The Actor's Stand-In

By Janet M. Henderson

Journalist Jennifer Long wants two things: to fall in love and to become a writer. She does not know how her life will change when she writes about a vigilante serial killer called The Assassin. Tim, the pilot, offers financial security. John, the agent, offers protection from the FBI. Jason, the actor, brings fame and the glamour of Hollywood. But who does Jennifer love? Whom should she trust? Will she outwit The Assassin?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781665504157

Janet M. Henderson

Janet M. Henderson teaches English in the City Colleges of Chicago. She has an M.A.in English Composition and a PhD. in Biblical Studies. A world-traveler, art lover, and U.S. Army veteran, she often writes about people and places she loves. Her other novels include Lunch With Cassie, Jackie and the Preacher, and The Prenuptial. Visit her on facebook.com/janethenderson, janethenderson.net, and twitter.com/@janethenderson.

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© 2020 Janet M. Henderson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/21/2020

ISBN: 978-1-6655-0396-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-0415-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Epilogue

To Dr. Rosemary Hake who encouraged me to try my hand

at writing fiction, and to English teachers everywhere who

encourage and inspire their students with new ideas.

And above all things have fervent love for one another, for love will cover a multitude of sins. Bible (NKJV), I Peter 4:8.

1

I t was after ten p.m. and below freezing when Jennifer realized she was out of coffee. She needed several cups of strong caffeine to finish her weekly advice column Unrequited Love. It was Friday. If she worked all night, she could take the rest of the weekend off. Snow had been falling for hours, and the town was a white, fluffy mess.

There had been a record-breaking, thirty-one inches in six hours, and there would be more before morning. If she did not get to the store soon, she wouldn’t go at all. So, she pulled on her long johns, combed her long black hair, and tugged on her boots.

Hugo, her Alaskan Husky, barked when she put on her woolen coat. Then he wagged his tail in eager delight when she fastened his leash and led him out of the door. A vicious blast of cold air nearly choked her as she rounded the corner of the house. Piles of snow a foot deep were clustered about the door, and the streets were a disaster. Cars got stuck and were towed away, and buses spun their wheels in hopeless chaos.

Reports about stranded motorists, the closing of schools and businesses led the evening news. In the two and a half years that Jennifer had lived in Smyrna, Connecticut, she had never seen anything like it. Bradley Airport in Hartford had shut down, along with other airports on the East Coast. JFK, LaGuardia, Newark, and Logan were all at a standstill. There had been bad snowstorms in the past, but nothing like this.

Jennifer gasped as the icy wind swirled under her skirt, stung her cheeks, and tried to ease its way through her heavy woolen coat. The fierce wind blew against her while she fought her way to the sidewalk. Then wrapping her scarf around her neck and bracing herself against the heavy gale, she trudged up the hill toward the glowing red and green lights of a 7-Eleven a block away. Hugo barked at cars, trees and anything that moved as she struggled to keep him under control.

Why are you so hyper, boy? Smell the girl of your dreams? Jennifer laughed, trying not to get tangled up in his leash. She knew there was either a stranger in the area or a female dog or two. Hugo was too excited, and he was never wrong.

When they reached the store, she led him to an area behind the building where he usually left little packages. She waited patiently while he accomplished his task. Then she patted his head. Good boy, and fastened him to a pole and went inside the store.

She quickly grabbed a tin of Folgers, some Minute Maid orange juice, a can of Alpo, and headed for the checkout line where she heard the announcement that the store was closing in ten minutes. Flipping through magazines, she asked about the latest issues of Cosmopolitan, Writer’s Digest, and People.

The storm is holding up deliveries in this area, but the trucks should get here tomorrow, the cashier said, smiling and ducking his head shyly. His teenage face had a rash of pimples, and he wore a gold hoop in one ear. Do you want me to hold onto some copies for you? He peered up at her hopefully. Jennifer knew he had an awful crush on her and would probably do whatever she asked.

No, that’s okay. I’ll be back tomorrow or the next day.

She paid for her purchases and pushed through the heavy door. Outside the temperature seemed to have dropped ten degrees in just minutes. Shivering, she quickly pulled on her gloves and turned her head against a freezing burst of wind that pummeled her face and nearly took her breath away. She waited out the onslaught and was soon able to breathe again. Then she looked up, glanced around the parking lot, and sighed in dismay because her dog was nowhere in sight.

HE COULD NOT believe the night he was having! First, there was the snowstorm; then there were the cops. He hadn’t counted on having to brave snow so deep he could barely navigate his way along slippery, hard-to-see streets. Though he was dressed warmly enough, the wind was a tormenting menace. Its unrelenting chill shot up his sleeves, under his coat, and eased through his heavy lambs-wool sweater.

Shivering, he glanced about the quiet winter wonderland, watching as detectives in plainclothes went about their various duties, subtle and professional as they searched for their quarry. Hours ago, they had swarmed into the community and had been hard at work ever since. Though he was good at making himself inconspicuous, he knew it wouldn’t be long before they grew curious. For now, they were staying away, either assuming he wasn’t their man or that it would be a waste of time to find out. To most people, he was just another weary, harmless, weather-beaten motorist.

Yet, in spite of their scruffy appearances and disguises—which were actually pretty good—he would’ve known them anywhere. They were as familiar to him as his own skin. That was good to know. It was as good as it could possibly get in this Arctic nightmare. Snow nearly five feet deep? When had that ever happened before?

He rubbed his cold hands together to keep them warm, stomped his nearly frozen feet, lit a cigarette, and smoked for a few moments. After a while, he glanced up the hill and saw the bright lights of the 7-Eleven and the woman standing alone on Main Street.

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HUGO! JENNIFER CALLED. She shook his broken leash and clapped her hands. The parking lot was nearly empty and the lights inside the store were being extinguished. She squinted up both sides of the street, into the inky darkness of the night. Where are you, boy? She tried not to panic. Hugo usually waited patiently in front of the store where neighborhood children petted and played with him until she was ready to leave. Sometimes they got him unleashed and halfway home before Jennifer could stop them.

She hoped he hadn’t gone off with someone that night because she had a lot of writing to do and didn’t have time to play Hide and Go Seek. She asked a man in a ski jacket outside a pub and a woman scraping snow from the windows of a car. She also asked a bearded man who pulled up in an SUV, but none claimed to have seen her fluffy, white dog, and neither had the two drunks, stumbling along on the other side of the street, sharing what appeared to be the contents of a brown paper bag.

Frustrated and shivering against the frosty gale, she trudged to the back of the store, calling for her beloved pet. He was completely devoted to her and wouldn’t have run off on his own. Treading on piles of snow and treacherous patches of ice, she didn’t see Hugo, but she spotted some rough-looking men in a suspicious cluster near a tree. Fearing rape, robbery, or worse, she hurried back to the front of the store. By then, the streets and sidewalks were deserted. It was dark and quiet—almost like a ghost town.

Come on, Hugo, it’s getting cold out here! she yelled.

Call the police, the cashier advised, climbing into his van. He started the motor, let it warm for a moment, said, Good luck, and drove away. Jennifer was uneasy in the darkness. It was disturbingly quiet. The only illumination was from streetlights nearby. Tears filled her eyes. Her cheeks stung from the cold and her fingers and toes were growing numb. She was angry and afraid and wanted to cry, not for herself but for the poor dog that would be left out in the cold all night if she couldn’t find him.

She searched for Hugo until she was exhausted and nearly frozen, and then she took the cashier’s advice. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she slowly made her way back down the hill. Near her house, she spotted a motorist in a dark-colored Jaguar who was stuck in the snow. She watched as he spun his wheels in six-inch slush. Then she laughed when he jumped out of the car and kicked the rear fender in frustration. She had gotten stuck in the snow a few times herself and knew the feeling.

Do you need help? She got as close to him as she dared. And she didn’t dare too much. He was a total stranger; it was late at night, and she was alone. There was also a strong, aggressive look about his shoulders that suggested that he was quite capable of taking care of himself and preferred it that way.

He turned and squinted at her in the glow of the streetlights. Were you talking to me? Snow was falling all around them, and he found himself batting the flakes away from his face so he could see her better.

Yes, she said. I asked if you needed help. She was a pretty woman dressed in a red hat and scarf with large, expressive eyes beneath wire-rimmed glasses, which made her appear intelligent and astute. The brainy look was balanced by the long black hair that draped her shoulders, by her smooth caramel-colored skin, and the tiny black mole next to her bright red lips. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She was about 5’2’ and very slender. The longer he looked at her the more desirable she became.

Her voice alone was an aphrodisiac. His blood warmed, along with other parts of his manhood. Though she was covered from head to toe in winter gear, he knew her body would be as good as her face. He met beautiful women every day, but this woman had more to offer than good looks, and he knew it right away.

Did you try packing your tires? she asked.

The snow is too soft, he said, trying to focus on her while she focused on him. He was tall, ruggedly built, with broad shoulders, and strong-looking arms. He wore a black coat, a light-colored scarf, and had short black hair flecked with snow. He had a thin mustache, full lips, and was handsome enough to make her heart skip a beat. She watched as he paced agitatedly around his car. I wanted to get home tonight. I didn’t know it was so bad out here. He glanced around, sighed in despair, and inspired more of her sympathy and good will.

They’ve closed the airport, you know. And the Interstates are a mess.

So, I’ve heard. He sounded more resigned than disappointed. I’ve been calling Directory Assistance and my auto club, but they’re both busy.

It’s a bad night. You haven’t seen my dog, have you? She described the fluffy, white dog, but he shook his head.

No, I’ve been too busy. I have a cell phone if you want to call the police.

I’ll do that when I get home. Telling him that she lived down the hill, she looked down at the redbrick bungalow with the picture window, white shutters and white drapes hoping Hugo had wandered home. By the light on the side of the building, she scanned the house and surroundings, and when there was no sign of him, she sighed forlornly and turned back to the stranger, offering to look up tow trucks in her phone book.

That’s okay, Ms…

Long. Jennifer Long.

Thanks, Ms. Long, but I don’t want to put you through any trouble.

She shook her head. It’s no trouble at all. And you are…

John. He hesitated for a second. Then he pulled off his black leather glove and extended his hand. John Smith. She took off her own glove and shook hands with him. His grip was strong and manly. He seemed vaguely familiar. When she asked if they had ever worked or gone to school together, he laughed and assured her they hadn’t, but he exchanged cell phone numbers with her and wished her good luck. She wished him luck as well. She had just walked away when she suddenly turned with an idea.

Why don’t I hit the accelerator while you push? She couldn’t believe what she suggested! The man was a stranger and it was late at night. Yet she was feeling adventurous. She had awakened that morning hoping something exciting would happen, and it seemed as if her wish were coming true.

John Smith frowned for a moment. Then he opened the car door, and she set her groceries on the seat. Wondering what she was doing and why she was doing it, she climbed into the elegantly overpriced car and sat down. She had never been in a Jaguar before, and she tried not to be impressed.

The black interior was warm and cozy. The dizzying aroma of cigarettes, a lemon-lime scented aftershave, expensive leather and a musky, manly smell of hair and skin hit her full force. He reached over her, put the key in the ignition and outlined the controls. A slight brush of his hand made her skin tingle and her pulse race. He was a very attractive man, and his close proximity was distracting. It was hard to concentrate on her task. Yet it didn’t matter anyway. For no matter how skillfully she shifted gears, and no matter how hard he pushed the car, it wouldn’t budge.

After a few minutes, she climbed out and handed him the keys.

You probably need your battery recharged.

Or a good tow truck, he said laughing. Thanks anyway.

When I get home, I’ll make some calls and see what happens.

"Okay. And if I see your dog, I’ll call you."

She headed home, shocked at the stillness around her. It was two days before Christmas, and the entire area should’ve been hopping with activity. A few homes bore Santa Claus figures, nativity scenes, or Christmas lights, but there was little or no holiday fanfare. No music. No caroling. No Salvation Army with ringers and buckets for donations. That was strange. It was the season to be jolly, so why were things so dull? Had the snowstorm chased everyone indoors or had something bad happened? She’d thought so earlier but wondered if it was just her imagination.

Losing Hugo was the most eventful thing that had happened in her boring life recently. Yet, she still felt a ripple of excitement. Meeting John Smith had reenergized and invigorated her. She was smiling and humming God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen when she unlocked her front door, put the groceries away, and ran to answer the ringing phone. When she spoke with her brother in Lisbon, Portugal, she had no way of knowing how much her life would change in just a few days.

2

D etective Carl Ogum nearly choked! Why was she outside? Didn’t she watch the evening news? Not only had another convenience store been robbed, but also a vigilante serial killer dubbed The Assassin had escaped from the Brig in Quantico and was in the Smyrna area. He had shot and killed seven people worldwide and killed over a dozen in Washington, D.C. After killing two people after his escape, the police and FBI doubled their manpower and combined resources to recapture him.

After his chilling phone call that afternoon, the chief put out an all-points bulletin for the killer who was clever and elusive, and shot his victims in broad daylight. If they could not stop him, he would surely kill again.

The first killing in Connecticut had been in Hartford, but the second was in Smyrna. Hours ago, police rushed into the community, knocking on doors, warning residents to be careful. Soon the FBI was on the scene. When he was finally apprehended, everyone could truly say, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and get a good night’s sleep. Yet, if they failed, he’d move on to his next victim and make the holidays difficult for everyone. The Assassin had been in the news for nearly eight years. He was a bold, fearless, and unpredictable killer. So, they feared for Jennifer being outside alone.

The snow-leaden streets were a mess, and it would get worse before morning. The detective wanted to send someone to watch over her, but there was no one to spare. When he saw her go in the store, he felt all would be well. Yet the Alaskan Husky’s barking and frisky behavior had set off the police dogs. They all went wild the moment they saw him, and the detectives had a mess on their hands. In the melee, the dog broke its leash, rushed down Main Street and out of sight. He knew Jennifer was heartbroken, but the Husky was an animal. He would survive. The police were trying to apprehend a heartless killer and couldn’t worry about a pet that could probably take care of itself.

The Assassin taunted that he would be having a drink on Main Street near midnight, and that if McKnight and his men got the lard out of their butts, they might recapture him before the night was over. If the psychopath was telling the truth, they would have him behind bars soon. In the meantime, the detectives kept an eye on Jennifer and didn’t relax until they saw her heading back home.

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JOHN WASN’T SURPRISED when two policemen finally came over to investigate. While the snow fell at his feet, and the wind rattled the tree limbs nearby, he was asked to supply his name, produce his driver’s license, and state the nature of his business.

They looked over his credentials carefully, offered sympathy for his dilemma, and when everything appeared to be in order, said, Merry Christmas, and continued on with their surveillance and apprehension. When they walked away, John slowly expelled his breath, glad it was so cold that they hadn’t made any phone calls or checked all of his creds. People were never who they appeared to be. He knew that better than anyone.

If it had been any other day, the police might have run his plates or checked the blotter, but the snowstorm and cold weather had affected procedure. He sighed and glanced around him at the quiet winter wonderland wondering what else they had overlooked. Then he pulled out a pack of Marlboros, lit one in the dimness of the streetlights, and shivered in the cold, wishing he could charge his battery and turn on the heat. The lovely Jennifer would be a pleasant diversion, but he still had a job to do. He gazed down the hill at her cozy-looking bungalow, wondering how long it would take him to get inside.

AFTER TALKING TO her brother, Jennifer smoothed her hair, shook her bangs out of her eyes, and reached for the yellow pages. Minutes later, she spoke to the police, some service stations in the area, and then she phoned John Smith with the bad news.

They’re busy with stranded motorists on the highways and major streets. The estimated wait is about two hours. She hated to have to tell him, but it was the truth. When he sighed in frustration, she told him to knock on doors and see if men in the neighborhood could help. When he asked which doors to knock on, Jennifer hesitated. She had never established a good relationship with her neighbors.

She spoke to them on the street, but her boyfriend Tim was more outgoing and friendly. He knew her paperboy, her mailman, and the boys that raked her leaves and shoveled her snow. Jennifer didn’t even know their names. She knew the Johnson family next door because their sons played with Hugo, but they weren’t at home then, and she didn’t know anyone else.

I don’t know anyone in particular.

Then I’ll just wait. He slapped his hand down on the hood of his car. There was static for a few seconds; he swore under his breath and then he apologized.

Jennifer cleared her throat. That’s okay. I know how frustrating it can be. She had sudden flashbacks of her own woes in the snow, glad she no longer had a car.

I need to get moving. The blizzard’s going to start up again tonight, and I was hoping to be back in New York instead of sitting out here in the cold.

You don’t have to sit in your car. There’s a pub nearby. Some men might help.

I don’t want to bother anyone. You’re the only one who offered help, and I’m grateful. You’re a real nice lady, you know that?

Jennifer squirmed at the compliment. I couldn’t just walk by. It’s cold out there. I wanted to meet you anyway, she wanted to say.

What did the police say about your dog?

They saw him run away, but they haven’t seen him since. They said they’d call the moment they knew anything. She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. It was hard not having Hugo with her. He was her constant companion and best friend. He also protected her when she was alone.

I’ll help too, if you like.

You don’t mind?

"You offered to help me. It’s better than sitting here and freezing to death." When he asked her to come back out, she grabbed her keys and her coat.

They started at Ryan’s Pub, which was open until midnight. There were bright green awnings and shamrocks on all the windows. It was a popular place for St. Patrick’s Day celebrations, and most attendees eagerly looked forward to the corned beef and cabbage, the singing and dancing, and knocking back a few pints of Guinness and Irish whiskey. At the time, four men were shooting pool and a fifth was having a drink at the bar. The owner remembered Jennifer from months back when she and Tim had stopped in for a drink after seeing a film at the multiplex. Tim had talked her into a game of pool, and despite her size two body, Jennifer had beaten him soundly, and every man in the bar had witnessed her victory.

They had clapped, cheered, toasted her with Irish whiskey and nicknamed her Connecticut Skinny. Tim was fuming when he took her home, accusing her of showing off and flirting with the other men. After ranting and raving, he slammed out of her house and didn’t call for over a week. She still cringed at the memory.

So, where’ve you been keeping yourself, Skinny? Mickey Ryan, the short, stout, balding proprietor, who spoke with a slight Irish accent, asked when they approached the bar. We expected you to come back in and beat some more guys.

Jennifer laughed. My two brothers loved to slaughter me. It was the first time I’d played in years, and the first time I’d ever won.

Mickey laughed. I see you’ve got a new friend. He nodded at John. Any good at pool? If not, she’ll make mince meat out of you.

John smiled. Sorry. Never play the game.

Never?

Not for years. Tonight, we’re just looking for her dog. Maybe you’ve seen him?

Jennifer described Hugo to him to refresh his memory.

Mickey shook his head. Haven’t seen too much of nothing or no one. He squinted at John. But you’ve been in before, right?

Once or twice.

Recently?

Not too recently.

You look familiar.

While Mickey wondered if John was a stand-in for Tim, John focused on the man sitting at the bar whose back was to them. After the pool players left, he was the only remaining patron. A short-skirted, buxom waitress’s shift was ending, so she interrupted and offered them a drink. When they declined, she grabbed her coat and said goodnight.

I know I’ve seen you before, Mickey continued. I never forget a face. Jennifer introduced them and they shook hands. Then Mickey looked at Jennifer. Could anyone forget a face like hers? He winked at John. Jennifer smiled shyly.

John looked in her big brown eyes. No, no one could. He had been enchanted the moment he saw her. Petite women always brought out his protective instinct and made him feel stronger and manlier, and with a man like John, who was already more manly than most, that was both good and bad.

John’s car is struck in the snow, Jennifer explained. Can you help him?

Mickey Ryan looked around. The pub was nearly empty. It was fifteen minutes to closing, and the only customer was the disheveled drunk sitting at the end of the bar with his head down. He was wobbling on the barstool and singing off-key to Christmas songs on the jukebox.

I wouldn’t mind, the bartender began, but as you can see, my hands are pretty full. I can call the lad a cab if he’s got money, but, he leaned over the bar and whispered so only Jennifer and John could hear, he probably doesn’t. He’s been drinking since 8:00 p.m. So, I’ll have to call him an Uber or drive him home myself. It may take a little while, but I can help you when I’m done. He began humming along with the music, wiping down the bar and placing empty glasses back under the counter.

That’s okay, John said. We see you’re busy. He backed away from the bar, and he and Jennifer were about to leave when Mickey motioned them over.

My brother’s got a filling station. He’s swamped right now, but I’ll call and see if he can come push you out later.

Thanks. I’d appreciate it. John gave Mickey his cell phone number, and he and Jennifer left the pub. Where to now? he asked when they stood on Main Street.

Let’s try the deli and pizza parlor. Near the pub there was a barbershop, an ATM, and a hardware store. They discovered that the delicatessen had closed at six and the Pizza Hut at eleven, though the manager was still locking up.

I’m looking for my dog, Jennifer said, giving the manager of the Pizza Hut a quick description of Hugo and when and where she had last had him.

You talking about the white dog the kids play with in front of the 7-Eleven?

Yes. Jennifer laughed, finally relieved that someone might be able to help her. If the manager knew where to find him, Hugo would be home with her that night.

I saw him heading down Main Street. He pointed down the street from where they stood. But the Feds are all over the place. Didn’t you hear? The Assassin struck in the area twice. He shot a guy and stole a car. They found the murder weapon in those woods. He pointed behind the 7-Eleven and began walking home.

I didn’t hear anything. Jennifer shivered and fell in step with him.

Are they sure it was The Assassin? John asked.

Jennifer turned to look at him, surprised he was so interested.

Yes, the manager said, and they believe he’s still in the area. They were going door to door earlier, alerting residents, urging them to be cautious. Jennifer wondered if that was when she was arguing so loudly on the phone with Tim that she thought she heard the doorbell but wasn’t sure. She also missed the evening news. So, if I were you, I’d go home and let the police find my dog. If I see him, I’ll knock on your door. Your house is the redbrick bungalow with the white shutters, right?

Yes, 15 Castle Drive. She wrote down her address and gave it to him.

Good luck, he said. Take care of her, he told John before entering his house and waving good-bye.

I intend to.

You don’t have to, Jennifer said walking along. You have problems of your own. Why didn’t you ask him to help with your car?

It doesn’t matter, John replied. I’ve got to get you home.

But you’re stranded.

Didn’t you hear? John turned toward her, put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. A vicious, cold-blooded killer is in the neighborhood. I’m sure your husband or boyfriend wouldn’t want you out here where you can get hurt. A brisk, icy wind blew in his face. He turned his head until the gale passed.

Jennifer looked away. I don’t have a husband.

Your boyfriend then. Isn’t his name Tim?

Yes, but I don’t know what he wants. She was flattered that John cared.

Well, I know what I’d want. If you were my woman, you’d be indoors right now, nice, safe and warm. Jennifer smiled. She was trying to think of something nice to say when they heard the squawk of a bullhorn.

This is the police. Step out of the car!

Jennifer whirled around. The voice was coming from Main Street. John took a step toward her. Before he could speak, there were several loud pops. Jennifer screamed, ducked and covered her ears. John grabbed her arm and yanked her behind a thick row of bushes where they tumbled onto a mountain of fresh, new-fallen snow. She could feel its cold, watery chill on the backs of her legs. She was lying on the ground and John was nearly on top of her. Her fingers and toes tingled with cold.

What was that? she asked. Early New Year’s Eve fireworks?

No. Those were gunshots.

What? She jerked away from him. The pressure of his hard, muscular body, and his warm breath on her face made it hard for her to breathe. Who were they shooting at, The Assassin? They couldn’t be, she decided. He’s way too smart.

How would you know that? He was breathing hard.

"I’m a journalist. I used to write for The Political Statement. After he killed a man in Mexico, I went there with a coworker. We spoke to the FBI but didn’t learn much."

It was a good thing he didn’t know you were looking for him. Suddenly a car raced past at top speed with police car and siren in hot pursuit. When more shots were fired, and one landed a few feet away, Jennifer screamed and scrambled backward. John fell on top of her. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, telling herself she was not going to get shot. That only happened in movies. She was not starring in an action film. She was a struggling writer in a nightmare that seemed to get worse and worse.

It’s going to be okay, said John. Just lie still.

She tried not to be affected by the intimate position of their bodies, but they were very close together. The thought of being killed terrified her, but the idea of being taken advantage of by a stranger was pretty terrifying, too. She was amazed by how calm and quiet he was. Was he just brave? Or was he used to hearing gunshots?

When she looked up, his face was inches away. She could smell his aftershave and cigarettes. She was about to turn away when he suddenly leaned forward, clutched her face and kissed her. His lips were soft and moist and warmed her to the core. Jennifer’s eyes flew open and her heart pounded. She tried to push him away, but his strong arms held her captive, making her forget about the police, the shooting and the coldness of the snow. All she thought about