The excerpt below from new release Bittersweet Alliance takes place in a scene when the heroine, Jolene, believes the woman who stalks and copies her is waiting for her. Little does she know someone is trying to kill Jolene but mistakes the copycat for her.
Excerpt:
The streetlight on the corner of the Bali Kai complex
illuminated the parking lot. The expected drizzle began. As she pulled under
the building to her assigned space, shadows were deep. The night turned misty
with rain and fog. She noticed the red Subaru Outback. Was Rosa lying in wait?
Instantly alert and faintly alarmed, after all, Rosa was
a pest, Jolene stepped back so that the wall was at her back and she couldn’t
catch her from behind. She looked in both directions, expecting Rosa to appear
from out of the shadows, but nothing happened. She gazed into the Subaru again,
wondering if Rosa was sitting in it.
The fog made it impossible to tell if she was in her formerly
identical car, but then she made out a figure standing at the opposite side, a slim
figure with dark hair. Thunder rolled in the distance. The shadow of the figure
separated itself from Rosa’s car. This wasn’t Rosa. Jolene punched in the nine
and the first one. If necessary, she had just the one to go before hitting
send.
A loud crack of noise made Jolene jump a foot high, and
her first thought was that lightning had struck. But there hadn’t been a
blinding flash. The noise was a gunshot.
Who was the target? With her purse and grocery bag in one hand and cellphone in
the other, Jolene squeaked in panic and dropped to all fours behind the car. If
she’d tried to scream, she’d have sounded like Minnie Mouse. Her cellphone slipped from her shaking hand.
In the dark she couldn’t see it. It didn’t help that she was trying to watch
all around and couldn’t take time to look for her phone.
She swept the pavement with her hand, trying to locate
it. Oh, no, what if the shooter was coming over? Should she lie flat and play
dead? Then she’d look like she’d been hit. Or crawl under the car? Dash for the
building. Take the stairs instead of the elevator. Get to her condo.
An engine started, and she looked up just as a light
colored two-door coupe darted past and out of sight. It slowed at the end of
the driveway and then burned rubber.
Who was that? If anyone else had been in the parking
level, he or she would have heard the shot, and therefore, wouldn’t drive out.
The only driver would have been the shooter.
She waited, listened. Hadn’t heard footsteps or the sound
of Rosa’s car starting. On her stomach, she peeked around a front tire of her
pickup. The red Subaru Outback was still parked, but there was no sign of Rosa.
No passersby rushed to investigate. Was the shot mistaken
for thunder? She was on her own and had two choices. Keys to her pickup were in
her pocket. In addition, she had two key rings because of the sheer number of
keys she needed for the helicopter, condo, and mailbox, making a single key
ring too bulky to carry around. She could get to her pickup keys without delay,
unlock the door, and hop in. Her second choice was to fish the condo door key
out of her bag, dash to either the elevator or stairway, and get inside. That would
take more time.
A third option was to look for Rosa. She was as irritating
as heck, but Jolene didn’t think the copycat owned a gun.
Indecisive, she felt around in her bag until she located
her keys. The thingamabob in the middle kept the keys from sliding around and
kept them in order. She fingered the door key, the first one to the right of
the middle thingie. Isolating it,
staying low, and walking backward to the door, she breathed relief. No one jumped out at her. There wasn’t a
sound except for the drizzling rain and noise of occasional traffic. This was
somehow spookier than if Rosa had leaped out.
Her hands shook, but she managed to run for the stairway,
took three steps at a time, dashed for her door and unlocked it on the first
try. She shot through the opening and wished she’d given herself an inch of
clearance because she bruised her right arm on the doorjamb. When inside, she dropped
her purse and grocery bag, slammed the door and turned the dead bolt, almost
crawling away in case someone shot through the door.
She always kept low-wattage lights burning on the outdoor
balcony. Not wanting to risk turning on the bright kitchen light, she continued
to crawl with the faint light into the living room. Finally, reaching her
bedroom, she felt like a base runner sliding into home. Safe.
Now that there were walls and a locked door between her
and the threat, she stood to turn on overhead lights, picked up her phone and
jabbed nine-one-one. “Someone shot a gun in my condo parking area.” She tamped
down her diva-tone since people are more cooperative when a caller isn’t
snapping anyone’s head off. Next, she
phoned Danker, but he didn’t give the Hula Dancer the courtesy of picking up. She left a message she’d feared for her life
moments before. Where was he?
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