Miss No One, Mark Ayre [romantic love story reading .TXT] 📗

They were transparent, but the moon reflected off the glass, and all was dark on the other side. Thus, Abbie couldn’t see how far the figure had progressed after entering, nor into what kind of space Abbie would be walking.

One of a nervous disposition might have used these shortfalls as excuses to walk away. It was possible the figure had heard Abbie scale the fence and follow her tracks through the gravel. To lull Abbie into a false sense of security, she could have proceeded as though nothing was wrong. Knowing Abbie was not far behind, the figure might have her shoulder pressed to the wall on the other side of the doors, waiting for Abbie to enter. Once Abbie had taken two or three paces, the figure would strike, plunging a knife into Abbie's back or putting a bullet through her skull.

For several years, Abbie had lived a life short on happiness and personal fulfilment. She found satisfaction in saving lives, but even her successes were tinged with sadness and guilt. For every life she saved, at least one she failed, and several more she ended. Abbie tried not to kill except in defence of herself or others. The people she killed were always guilty of numerous despicable crimes. That made stopping their hearts easier. It did not make it easy. Nor did it stop those murders taking their toll on Abbie’s already fractured soul.

Such an existence did not mean Abbie craved death, but did help reduce the fear of taking actions which might hasten its arrival. Made it easier to step into situations others, people with something to lose, might consider too risky or dangerous. There was also, and this was something she always struggled to admit, a niggling feeling in the back of her mind that death might return Abbie to her little sister, Violet, lost so many years ago. On the other hand, it would leave no one to visit her older brother, Paul, in prison. Not that she had done that recently. Had to be better—something for the to-do list.

Not now, though. Abbie reached forward and grabbed the handle. She was unarmed. If danger awaited her beyond the glass, inside, Abbie would have to act fast to survive. She was alarmed to realise she was hesitating due to higher than usual levels of fear.

Maybe this was to be expected. For years, Abbie’s life had been empty except for her missions and Ben, the mysterious representative of the organisation that paid Abbie's bills and put food on her table, thus freeing her up to save lives. She had been alone and alone was how the organisation liked her.

To them, loneliness equalled efficiency.

But, recently, Abbie's situation had changed.

Ninety minutes ago, at midnight, Abbie had awoken from a dream in which she had watched a young girl, maybe seven or eight, screaming, crying, dying. Abbie didn’t know the girl. Didn't know her name or anything about her. Only what she looked like. Slim, with black hair and bright blue eyes. Until she got in her car and started to drive, Abbie hadn't even known where the girl lived.

On more than fifty previous occasions, Abbie had woken at midnight following similar prophetic dreams. Always she rose, showered, and departed her home or hotel room in the direction of the stranger Abbie now knew to be in mortal peril.

Today had been different. Previously, Abbie had always woken alone. Today, Bobby slept beside her.

It was not the first time Bobby had shared her bed. Things were different now. Abbie had something to lose.

So she hesitated, her hand trembling on the door. For that, she hated herself. Maybe her life now contained more happiness, more fulfilment, but she had promised this wouldn't change how she went about her duty.

A young, innocent child was in grave danger. Abbie couldn’t afford to let up.

Not today.

Against that nagging fear in the back of her mind, in defiance of the sweat on her palms and brow, Abbie opened the left of the double doors and stepped inside.

Where no one tried to kill her. At least not right away.

Immediately on entering, Abbie turned left, turned right, looked ahead. Once she’d cleared the space visually, she closed her eyes—listened.

And heard footsteps, halfway between this floor and the one above. Moving up.

The dealership’s ground floor comprised a small waiting area, a coffee-making station and six comfortable booths where pushy salespeople would attempt to shift “valuable” extras to their unwitting customers. In the far corner was an office—more glass. Abbie saw a desk, a bookshelf, a bag on the floor. A couple of plant pots, probably for show. This was not the big cheese’s office. More likely a medium-sized cheese—the sales floor manager rather than the dealership owner, who would have an office upstairs.

Where Abbie’s quarry now headed.

Just through the double doors, Abbie waited, trying to decipher any sound which might indicate the figure was not alone in the building.

Once Abbie followed the woman, made her way upstairs, the ease with which she could escape a dangerous situation would diminish. That would be okay. That had to be okay.

Before Abbie had left home, Bobby had said, Stay safe. Come back to me.

What a dick. Obviously, those words were going to rattle her whenever she stepped into a dangerous scenario. Those words could end up as shackles around her wrists when the going got tough. They probably wouldn’t lead to Abbie’s death.

They might cause someone else’s.

Stepping across the ground floor of the dealership, towards the door which concealed the staircase, Abbie tried to shake those words free. Tried to shake her anger at Bobby free, too. She had taken a significant risk telling him the truth about her life. He had struggled to believe it. Personal experience helped. Still, this was the first time she’d been called to action since they started dating. It was always going to be tough.

Stay safe. Come back to me.

Silently, Abbie groaned. Dick, dick, dick.

She yanked open the stairwell door. Too harsh, too loud.