Party Crashers

I'd talked to him."
    "So why did he come to you at all?"
    "He said he wanted to warn me that both our lives will be in danger if I go to the police."
    "Gee, Jolie, he's either crazy or crazy in love if he'd risk his life just to talk to you. Do you believe him?"
    "I don't know...maybe. He was definitely scared."
    " Tell me you're going to the police."
    Jolie bit into her lip. "I've been going back and forth trying to decide...but I don't think so, not yet anyway. Gary didn't tell me anything useful, and he said he needed some time to get his ducks in a row."
    "You mean, like to get away?" Leann asked dryly.
    "If he wanted to get away, he's had plenty of time to do that. I think he's trying to gather evidence against the people who set him up. He said then he'd go to the police himself."
    "Jolie . . ." Leann's voice petered out.
    "I know—you think I'm being gullible."
    "Jolie, for God's sake, he's a fugitive. You could get into big trouble."
    "Leann, I'm not harboring him."
    "Do you know where he's staying?"
    "No—if I did, I would definitely call the police. But they're already accusing me of knowing more than I do. If I told them I talked to Gary and that he didn't tell me anything, do you think they would believe me?"
    "That actually makes sense. Either that or I'm sleep deprived. Do you think you'll see him again?"
    "I don't know. He said he'd be keeping an eye on me, to make sure I'm safe."
    Leann made a choking sound. "Doesn't that creep you out?"
    "A little," she admitted. "But he actually sounded...protective."
    "I didn't realize you cared so much for this guy."
    Jolie sighed. "It's not a matter of how much I care for Gary. When that detective accused me of being an accessory, I felt helpless. If Gary is innocent, I don't want to be the person to make things worse. You had to be there, Leann, to hear his voice."
    Leann made a rueful noise. "I'll support you if you're sure."
    "I'm not sure of anything these days."
    "I just don't want to see you wreck your life over someone like Gary Hagan."
    Jolie gave a wry laugh as she wheeled into her parking place. "That would imply I had a life to wreck. I just pulled into the complex. Thanks for keeping me company on the way home."
    "No problem. Look, Jolie, I know you're not big on guns, but think about getting a dog or something." She sighed. "I hate not being there—is there someone you can call if you're in real trouble? Your party-crasher friend, maybe?"
    The thought of Carlotta coming to her rescue was so absurd, she almost laughed. Then, unbidden, the face of Beck Underwood popped into her mind. That protective air, the note of concern in his voice.
    She swallowed. "There's...someone. But only if I'm in real trouble."
    "Good. Look, I hate to run, but I think I hear my sister calling. Stay in touch, okay?"
    "Okay." Jolie disconnected the call and exhaled a shaky breath. She looked all around the parking lot until she was satisfied that no one was lurking in the shadows. After gathering her purse, she opened the car door and pushed herself to her feet. She slammed the door with all her strength to warn any would-be attackers that if assaulted, she could at least make a lot of noise, then trotted to the bay of metal mailboxes next to the sidewalk. Her neglected six-by-six-inch box was stuffed full. She yanked the envelopes and catalogs out by handfuls, shoving them into her purse until she could scrutinize them in the light.
    A noise behind her sent her heart to her throat, but it was only a neighbor's air-conditioning unit kicking on. Even so, she galloped to her door and unlocked it as if the devil were on her heels. Then she walked from room to room, slapping on lights and checking windows and lifting the dust ruffle on her bed. Satisfied that no one was lying in wait, she walked back into the living area and flipped on the television for comforting noise. Then she dropped into her favorite chair to sort through the mail.
    Junk mail, catalogs, flyers, bills. A reminder from her doctor for her annual checkup, a schedule of adult education classes from a local university, a copy of the Atlanta Business Chronicle . She flipped through and sorted everything twice, but there was nothing from Gary. And while her credit card statements showed disquieting balances, there was no unusual activity.
    But then hadn't Gary said that money was no problem?
    She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to remember everything he'd said, and wondering if she should have handled things