“Obviously someone is, dumbass,” she muttered, willing her hand to stop trembling. Made her feel overexposed and paranoid, as if someone were stalking her. All had been annoying and slightly disturbing, but nothing major, because after all, she’d made more enemies than friends over the last couple of years. This letter wasn’t much different than the nineteen that had come before it. A shudder worked its way down her spine as she read the letter for the tenth time. Letters couldn’t hurt people.Īlana picked up the newest one, her lips compressing into a tight, tense line that would surely give her premature wrinkles. They were just stupid letters from someone who was obviously on the deranged side of things. Smoothing the stray hairs at her temples, she cursed again. should’ve stopped this, because who would’ve seriously put effort into finding her clear across the country, in a different time zone? Someone who was absolutely psychotic. All she had there was a small condo, and besides, she’d wanted out of the city for other reasons. There was something about the nation’s capital that had drawn her in, and she really hadn’t put roots down in L.A., not the kind that had her yearning to return home while traveling for work. She leaned forward and picked up the most recent letter, the one that had arrived in the mail today-the one she had been dreading since February.Īfter working to repair the notorious reputation-which she had done so spectacularly, like always-of Chad Gamble, all-star pitcher for the Nationals, she’d decided to stay in Washington, D.C. A habit she’d picked up in high school and hadn’t been able to break since. “Well, shit on a shitter.”Ĭursing was unladylike, and while Alana strived to maintain a sensible, responsible image, in private, she cursed like a street thug in the middle of a drug deal gone baaaad. Everything had to be in order and have a purpose.Īnd what was resting on her coffee table definitely was not a part of the plan-of any plan.Īlana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Granny had always kept everything neat and clean, to the point that it was borderline disturbing, which explained why Alana, as an adult, couldn’t stand things to be displaced or messy. As a small child, Alana had spent many of her afternoons after school using the hallway downstairs in the quiet home as a Slip’N Slide. Everything, including the hardwood floors, had been doused in the stuff.
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Granny Gore had been obsessed with Pine-Sol like it was a geriatric version of crack coc**ne.
The faint smell of lemon lingered in the air, a scent that reminded Alana Gore of her grandmother’s house. Spread across the recently polished coffee table, twenty letters were open and faceup.
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