The chill of the evening wasn’t a bother. There was no need to hurry. Besides, she had nowhere to go.
She halted in front of a display of sinful pastries. Along with the tantalizing scents of nutmeg and cinnamon wafting from the bakery, an overload of better-time memories swept over her. She blinked several times, refusing to get weepy.
After spending a better part of the day trying to rise above the malaise, she still felt like crap. Neither the seasonal splendor nor the afternoon of window-shopping had done much to dispel the remnants of the nightmares.
The memory of the dreams and the related sensation of being chased made her shudder. And if that wasn’t enough to frighten, the thought of a hit man—
Enough of that. Kimberly stiffened her spine and turned away from the images in her mind. A prickle teased the base of her neck, and she increased the pace. Could the rumor be true? Was someone following her?
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