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  But later, after Leah had explained her concerns to him, Jared shrugged and said he must have been in a hurry that morning and used the bathroom without flushing.

  Leah wanted to have the locks changed, but Jared told her she was being silly. "C'mon, honey, think about it. Why would someone break in, not steal anything, but then pee in our bathroom--and leave it un-flushed?"

  "Maybe he wants us to know he's been here," she remembered telling Jared. "Maybe he wants us to know he's coming back."

  "That's just crazy."

  So maybe their intruder was insane. This crazy person had relieved himself in their bathroom as some kind of nasty calling card.

  Leah had been on her guard ever since.

  The dryer let out a loud buzz, startling her. Leah tossed aside the magazine, got to her feet, and unloaded the warm, dry clothes. She started to fold the pants and T-shirts on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a shadow move beyond the chain-link door to the storage room. It's just your imagination, she told herself. She went on folding clothes, but picked up the pace a bit.

  She peered over toward the storage room again--and noticed the shadow once more. It definitely moved. A chill raced through her, and she stood perfectly still for a moment. Clutching a warm T-shirt to her chest, she gazed at the dark room beyond the gatelike door. Leah moved her head from side to side and watched the shadow do the same thing.

  She heaved a sigh. "Moron," she muttered. "Scared of your own shadow." Her heart was still fluttering, but Leah forced herself to step over to the chain-link door. In the murky darkness, she could make out the first few storage lockers and the piles of junk inside them--boxes, old bicycles, and things covered with furniture blankets. Leah couldn't see anything past the third set of lockers. The rest of the room was swallowed up in blackness.

  She retreated to the table and continued folding clothes. Most of the clothes were Jared's. She should have made him come down here and get his own damn laundry. But he'd stepped out for a few minutes. They were going with friends to watch the fireworks tonight, and he wanted to pick up some beer.

  Another shot rang out in the distance, followed by three more. Get used to it, she told herself; they'll be lighting off firecrackers all night and half of tomorrow. She always felt sorry for the poor dogs and cats traumatized by the barrage of bangs and blasts on July Fourth.

  Leah continued folding laundry. She still couldn't shake the feeling that someone else was down there--watching her. Only three more T-shirts, and then she'd get the hell out of there. She could match up the socks once she was safely inside the apartment.

  Leah heard the old elevator across the hallway suddenly start up with those mechanical knocks and pings, and then the humming. It sounded like the elevator was headed down to the basement.

  She quickly folded her last shirt, then tossed the socks on top of the stack of clothes. The elevator had stopped down at this level, she could tell. But she didn't hear the door open or the inner gate--an accordion-like contraption--clanking. Leah reminded herself that sometimes people pressed the "B" button, but got off on the ground floor instead. That was probably what had happened.

  Gathering up the pile of clothes, she headed toward the door. But she hesitated before stepping out to the hallway. Leah gazed down the gloomy little hallway. The elevator door was closed--along with the doors to the stairwell and garage. Carrying the stack of laundry, her chin pressed against the mountain of socks on top, she hurried toward the elevator. She was about to press the button, but didn't have to. The elevator was already on the basement level. With one hand, Leah flung open the door, steadied it with her hip, then pulled at the gate. The whole time, she felt as if someone was coming up behind her.

  She ducked into the elevator so quickly that a few socks fell onto the cubicle's dirty floor. She shut the gate. The outer door closed by itself. Leah jabbed at the button for the third floor. The cables let out a groan, and the elevator started moving. She slouched against the wall and let out a sigh. How could she have let herself get so worked up and scared over nothing?

  Maybe it was having been reminded so recently about her brush with death. That, and the weird break-in they'd experienced. Perhaps this was some kind of delayed post-traumatic stress syndrome or something.

  Creaking and humming, the elevator passed the ground floor and continued its ascent. Leah caught her breath. She managed to balance the load of laundry, then squatted down and retrieved the socks from the floor. She heard another muffled bang. It seemed a little closer than the others. Rolling her eyes, she reminded herself again to get used to it.

  When the elevator stopped on the third floor, Leah tugged the gate to one side and pushed the outer door open with her hip. In this very familiar corridor--with its ancient, burgundy swirl-patterned carpet and her neighbor's fake ficus by the elevator--she felt safe again.

  But then Leah saw the door to her and Jared's apartment was open a crack. She froze. She'd closed and locked the door before going down to fetch the laundry. Since that bizarre break-in last week, she always locked the door, even when stepping out for only a few minutes.

  Jared probably came back, dummy, she told herself. Leah pushed the door open with her shoulder. "Jared?" she called. "Honey, are you back? Did you get the beer?"

  No answer.

  Standing in the small foyer area with the stack of clothes in her hands, Leah stared straight ahead at the living room, but she didn't see Jared. To her left was the kitchen entrance. She poked her head in there. Recently remodeled, the kitchen had green granite countertops and all-new stainless-steel appliances. A six-pack of Coronas was on the counter by the sink, but the grocery bag next to it was on its side, with loose beer bottles spilling out. One bottle had rolled across the counter, and another had fallen onto the black-and-white linoleum floor, although it hadn't broken.

  "Jared?" she called again. "Honey, are you okay?"

  She set the laundry on the breakfast table, and then continued to the dining room and living area. The bedroom door was open, but she didn't see Jared in there. Off the living room a narrow corridor led to the linen closet and bathroom. They had another door to the bathroom in their bedroom.

  "Jared? Honey, what's--" she hesitated.

  A musky odor hung in the air. Leah had smelled it before--two weeks ago, when someone had broken into the apartment and left his crude calling card in their toilet.

  Leah crept toward the fake hearth and grabbed the poker from the fireplace set. Biting her lip, she moved to the bedroom and peeked past the doorway. On the other side of the bed, she saw the bathroom door--slightly ajar. The light was on.

  She thought about calling out Jared's name again, but remained silent. She cautiously made her way around the bed toward the bathroom. Her legs felt wobbly, and she couldn't breathe right.

  Clutching the poker, Leah pushed open the bathroom door. It creaked on its hinges. Then she saw what was lying on the tiled floor. "Oh, no," she whispered. "Oh, God, Jared..."

  Curled up by the base of the sink was her fiance, his face covered with blood. It matted down his blond hair. He'd been shot in the head. Jared's eyes were still open, and a dazed expression had frozen on his handsome face. On the tiles, a dark red pool slowly bloomed beneath his head. For a moment, it was the only thing that moved in the bathroom.

  Leah was paralyzed. She couldn't breathe--or scream.

  Then something caught her eye--a reflection in the medicine chest mirror. It was the other bathroom door opening, just behind her right shoulder.

  Leah saw the man's reflection. He was wearing a lightweight, clear plastic rain jacket and a shower cap--almost like something a surgeon would wear on his head.

  She let out a shriek, and then swiveled around. Instinctively, she raised the poker.

  But he had a gun.

  Later, Jared and Leah's neighbors would say they'd heard the scream, and then the blast. It had been just as loud and close as the shot a few minutes before. But this was July
Fourth, so no one gave those deadly sounds much thought.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Seattle

  Someone had brought a boom box up to the roof, and it was blasting the 1812 Overture. The stirring opus accompanied the dual fireworks displays brilliantly. Seattle had two Independence Day fireworks shows that seemed to compete with each other--one over Elliott Bay, and the other on Lake Union. From the rooftop of Kyle's Capitol Hill town house, they had a sweeping view of the Seattle skyline, the city lights, and both firework displays. Over Lake Union, the dazzling bursts of light--some in Saturn, star, and heart shapes--were closer, but the colorful pyrotechnics over Elliott Bay appeared directly above the Space Needle from this vantage point and somehow seemed statelier. The loud pops and blasts punctuated the glittery display. People had gathered on rooftops all over the neighborhood. Their laughter, screams, and applause competed with the 1812 Overture.

  Sydney watched the nine other guests on her brother's roof, their heads turning from one side to another to catch both firework shows. They looked as if they were watching a tennis match. But her twelve-year-old son's head wasn't moving. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, Eli leaned against the rooftop's railing. He seemed to be staring at the gap between the dueling shows.

  Sydney approached him, and put her hand on his shoulder. "Well, you don't see anything like this--" she hesitated. She was about to say, You don't see anything like this in Chicago. But he didn't need to hear that right now. He missed Chicago terribly, and she knew it, because she missed Chicago, too. No doubt, he was sick of her trying to sell him on their terrific new life in Seattle. So Sydney just cleared her throat and said, "You don't see anything like this every day."

  It was a lame remark. Eli turned and looked at her as if she was an idiot. He'd given her the same look earlier tonight when they'd left for this party. Sydney had her hair swept back in a clip, and she wore a blue sleeveless top, white slacks, and a red belt. "Red, white and blue," Eli had said, deadpan. Then he curled his lip ever so slightly. "Jeeze, Mom, give me a star-spangled break. Did you do that on purpose?"

  "Hey, you with the clunky sneakers and the backward baseball cap, don't knock the way I dress," she'd replied. "You live in a glass house."

  Eli was a handsome boy with brown eyes, long lashes, and a birthmark on his right cheek. He had beautiful, light brown hair which he'd recently--and quite disastrously--tried to cut himself. Sydney had sent him to the barber to fix it, and the only way to do that was a buzz cut. Actually, he looked good with the new haircut and his summer tan. In fact, it made Eli look very much like his father--so much that Sydney sometimes ached inside when she studied him.

  The 1812 Overture was followed by "It's Raining Men," which prompted several people on the rooftop to howl with laughter. "Well, this is my National Anthem!" a flamboyant older man announced, and he started dancing with his hands above his head. Sydney's brother, Kyle, once pointed out to her that no straight man ever danced with his hands above his head. Kyle was gay, and so were most of his friends at the Fourth of July party.

  Sydney kept putting herself in her son's shoes--those clunky sneakers. Last year in Chicago, Eli and his dad had spent July Fourth afternoon playing softball with some people in the neighborhood. This was followed by an impromptu water balloon fight in which Sydney got soaked. It didn't matter, because, like everyone else, she was dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. For dinner, they'd barbecued hot dogs and hamburgers, served with chips and baked beans and potato salad. The evening had ended with the fireworks display on Lake Michigan.

  Tonight, it had been smartly dressed strangers and smart cocktail-party talk with pita bread, hummus, and couscous. Salmon and chicken had been served off the grill with asparagus and risotto. All the adults there were clearly having a wonderful time. But Eli was the only kid. She knew he was miserable. So was she.

  "Look at the smiley-face fireworks over Lake Union," Sydney said, nudging him.

  "Jeeze, how dorky can you get?" Eli muttered. He sighed and then peered down over the rooftop railing. Kyle's town house was on a hill, and from this side of the roof, it was a four-story drop down to the garden and patio below.

  "Listen," she whispered. "If you're having a horrible time, we can go now and beat the post-fireworks rush. Otherwise, we're stuck here for at least another hour, because Uncle Kyle says the traffic is insane in this neighborhood after the fireworks end. So--speak now, or forever hold your peace, kiddo."

  "I'm okay," Eli mumbled. "We can stick around."

  She mussed what little hair was left on his scalp. "You sure?"

  He nodded and looked toward the showering bursts of light over Lake Union.

  Kyle came up to her side. "I'm sorry about Howard," he said under his breath. He nodded toward the older, pudgy, balding man who was dancing round the roof, singing along with "It's Raining Men." He knew all the words. Kyle rolled his eyes. "On a scale from one to ten--ten being totally obnoxious, stereotypically gay--Howard's about a seventeen, especially after he's had a couple of drinks. Is he driving you guys crazy?"

  Sydney laughed and shook her head. "Of course not, he's fine."

  Compared to some of Eli's father's overly macho business associates, she'd take this flamboyantly gay guy any day of the week.

  "He's not your boyfriend, is he?" Eli asked warily.

  "Oh, God, no," Kyle sighed, and then he rolled his eyes. "Please."

  At thirty-four, Kyle was lean and handsome with receding, sand-colored hair and green eyes. Sydney figured her brother was a great catch. Yet in the six weeks since she and Eli had been living in Seattle, Kyle hadn't been on one single date. All the people at this party were friends or in the real estate business with him.

  "I had to invite Howard," Kyle explained in a hushed voice. He led Sydney away from Eli, who stayed by the roof's railing. "He's a big client, and he knows everybody. Plus he was dying to meet you."

  The party guests had made a fuss over her--and Eli, too--but mostly her. They asked about different Movers & Shakers stories she'd done for On the Edge. One woman asked if she'd hurt her foot recently or something. Sydney gave the woman her standard answer, "Oh. I just have this limp from an accident years ago." A few party guests asked about Sloan Roberts. How well did she know him? Was he dating anyone? Or as Howard bluntly put it: "So--Sydney, fess up. Does Sloan play for my team? Is he gay or what?"

  Sydney had to admit she'd met Sloan Roberts only about a dozen times and never had a private audience with him. Sloan certainly hadn't confided in her about his personal life. She hated disappointing Kyle's friends, but despite her bimonthly appearance on a top-rated TV newsmagazine show, she didn't have a lot of celebrity connections.

  Still, that hadn't stopped her from being the center of attention most of the evening--at least, until the fireworks.

  "Is Eli bored to smithereens?" Kyle asked.

  With a sigh, Sydney looked over toward the railing, where Eli had stood just a minute before. But he wasn't there anymore. She started to glance around the rooftop.

  Suddenly, one of the women at the party let out a shriek, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

  There were screams from people on the roof of the apartment building next door, and they weren't looking at the fireworks display. Some of them pointed to Kyle's building.

  Sydney raced toward the banister, where one of the party guests stood, gaping down. Sydney glanced over the railing, and for a moment, her heart stopped.

  There, suspended four stories above the stone patio, was her son. Eli clung to a storm drain along the roof's edge. He had nothing beneath him to break his fall. The gutter let out a groan--as if it might give and snap off at any moment. Eli looked terrified. Sydney could see him trembling. He had tears in his eyes. With one hand, he tried to grab at the bottom of the railing, but it was just out of his reach.

  "It's okay, honey!" she cried out to him. "Don't try to move!"

  Without thinking, Sydney immediately kicked off her shoes, then hoisted herself up ove
r the banister. She scooted along the roof's edge until she was almost directly above Eli.

  The other party guests didn't seem to know how to help. Frantic, they gathered toward that side of the roof. "Help me get something down there to break his fall!" one man cried. Then he and another guest ducked inside. Howard kept screaming that they should call the police or the fire department. Kyle had gotten down on his stomach and thrust his arms through the bars in an effort to retrieve him, but Eli was too far away.

  The gutter creaked again, and Sydney could see it buckling from Eli's weight.

  "Oh, God, Mom, help...please..." he whispered.

  "You're going to be all right, honey," she said, crouching down. The heels of her bare feet stuck out over the roof's edge. She gripped a railing bar with one hand, then reached down to her son. Through the bars, her brother grabbed her arm with both hands. Kyle clung to her so tightly, it almost cut off her circulation.

  Fireworks lit up the sky, accompanied by loud booms and blasts. But no one was looking up.

  "Hold on!" somebody was yelling from a rooftop across the way.

  Four stories down, two of Kyle's friends ran out to the patio with sofa cushions and pillows. They made a pile directly below where Eli was dangling. One of them ran inside--obviously for more objects to cushion the impact should Eli fall.

  Sydney managed to get ahold of Eli's wrist. The storm drain let out another yawn. She braced herself. "I have you," she said, tightening her grip. "You can let go of the gutter now. I won't drop you, honey, I swear."

  Eli bit his lip so hard it started to bleed. He let go of the gutter.

  The sudden weight almost pulled her down, but Sydney held on. Wincing, she started to hoist him up, but Eli was heavier than she thought. For a moment, she thought he might yank her arm out of its socket.

  Howard got down on his knees, then reached between the bars and grabbed Eli under his arms. That lightened the load incredibly. Two more partygoers reached out to help pull him up to the railing. Eli was able to swing his leg up to the edge of the roof and then he lifted himself. "Thank you...everybody," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "I--I'm really sorry..."