Crimson Eve by Brandilyn Collins Read Free Book Online Page B

small white building and parked. Turned off the Toyota’s engine and lights.

    The world fell into a darkness that would swallow her whole. Carla could hear her own hitched breathing — a sound of nerve-wracking fear.
    Her hand slid to the door.
    She couldn’t open it.
    A dozen new imaginings snarled all threads of logic in Carla’s brain. Hands reaching for her the minute she got out, the growl of an attack dog, a gunshot piercing her chest. David Thornby was here . He’d been near the whole time, smirking as she placed herself where no one would witness her death.
    Carla’s chest tightened, the air in the car thickening. She longed to open the window, feel freshness on her cheeks — but her killer waited out there . . .
    Girl, get a grip. You want to sleep here all night?
    She took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Coolness rushed at her as she pushed to her feet, weight on the right leg. With a shaking finger she hit the button to lock her car doors. Painfully, wishing she could run, she began making her way back toward the motel. Around to the front of the white building, down the rear delivery road for the strip mall. Every shuffled footstep echoed like calls in a canyon: Here I am — come kill me! Carla crossed the street. She reached the road running behind the Best Western, a tiny, lone figure in the looming night. The pain in her ankle grew. If only she had a pair of crutches, even one. Carla slowed, feeling sweat pop out on her forehead. For a crazy moment she considered giving up. Just lying down right there on the dirty, dark road.
    Sure, babe, with the motel and shelter in sight.
    Determination urged her on. She clutched her car keys harder until the metal bit into her palm, her key card in her other hand. Tears burned her eyes at each step, the motel so close, yet so far away.
    An eternity passed before she reached the outside door to the motel, drew it back, and stumbled inside. Then down the corridor, and finally, weak-limbed and shaking, across the threshold into her room.
    She closed the door and slumped against it, flooded with an almost sickening relief.
    Carla picked up her purse and pulled her suitcase farther into the room. Leaving the bag standing upright, she tossed her purse onto the bed, then sank down beside it. Turned lengthwise and hoisted her legs up. She didn’t dare examine her throbbing ankle. Seeing the amount of swelling would only make the pain seem worse. She knew she should ice it, but she hadn’t seen an ice machine on the way to her room and couldn’t bear to get up again.
    Tonight, tomorrow, if she came face-to-face with Thornby and needed to run — she’d never make it.
    Carla melted into the bed, time sliding by in a hazy blur. At some point she pulled over her purse and slid out her cell phone. Held it in her hand. How she wanted to call someone for help, ask for advice. But her attacker’s words pounded in her head. Any friend who helps you is dead.
    She tossed the cell to the foot of the bed.
    Carla rolled to one side, burying her face in the bedcovers. For a long time she struggled to untangle her thoughts. What was she going to do tomorrow? Rent a car, yes . . . but then?
    She moaned. If only she knew why this was happening now. If she knew why , maybe she could do something to save her life. Say the right words, pledge some action . . .
    She dragged in a breath and rolled to her back. Her gaze landed on the diary sticking out of her purse. Carla stared at it dully. Thornby had come looking for anything linking to her past — she knew that because of the photos he’d taken. He probablythought he’d found everything. He couldn’t know about the diary. She’d never mentioned it to a soul.

    Carla gazed at the small journal, remembering the pain and suffering those pages held. She hadn’t been able to even look at it in years. Maybe some entry contained the information she needed. Had she made some threat years ago they now had to silence? Done something