Page 85 of Shattering Dawn
Saying the name aloud steadied him. He half crawled, half dragged himself to the corner and propped his back against the wall. He reached into the pocket of his trousers. His fingers closed around the crystal. It was warm. Comforting. Clarifying.
“Amelia,” he said again. Steadier this time. Stronger. Focused.
“Forget her,”the voice said.“It is too late to save her. You can only save yourself…”
Chapter Fifty
“What with allthe excitement lately, I forgot to tell you that your therapist was not the only person who came around looking for you while you were in Lucent Springs,” Irene said.
“What?” Amelia yanked her attention away from the too-quiet screen of her phone and looked at Irene. “Someone else showed up here looking for me? Who?”
“Relax,” Irene said. “I don’t think you need to worry about this other guy. He was very businesslike. Well dressed. Good haircut. Looked successful. He said he was a real estate agent. Wanted to talk to you about setting up a photo shoot for a residence that he just listed.”
“How did he get in?” Amelia asked. “The entry system didn’t notify me of any callers while I was in Lucent Springs.”
“This place isn’t exactly a fortress.” Irene drank some coffee. “I heard him knock on your door so I went out to tell him that you were not home.”
“Did he say anything else?” Shelton asked.
“Not much.” Irene got up from the stool and went behind the counter to refill her cup. “Just that he’d heard Amelia had a reputation for photos that bring out the drama in a property.”
Amelia grimaced. “Translation: he’s got a fixer-upper.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Irene said. “He mentioned it was waterfront property in La Jolla.”
“Waterfront property inLa Jolla?” Amelia repeated in disbelief. “And he came here looking for me? This could be my big break. I wonder who gave him my name?” In the next instant a thought struck her, sending her spirits into a nosedive. Another unnerving chill feathered her spine. “Wait. You said the agent was male? Businesslike? Successful-looking?”
“All of the above.”
“How old?”
“Middle-aged, but very well preserved middle age, if you know what I mean.” Irene glanced at Shelton’s attire. “Good clothes.”
Amelia slipped off the barstool. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back. I’ve got a photo I want to show you.”
Irene frowned. “You think you have a picture of this guy?”
“Maybe. It’s a long shot, but I’ll feel better if you take a look at the photo I’ve got and see if you recognize the man in it.”
She went around the corner and down the hall and opened the door of her darkroom. She switched on the overhead light and crossed to the shelf where she kept the prints of the Night Island photos.
She shivered when she picked up the envelope. She stopped, not sure what to do next. Her intuition was screaming at her to run but it was not offering specific information.
The only thing she knew for certain was that something in the darkroom had changed.
She pulled the heavy blackout curtain closed and turned off the overhead fixture.
The energy prints seethed in the artificial night. They were fresh and they were everywhere—the floor, the computer, the envelope containing the Night Island photos. She recognized them.
She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was not alone in the apartment.
She went back down the hall, past the laundry room, past the front door, and turned the corner into the kitchen–living room. She was too late.
Shelton was slumped, unconscious, on the dining counter. The coffee mug that Irene had refilled a short time ago was on its side. A small rivulet of spilled coffee ran to the edge of the counter and dripped to the floor.
She had a beat to realize that Irene was not in the kitchen or the living room. The laundry room door stood partially open. It had been closed earlier.
She turned to run for the front door.