Not Me (A Camille Grace FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1)

PROLOGUE Victoria walked down the streets of New Orleans, gripping her jacket closely to ward of the early morning chill. She was trying not to think of the noise she kept hearing behind her. She’d put it out of her mind at first, maybe just a stray dog or people walking past down another street. She checked over her shoulder one more time: still nothing. It had become too late in the night. She’d told her friends she'd wanted to leave that bar earlier, but no one had listened, and in typical fashion, they'd decided to part ways with her at the last second and leave her to walk home alone. It had seemed like a decent idea at first but in the darkness, passing multiple alleyways and shrouded buildings, she was starting to have second thoughts. She made a mental note to start carrying pepper spray in her purse. It was something she’d always intended to do but never quite got around to. There it was again. The noise. With thoughts of pepper spray in her head, it sounded more ominous now. She walked faster, hoping she could get home before she discovered what was making those noises. When the noise came again, she glanced back. Was that a person she saw? The shape of a head, the rounded of shapes of shoulders on either side. Yes, it was definitely a person. They were still a good distance behind her, but he was there. But even so…was he following her? It was hard to tell. The figure wasn’t exactly lurking, but he seemed to have no real reason for being there. Just sort of loitering. His footsteps behind her were coming faster. She didn't dare look back as paranoia sank its hooks. Besides, she thought. How do I know it’s a him? She picked up her pace. Running was going to be impossible in the high heels she was wearing. Besides, it was probably nothing, and she’d only make a fool of herself. Jesus, she needed to get a grip. That’s what she got, she supposed, for leaving the bar so late. She walked on, trying to ignore him—the figure. And though she tried to stay calm, she realized thirty seconds later that she could hear him breathing now. They were close enough for her to think that maybe she was being followed. Victoria threw off her shoes and ran. She was more than a block away from her apartment and she knew she was pretty fast. Even if she did look stupid to anyone that might see her, she didn’t care. She ran. She was gasping for air by the time she reached the porch of her house. She fumbled for her keys, eventually finding them in her purse and stumbling to get them into the lock. She turned the knob and went inside, locking the door behind her, and letting out a sigh of relief. She was safe. Home. But for some reason, she still didn’t feel safe. She couldn't help it. She had to see. Had the guy followed her all the way home? Was he outside, looking at her house from the sidewalk? She had to know. Slowly, tentatively, she went to the window and peered outside. Right away, a gasp crawled up her throat. There was a man out there, his face mostly covered in night shadows. And worst of all, he was not on the sidewalk, but in her yard. In fact, he was staring right at her through the window. She felt her chest go cold, paralyzed with fear. On the other side of the glass, he offered her a wide, jagged smile. He then raised his hand and she immediately saw the brick he held in his grasp. Before she could react, he launched the brick in her direction. The window shattered and she jumped back with a squeal as shards of glass came raining down, inside, on the floor. Then, as if she had a front row seat to an actual, living nightmare, he punched the glass around the frame away and stepped through. He entered her house as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Please," she whispered to the stranger, "please. I—I don't want to die." Victoria was too frightened to say anything else. She found it too hard to draw a whole breath. The man grabbed her face and Victoria swatted at him, trying to kick him away. The intruder managed to get a hand across her mouth and held her tightly to his body. He said nothing to her, but studied her face as if looking for something very specific. His smile remained on his face as he leaned in close. She saw him pull something out of his jacket pocket, but she couldn’t see it clearly from the angle he held her in. Was that a needle? A pin of some kind? She couldn't tell. All she knew was that it gleamed in the streetlight that came in through her window. Victoria screamed against the man’s hand as something sharp pricked her. She tried to scream again, but the breath had been taken from her. And all that was left was darkness.