Fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm dead meat.

Someone must have thought she took the money, and killed her. Who knows, maybe they even tortured the poor, skinny blonde in the purple dress to make her tell them where she hid it. But she didn't have it, I did-and if that was the case...tag, I was it.

My stomach twisted and turned with a wave of nausea. The air in the room was heavy and my lungs struggled to pull in enough of it. Oh my God, am I having a panic attack? Maybe it's a heart attack...arrrgh.

I'll just give the money to the police. Yes, that's what I should do. But would that actually save me? Oh no, the police would question me and ask why I didn't turn over the money last night, and surely the people who were looking for it would still come after me. Maybe they already were.

A cold chill ran down my spine as the thought entered my mind that someone may have already been staking out my apartment.

I picked up my phone again and called Jerry.

It only rang once before I heard his angry voice say, "About fucking time, Dani...you could return my call. What the hell happened here last night?"

"Didn't Kathy fill you in? A guy died in Room 1215."

"Yeah, but she didn't mention anything about this guy being connected. I just had two lowlife scum yelling and screaming at me about last night. They were fucking packing heat, and they weren't cops, if you know what I mean."

"Really? What did they want?" I hissed into the phone, and cupped my hand around the bottom of it so no one could hear, then moved as far away from the bedroom door as possible.

"What do you think? They wanted to know who worked the shift last night. They wanted to know who called it in."

"Fuck, Jerry. What did you tell them?"

"What could I do? I had to tell them it was you. They threatened to shoot me on the spot. Sorry, Dani."

This wasn't real, this wasn't happening. I crawled into the corner of my bedroom and sat on the floor with my back against the wall. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I couldn't comprehend it all. This was it. My life was about to be over.

I took another deep breath and spoke more calmly this time. "When did all this happen?"

"I don't know. About an hour ago. I tried calling you, but you never pick up your goddamn phone." He paused and there was a moment of silence on the other end. Then he said, "Hey, listen. I wouldn't go home if I were you."

"I am fucking home, you dipshit."

"Well, whatever, Dani, just be careful..."

I ended the call and rubbed the palms of my hands on my face, pushing them up into my hair. My mind was racing as I glanced over at my backpack. Why did I take that stupid money? What the hell had I gotten myself into?

The ringing of the doorbell shattered my already shaky nerves and I about jumped out of my skin. My whole body shook from the adrenaline rush as I tiptoed out into the hallway. Squinting with one eye shut, I peered through the little hole in the door. Thank God. It was the cop. He was wearing a uniform. I opened the door a crack, still with the chain attached.

"Miss Carrington?" he said.

I nodded.

"I'm Deputy Larkin. I'm here to pick you up to see Detective Anderson."

"Can I see your badge?" I asked.

The cop glared, annoyed, but held out the badge. It looked authentic.

I unchained the door to let him in, but left it standing open...just in case...

"Hold on a sec. I'll be right back," I said as I hurried into my bedroom to retrieve my backpack. I had no plans of coming back for a while.

I was relieved, well sort of, now that the cop was here. I was carrying a shitload of stolen money and an even bigger shitload of guilt, but at least with a police escort, there was no way any thugs would approach me for the time being.

I grabbed my jacket and swung the backpack over my shoulder, and I left my apartment with the cop as my shadow.

Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that sitting in a police car would be a good thing. I had always envisioned myself cuffed and thrown in the back, kicking and screaming, pounding my feet against the metal grate, shouting out my innocence. But here I was, comfortably situated in the passenger seat. Deputy Larkin's face was like stone, and he kept it straight ahead while he drove. I wondered if guilt could be read in people's eyes, and gave him a phony smile for good measure.

As the patrol car snaked its way through the streets of Manhattan, I was finally able to think straight. I realized that I couldn't bring the backpack with the money into the station. They probably used X-ray machines like the ones at the airport. Most all of the government buildings used them, especially a police station, and every handbag had to be scanned. There was just no way to explain a backpack jammed full of hundred dollar bills.

Could I leave it in the car? No way. Who knows if the same deputy would drive me back? Looking out through the windshield, I recognized the street we were at. There was a deli just two blocks from here. My classmate, Dylan, worked there part time. If he was there today, he could stash the backpack for me while I went to the station. He'd always seemed to have the hots for me, trying to talk to me whenever he got a chance. I trusted him. My only concern was that if anybody was following me, I wouldn't want to risk putting a friend in danger. I checked the rear window. There were no cars behind us. Not that I was an expert at it, but it looked all clear to me.

I glanced to my left. Deputy Stone Face was focused on driving. I gripped the straps of my backpack in my hands. I hadn't let go of them even when I sat down in the car. I squeezed them so tightly, it felt like they were burning the mark of the Devil into my skin.

"I'm actually starving," I said. "There's a deli up here on the next street. Any chance we can make a quick stop so I can grab a sandwich?"

"There's no time for a stop, miss."

"Hey, if I have to look at a dead body to identify that woman, I'd better have something in my stomach. Otherwise someone's going to have to mop up some puke from the floor," I said, trying my best to look pale. "I get very queasy on an empty stomach."

He glared at me and then checked his watch. "You better make it damn quick. Detective Anderson doesn't like waiting."

He stopped the car in front of the small Italian deli. Dylan had better be working today. Before exiting the car, I checked the rear window again, but there was no car pulling up behind us. I exhaled a sigh of relief.

The bell tinkled on the door as I entered the Italian deli. An aroma heavy with garlic filled my nostrils. An elderly woman behind the counter asked, "What can I get you for, honey?"

"Is Dylan here?"

Her eyes lit up as she looked me up and down, then she yelled over her shoulder to an open doorway, "Dylan, your girlfriend is here."

Before I could reply that I was not his girlfriend, Dylan popped out the back room with a wide smile when he saw me.

"Hey, Dani, what are you doing here?" He seemed happy to see me but a little confused. He probably thought all of his flirtatious advances had finally paid off. "Did you come for lunch? I can make a great salami sandwich...."

"Can I talk to you for a second?" I gave a nervous look at the lady and she moved away to clean off a table out in front of the deli case.

"Sure, we can talk in here." He led me into the back room.

"I need a huge favor. Can you help me?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Something bad happened last night. A guy died at my work, you know, at the hotel where I work. Now the police are bringing me in for questioning. I totally forgot that I have two ounces of weed in my bag, and obviously I can't bring it to the station. They are going to X-ray the bag. Can I get you to hold it here for a couple of hours?"

His eyes widened and his mouth arched into a smile. "Of course. No problem, but you'll owe me. How about a date Friday night?"

I would probably not even be in town Friday night. He was a nice guy and I felt bad for leading him on like this. But I had no other choice. I promised myself to make it up to him, someday, somehow. "Absolutely. Thank you so much." I started to unzip the backpack but stopped. "Maybe I shouldn't take it out here." I nodded in the direction of the door and his co-worker.

"Right. My boss is quite the curious lady. Give me the whole backpack, and I will keep it with my stuff here."

"Thanks. Just promise me that you won't go through my shit." I looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Hey, I might be a guy but I'm not a douche. I would never do that. I promise."

I handed him the bag, and he stashed it in his work locker and pushed the door shut.

I gave him a big hug and was on my way out of the deli when I realized I'd forgotten to get a sandwich. In the corner of my eyes, I spied a couple of sandwiches sitting behind the deli case on the counter as if Mamma Spumoni had just made them for a takeout order. It must have been a phone order-there was no one in the shop-yet they were wrapped and ready to go. I left a twenty-dollar bill in their place on the cutting board as payment and hurried out to the patrol car.

"What took so long?" the officer asked.

"I couldn't decide what to get. Here, I got you one as well."

He looked at me with bewilderment as I thrust one of the sandwiches in his direction. "You're a weird one, you know that?"

"I know. I get that a lot from people."

He shrugged and took the sandwich.

Chapter Seven.

There was no question about it. She was "the hooker." I felt awful referring to her in such a crude way as she laid dead on the gurney. It would have been nice to know her name. I could have called her by it every time I saw her come in the lobby of the Greymore. She deserved that much. Look at her there, so skinny, so frail. What a pity. What a wasted life. I had seen her come to the hotel many nights with different customers, always sniffing and wiping her nose, the telltale signs of cocaine abuse, and I never even knew her name.

Her head was severely damaged and her blonde, fake doll hair was gone now, probably removed by the coroner. Or torn off her head in her last struggle...she was really a brunette. I could see her true color now from little tufts of hair protruding in an undignified manner from her scalp. From all the bruises on her body, I concluded that she had been beaten up badly before being killed. I turned my head away to stare at the sterile white tile floor.

"That's the woman from last night," I confirmed.

"The one you saw with Mr. Gianni?"

"Mr. Gianni?" My head popped up. "That wasn't the name he gave at the front desk when he checked in."

"No, I realize that, but his real name was Franco Gianni," Detective Anderson informed me.

Gianni-that name sounded familiar. It reminded me of those old gangster movies but then maybe it was just because it was an Italian name.

"Who was he?" I asked.

"I am not at liberty to discuss the case, but I can tell you that he was involved in illegal gambling affairs. Let's go back to my office. I just have a couple of questions, and then you'll be free to go."

His whole demeanor and this entire place made me feel uneasy. "Do I need a lawyer here?"

"Why would you need a lawyer? You're not a suspect, you're a witness," he said with a suspicious stare.

"Oh, of course, yes, me...the witness, that's me. I've just never been questioned before by the police." The dryness in my mouth made it hard for me to swallow. I glanced down at my hand in my lap. I fought the urge to twist and wring them.

"You'll be fine," he assured me. "I just need to know a couple of details from last night. Please, come in."

As we entered his cramped office, he pulled out the chair for me then took a seat behind his desk. He flipped open a file folder, the color of mud, and scratched a few notes on one of the papers within it. In the few moments of awkward silence, I peered over the desk, straining to see what he was writing. Was it about me? Maybe he was just documenting the time and date of the interview.

"Tell me, do you remember seeing Mr. Gianni carrying anything with him last night?"

My heart jumped. I struggled to keep from biting my lip or averting my eyes. At least I had learned in my psychology class in college that people avert their eyes if they are stressed...or lying. With a straight face, I answered, "No, he wasn't carrying anything, from what I recall."

"You are absolutely sure about that?" Wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes as he narrowed them.

"Absolutely," I said. I pressed my sweaty palms to the fabric of my jeans and pushed them slowly down my thighs when the detective lowered his eyes to jot down more notes. His eyes flicked up again. "His hands were too busy groping the hooker to be carrying anything." I looked Detective Anderson straight in the eyes without blinking.

He seemed annoyed but satisfied with my answer as he continued to ask more questions. I replied as truthfully as I could, avoiding any further mention about items Mr. Gianni might have been carrying.

"Okay, that's about all I need, I think. Thank you for coming down to the station, Miss Carrington. I appreciate it. Let me get Deputy Cunningham. He'll drive you home."

"Do you think whoever killed the woman might still be hanging around the Greymore Hotel? I mean, I don't want to work somewhere that's not safe."

"I don't think the two cases are related, so I wouldn't worry if I were you. But having said that..." He leaned across the desk and softened his voice. "If you were my daughter, I wouldn't let you work there. It's not a safe neighborhood, if you know what I mean."

I swallowed hard and glanced down at a mayonnaise stain on my jeans. It must have dripped off the deli sandwich.

He stood up and shoved his desk chair back. "Look, if anything comes up that shows otherwise, I'll let you know first thing." He held out his hand and I shook it, knowing that he was wrong. Dead wrong. That money in the briefcase, fucking gambling money, dirty money, meant the two cases were very much connected. And now I was connected to the money. Guys with guns had been asking for me at the hotel. As I stepped out into the hallway, I wondered if I would be the first grown woman to piss herself in a police station. I was scared shitless.

"You can just drop me off here," I said to Deputy Cunningham. "I need some air. If you don't mind, I'll just walk the rest of the way home."

The three-hundred-pound deputy glared at me like I was a crazy person for wanting to walk from here, but obliged anyway and pulled over to the curb. It would just be one short block to the door of the Italian deli and my waiting backpack.

"Thanks," I said, and opened the door.

I started walking slowly until the patrol car pulled past me. I didn't want Deputy Cunningham to see me go into the deli, but I was upon it in no time.

As I entered the deli, I found Dylan behind the counter. He turned his head in direction of the back room, indicating that I should follow him.

"Thank you so much, Dylan," I said, smiling at him sweetly as I swung the backpack over my shoulder. From the weight of it, and the serene look on Dylan's face, I could tell everything was still intact. "It would've been pretty bad walking into a police station with weed on me," I said with a laugh. Well, that sounded pretty lame. I never was good at interjecting humor for comedy relief.

"Anytime, Dani. So when can I take you out?"

"As soon as I'm back in town. My grandma is pretty sick, so I have to go back home and help out for a while."

"Oh, sorry to hear that." His brow wrinkled with disappointment. "Hope she's better soon. Will you be gone long?"

"I don't think so. A couple of weeks, maybe. Just until she's stable and can manage for herself."

"Be sure to call me as soon as you're back, and good luck to your grandma." His smile seemed convincingly comforting. He was trying to score some points with me. Poor guy. He wasn't a bad-looking guy, and he wore that deli uniform well. I gave him a hug, then said goodbye. As I walked out, I sensed his eyes following me. He was such a nice guy, but right now I didn't have time to find out if there was even a spark between us to cultivate. For now, I was a woman on the run.