to his satisfaction.
With a heavy sigh, I got up and hunted him down, hauling him back into my room for a diaper change. Pans clattered in the kitchen, the sound of sizzling oil and the smell of salty goodness wafting up the stairs.
“Delia!” I called out. “Time to get up and get ready for school.” She stomped into my room with a scowl, brushing her spiky bangs from her eyes, the feet of her pajamas loose around her ankles and her stuffed dog dangling by his neck from one hand. I set Zach down, his legs already moving before they hit the carpet. “Smells like Vero’s making breakfast. Why don’t you two head downstairs.”
The cordless phone lit up on the nightstand beside me. Sylvia’s name flashed on the caller ID. I checked the time on my cell phone and swore, swiping away her three missed calls.
“Ooooh,” Vero sang from the kitchen, probably seeing the same thing on the cordless downstairs, “someone is in troooouble. Told you, you need to start working on that book!”
I considered the possible consequences of letting the call ring to voicemail. But knowing Sylvia, she would keep calling until I eventually picked up. I wiped sweat from my hands and pressed the phone to my ear.
“It’s eight A.M.,” Sylvia said before I could get a greeting out. “On Monday,” she clarified.
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
“I’m meeting with your editor in an hour to discuss your pitch, which is not in my inbox.”
“I meant to get that to you. Really, I did. But the weekend got away from me.” I scrambled down the hall to my office, as if the pitch I had neglected to come up with over the weekend would magically appear the second I opened my laptop. “And well, see … here’s the thing.” I sat down at my desk, pushing aside used sticky notes and receipts. “I’ve got it all in my head. I just haven’t had a chance to type it up yet. I’ll do it right now, I swear. I can have something to you before you meet with her at nine.” I wasn’t entirely sure what that something would be, but it would buy me an hour to figure it out.
“Let’s get something straight, Finlay. The title on my business card does not say Ms. Donovan’s Assistant. I am your agent—one you are very lucky to have, I might add. Taking dictation for an author who can’t stay on top of her deadlines is not in my job description, but because I would like to get paid, I will do that for you. Just this once. Now,” she said, her chair creaking through the phone as she settled into it, “I’m all ears. Give me everything you’ve got.”
“Right, everything I’ve got.” I sifted through the crumpled-up sticky notes in the trash can, frantically searching for all the horrible ideas I’d jotted down and discarded over the last month. Most of the damn notes were just grocery lists and reminders. I pulled the most recent one from my laptop screen, skimming the first item on the to-do list and chuckling darkly over the irony.
Pitch for Sylvia by Monday.
Awesome. Way to go, Finn.
Sylvia huffed impatiently as I skipped to the next item on the list.
Contact Guy to cancel visitation.
“So, there was this man … a father,” I began slowly, gathering my scattered thoughts. “He was … a businessman of questionable character who’d made plenty of enemies.” I closed my eyes, groping for inspiration in the dark. I needed a scary setting. A place where something suspenseful and terrifying might happen. “The man was outside…” I said, “hiking in a dark pine forest with his children … when he was attacked from behind and brutally murdered.”