Seaside Secrets. Dana Mentink

“I could ask you the same thing.”

      The air in the stairwell closed in, her palms went damp, breathing shallow, the familiar sense that her body was about to spin out of control. Don’t give in. She’d decided to go back up, outrun him to the next floor, when she saw a man step out onto the landing above her. Someone to help. She let out a gasping breath.

      He looked over the railing at her, unsmiling, black eyes scanning.

      “Sir...” she started, moving toward him. Something in the flat expression on his face made her pause. He was a blurred image of Harry, a relative, a brother. He rested his palms on the railing and stared at her.

      Something cold slithered up her back. Cut off. No escape. She forced herself to keep breathing and speak calmly. “Is that a friend of yours?”

      “My brother, Peter.”

      She looked again at Peter, still as granite and just as cold.

      Terror ricocheted inside her. Keep talking. Stall until Dan comes. Or another passerby. “Did you see a woman run by here?” she asked Harry.

      “A woman?” He laughed. “Women run by me all the time and never even look back.” He pushed open the door and held it for her. “Were you going to exit? Allow me.”

      The sunshine flooded through the door, enticing her with the promise of escape. She considered running back up to the second floor and trying to pass Peter, but the exit door was open wide, fresh air only a few feet away. Tantalizing. More than anything else, she desperately wanted to run toward freedom, away from Harry and his brother.

      Keeping out of reach, she edged closer, ready to scream for help if Gruber made any move to detain her. He didn’t.

      Had she imagined a threat where there wasn’t one?

      Sweat dampened her brow. Paranoia? Were Harry Gruber and his brother just two innocent bystanders? Neither one had touched her or uttered so much as a single threat. Doubt flooded in.

      As she passed, she noticed something that didn’t belong.

      There, against the background of Harry’s neat yellow shirt, was an imprint left by two bloody fingers pressed against his chest.