Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

within a few strides. Soon her breath was rasping in and out of her lungs. When she risked one more glance back, she saw the killer running after her.
    Oh, God. Oh, God.
    She snapped her head forward and refused to look again.
    Where should I go? Back to Camelot and the pudgy security guard?
    She paused for a heartbeat, then decided to takechances with the Friday night crowds at Dupont Circle’s restaurants and clubs.
    Feet pounded closer behind her.
    She pushed her burning legs into running faster. She was in decent shape from regular workouts, but sprinting wasn’t part of her routine. Her bare feet slapped on the slick pavement as fast as she could make them move. Raindrops hit her mouth as she tried to breathe. They tasted sweet, and eased the dryness of her lips.
    She could feel the force of the man’s will reaching out to her. It was almost a physical touch. She was terrified that she would feel his hand grab her shoulder or hair at any second.
    With a tight sound of fear and exertion, she turned left and raced down a dark backstreet filled with Dumpsters and cardboard boxes. She thought there was a bar or something on the corner at the end of the alley.
    It never occurred to Claire to call for help. With her body in pure survival mode and her throat paralyzed by fear, she focused on escape. She had to get to a safe place before he caught up with her.
    God, how long is this street?
    She felt as if she were running flat out yet standing still. The end of the alley seemed no closer than when she’d started. For the first time she wondered if she would get away. Then she heard the sawing breath of the man behind her and knew if he caught her she would die.
    Fresh adrenaline shot through her, giving her a rush of strength. She opened the gap between herself and the man chasing her.
    When she finally reached the street, Claire’s instincts took her to the right. Her heart sank when she saw that the area was empty—no cars, no pedestrians, everyone hadbeen driven inside by the summer rain that continued to pour down in wind-driven waves.
    But the faint pulsing beat of music drew her forward. Two doors up the street she saw neon lights coming from windows set at basement level—a nightclub. A set of dark metal stairs was all that separated Claire from safety. She threw herself down the steps as fast as she could force her trembling legs to move.
    Risking one more glance behind her, Claire didn’t see any sign of the man chasing her, but she knew he could come around the corner at any moment. She paused to look again, and the momentary break in her rhythm caused her bare feet to slip on the metal stairs.
    Between one heartbeat and the next, her feet went out from under her. With a defeated cry, she felt herself falling. When she struck the back of her head with brutal force on the metal edge of a stair, the world went briefly white, then black.

Chapter 3

B itch.
    The man couldn’t believe she had outrun him.
    What was she, a fucking gazelle?
    He’d planned the evening perfectly—things were supposed to go smoothly, just like the other times. And everything had, until she’d shown up.
    Frustrated rage gave him strength. He threw himself around the corner of the alley and into the street. A moment of rational thought slowed him down. He looked around; the woman was gone.
    Did she get away?
    He paused to calm his breathing. His other senses began to process the surrounding environment—the wet pavement smell and the steam rising lazily off the street. The thunderstorm was moving to the east, leaving behind cooler temperatures.
    As his breathing slowed, he heard music nearby, a throbbing undertone of bass that penetrated the sound of the rain. The volume increased. Doors opened, and a rush of voices added to the din. The man slowly approached a stairway that led down to the source of the music. He glanced up at the sign over the entrance.
    Suds ’n Studs—Ladies Only.
    A strip bar. How very tacky. Cautiously looking around the corner and down the stairway, he saw a mass of women huddled around something on the steps. The gazelle, apparently.
    “Is she breathing?”
    “God, what happened?”
    “Her eyes are twitching, is she having a seizure?”
    The questions came rapid fire, directed at no one in particular. Bellowing for someone inside to call 911, a muscled bouncer tried to clear the excited patrons away from the stairs. From just inside the doors, a woman pushed through the crowd, shouting that she