Angels Fall by Nora Roberts Page A

the counter under the doorknob whenever she was in the room.
     
    Slow again today. Nearly everyone who came in was a local. It's too late to ski or snowboard, though I hear some of the mountain passes won't be open for another few weeks. It's strange to think there must be feet of snow above us, while down here it's all mud and brown grass.
    People are so odd. I wonder if they really don't know I can tell when they're talking about me, or if they think it's just natural. I suppose it is
    natural, especially in such a small town. I can stand at the grill or the stove and feel the words pressing against the back of my neck.
    They're all so curious, but they don't come right out and ask. I guess that wouldn't be polite, so they hedge around.
    I have tomorrow off. A full day off. I was so busy cleaning in here, setting things up on my last day off, I barely noticed. But this time when I first saw the schedule I nearly panicked. What would I do, how would I get through a full day and night without a job to do?
    Then I decided I'd hike up the canyon as I'd planned when I first got here. I'll take one of the easy trails, go as far as I can, watch the river. Maybe the rocks are still clacking, the way Lo said they did. I want to see the white water, the moraines, the meadows and marshes. Maybe someone will be rafting on the river. I'll pack a little lunch and take my time.
    It's a long way from the Back Bay to the Snake River.
     
    THE KITCHEN WAS brightly lit, and Recce hummed along with Sheryl Crow as she scrubbed down the stove. The kitchen, she thought, was officially closed.
    It was her last night at Maneo's—the end of an era for her—so she intended to leave her work space sparkling.
    She had the entire week off, and then— then —she'd start Dream Job as head chef for Oasis. Head chef, she thought, doing a little dance as she worked, for one of the hottest, trendiest restaurants in Boston. She'd supervise a staff of fifteen, design her own signature dishes, and put her work up against the very best in the business.
    The hours would be vicious, the pressure insane.
    She couldn't wait.
    She'd helped train Marco herself, and between him and Tony Maneo, they'd do fine. She knew Tony and his wife, Lisa, were happy for her. In tact, she had good reason to know—since her prep cook. Donna, couldn't keep a secret—that there was a party being set tip right now to celebrate her new position, and to say goodbye.
    She imagined Tony had waved the last customers away by now, except for a handfull of regulars who'd have been invited to her goodbye party.
    She was going to miss this place, miss the people, but it was time for this next step. She'd worked for it. studied for it, planned for it. and now it was about to happen.
    Stepping back from the stove, she nodded in approval, then carried the cleaning supplies to the little utility closet to put them away.
    The crash from outside the kitchen had her rolling her eyes. But the screams that followed it spun her around. When gunfire exploded, she froze. Even as she tumbled her cell phone out of her pocket, the swinging door slammed open. There was a blur of movement, and an instant of fear. She saw the gun, saw nothing but the gun. So black, so big.
    Then she was flung backward into the closet, punched by a hot, unspeakable pain in her chest.
     
    TH E SCREAM she'd never loosed ripped out of Reece now as she lurched up in bed, pressing a hand high on her chest. She could feel it, that pain, where the bullet had struck. The fire of it, the shock of it. But when she looked at her hand, there was no blood; when she rubbed her skin, there was only the scar.
    "It's all right. I'm all right. Just a dream. Dreaming, that's all." But she trembled all over as she grabbed her flashlight and got up to check the door, the windows.
    No one was there, not a soul moved on the street below, on the lake. The cabins and houses were dark. No one was coming to finish what they'd begun two years before.