Chapter 77
Savannah
Last week
Savannah stared at the woman, her mind scrambling to understand.
On some level, there was tiny relief. It’s a woman.
A woman in a black T-shirt and black jeans and heavy Dr. Martens boots.
No mask hiding her face. Whatever this person wanted, at least it was a woman.
Women didn’t hurt people, right? She took in the wild hair, the angry, red-rimmed eyes.
Someone having a psychotic episode? A neighbor, maybe?
Someone who’d been drinking? She couldn’t smell drink.
It didn’t seem like a drink thing. A burglary? Did women burgle?
Savannah opened her mouth to tell her to leave, to ask what was happening, but couldn’t find the words. Her throat seemed to have closed over. The woman stepped forward, towering over her. Savannah shrank against the wall.
“I…I have jewelry. It’s upstairs. Take it all. I don’t have cash. But take the laptop, my phone, whatever you want.” She swallowed, her voice gone again.
The woman stepped closer.
“I don’t need your jewelry, Susan,” the woman hissed. “I need you to take responsibility for what you’ve done.”
Susan?
“I’m not Su—” A hand shot out and grabbed the front of her T-shirt, twisting the fabric, pulling her close. Hot breath on her skin. The stale smell of cigarettes and coffee. And eyes flashing with white-hot rage.