A key rattled in the front door lock.

The old window stuck and struggled against her as she struggled to lift it.

Then it was up and she was out.

She hit the ground hard, bouncing off a shoulder, rolling, grunting, scrambling to get her feet under her. Out of balance, she ran stumbling for the shed at the back of the property and ducked behind it.

The air was like fire billowing in and out of her lungs. Her heart beat wildly. Her legs felt like columns of water beneath her. She pressed a hand to her belly, feeling the gun still strapped to her middle. She still had her tote bag.

She wanted to know where Ballencoa was. Had he gone into his bedroom? Had he seen the mess? Had he seen the note? Had he seen her running from the scene?

She couldn’t know, nor could she stay to find out. For all she knew, he was coming across the backyard as she stood there sucking wind.

If she ran to the left and took the shortest route to her car, she exposed herself to Ballencoa’s backyard. If she ran to the right and kept to the alley, she had the better part of the block to go. He could easily run her down.

Thinking fast, she dashed another thirty feet down the alley, cut left and lost herself between two hedges that snatched at her as she ran. She fought her way down the narrow trail and popped out onto the sidewalk maybe fifteen feet from her car.

She didn’t know if anyone saw her. She hoped to God no one had called the sheriff’s office to report a suspicious person running through the neighborhood.

She felt safer inside the car, though her hands were shaking violently as she fumbled to get the key in the ignition. The engine caught and purred. Lauren put the car in gear and let it slide away from the curb, resisting the urge to hit the gas and call more attention to herself.

She was safe now. For the moment that was all that mattered, though she knew it wouldn’t last.

In her mind’s eye she could see the note she left on Roland Ballencoa’s bed: Now I have something you want.

Chapter 47

47

Mendez turned his car around at the end of Old Mission Road and parked. Lauren Lawton’s phone had gone unanswered. Her BMW wasn’t in the driveway. An uneasy feeling churned through him.

He kept seeing the words she had written on the note Ballencoa had brought in: I’d rather see you in hell than see you at all.

A threat, Ballencoa said. Mendez had the terrible feeling it was more a promise.

His own words to Vince Leone kept echoing in his head: This story isn’t going to have a happy ending.