Don’t Run (A Taylor Sage FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 3)

PROLOGUE After a decade of failed auditions, it felt good to be in the spotlight, right where she belonged. Olivia took her last bow as the crowd thundered its applause and she reveled in the moment. Another standing ovation—one more than last night. This was her chance to stick it to all the casting directors and producers and agents who had told her she'd amount to nothing. She wasn't at the Oscars yet, of course, but this late summer Shakespeare theater was no joke. A thousand people, easy, in the crowd, and the venue had sold out night after night. Her lines were ringing now, and when this run ended next week, she knew that a whole new career was ahead of her. She smiled and bowed one last time as the curtain dropped. Backstage was hot and crowded, her fellow actors patting her on the back for her performance. She had nailed it tonight. She had almost felt like Juliet, killing herself in the tomb. For a brief, euphoric moment, she had truly felt transported back in time, to another age. That was the beauty of her profession; she got to live a million different lives, ones so different from her own. "Sorry, Liv,” a voice said, “your car canceled." Olivia looked up to see the stage manager, Mark, a guilty look on his face. “Seriously?” Olivia said. She frowned. It was late; all the cabs in town would probably be swarmed with students leaving the bars. She could try to call another, but it sounded like more trouble than it was worth. Looks like I'm walking, she thought to herself with a sigh. But that was okay. Pine Point had been rated as one of the safest small cities in all of Virginia. Most of the crime was small and petty, or came from the college the town was also known for. It wouldn’t be Olivia’s first time walking home, so she wasn’t worried. Olivia braced herself for the long walk home. It wasn't so bad. It would be refreshing, actually, walking along the boardwalk, along the ocean, with the many others also on their way home. She grabbed her things to go as a crowd tried to get backstage to interview the performers. But that was when she saw it. There, in the packed crowd. A pair of eyes. Shining with something... crazed. Too intense. A chill ran up her spine. They were looking right at her. "Who's that guy?" she asked Mark, who was pacing around backstage, congratulating everyone. "What guy?" he asked. She turned, but he was gone. Had she imagined it? Maybe she’d gotten too deep into her role, and was now as delusional as poor Juliet could be. Passing it off as nothing, Olivia grabbed her stuff and headed out the back door. The fresh air hit her in the face, and she took a deep breath, feeling like herself again. Walking shoes on, she began at a fast clip, marching along the boardwalk. There were many groups of people walking around in the more popular, touristy part of the boardwalk. But as Olivia continued down the shore, toward her apartment, the crowds became sparser. She found herself alone, walking under the moonlight. Waves rolled against the shore, calming her. Above her head, a clear night sky welcomed her. She hugged herself from the cold breeze. Now that it was early September, it was getting extremely cold at night. She glanced at the barrage of texts on her phone, ignoring them for now—but noticed the time. Almost midnight. She hurried her pace. And that was when she heard it. A whistle, behind her. She turned and felt her stomach drop. The same man. The same crazy, intense eyes. Fear nearly turned Olivia to stone. But she had to get away. Without a second thought, she ran. She ran so fast she didn't even realize it until she was almost to the end of the boardwalk. Then, a hand on her shoulder. Olivia screamed and turned. In the shadows, she could barely see him. "Olivia." His face, shadowed and sunken in, was not familiar. "Yes?" she asked, confused. But the man didn’t seem immediately threatening. Had she gotten worked up for nothing? "You scared me," Olivia said, trying to act normal. "I'm sorry," he replied. He was smiling, but his eyes were blank. “What's the rush?" he said. She didn't answer. She didn't know what to say, but she was slowly backing away. He followed. "The play was great tonight," he said. She nodded but felt scared inside. Something was very off with him. She was trying to think of what to say to get away from him. She thought of reaching for her phone. "When do you rehearse, again?" he asked. "We don't," she said, softly. "What do you mean?" "We don't rehearse. We don’t need to anymore. We just perform." “Interesting, for a bunch of fakers,” he said. He took a step forward. She felt trapped. “F-fakers?” she stammered. "How quickly you forget," he mused. Something in his voice was familiar. She felt as if she knew him but couldn't quite place it. "I know you from somewhere," she said, still a little out of breath from her run. “Oh?” he said. “I’m sure you remember me, don’t you, Olivia?” Every molecule in her body screamed at her to run. Olivia didn't let him finish. She ran. His footsteps echoed behind her. Please, God, she prayed as she ran and ran. Just let me survive this. Please. But a moment later, she felt it. His hand on her shoulder. Shoving her. The impact hurt her ribs, her face, on the wooden planks. "Help!" she screamed. But no one was around. She reached, with shaking hands, for her phone—but he kicked it away. And the last thing she saw as she stared up at his gleaming eyes was his hand, holding a red ribbon, coming down straight for her.