Night Hunter by Carol Davis Luce

do,” she could get him to say and do anything. On her wedding day she vowed that before their first anniversary he would void that ridiculous agreement.
    In less than a week, she realized with utter disbelief as she sped toward the marina, they would celebrate their nineteenth anniversary.
     
     
    Amelia left her car in the basement of Fletcher’s building and walked to the elevator, her heels echoing hollowly on the concrete. As she stood waiting for the elevator, she shivered from the cold.
    “ Come on, you damn elevator,” she whispered under her breath, looking up at the lights above the doors. She hated these dark parking garages. She jabbed impatiently at the button, shifting from one foot to another. Taking her clutch purse from under her arm, she opened it and took out her keys, finding the one to Fletcher’s apartment.
    A scraping sound, soles on concrete echoing eerily in the garage, alerted her that she was not alone. She whirled around, and suddenly someone was there, a terrifying figure in black. She got little more than a glimpse of him as his arm swung out from behind his back, coming toward her. She cried out, pulling back, and instinctively thrust her clutch bag in front of her face. The sound of something wet splashed against the leather. A scream, nearly inaudible, escaped from her throat. At her back the elevator door opened and she stumbled inside. The man in black reached out. He wants the purse, she told herself, fighting the terror. Don’t be stupid. Let him have it.
    Amelia threw the purse out into the garage and slapped at the elevator buttons. The man in black twisted around at the sound of the leather bag hitting the concrete floor, then turned back to her. The doors were closing as Amelia backed into the corner, one hand striking out blindly with the keys, the other hand over her face. When she had the nerve to look, the doors had closed and she was alone.
    Over the clamoring of her heart, she felt the elevator moving. Would he be waiting for her when it stopped on the second floor? He had her purse, but when he saw there was no money or credit cards inside, would he come after her jewelry? She looked down at her wedding ring, a massive tangle of gold and glittering diamonds, and her emerald-cut ruby ring —no longer real stones in either, but the mugger couldn’t know that. She moaned, trying to catch her breath. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, the movement visible beneath the soft knit of her dress. The elevator stopped. When the door opened a moment later, Amelia was rigidly poised, both rings in the palm of one hand —to be given over readily if need be. In the other hand she gripped a sharp key tightly for protection should he want more than the rings.
    The man in black was nowhere to be seen.
    She rushed from the elevator and down the corridor to Fletcher’s apartment. An instant later, she was inside, slamming the door and locking it. Her mind raced. A mugger. She had actually been accosted by a mugger and her purse stolen. She had to report it to the police, she thought, slipping her rings back on. Oh God, no, she couldn’t. She would have to tell them where it had happened and Matthew would want to know what she was doing, who she was seeing, at this apartment building. Besides, what would she gain by reporting it? There was little of value in her handbag. Makeup, cigarettes and lighter, and driver’s license.
    She saw traces of something wet on her jacket and she grimaced. God only knew what vile stuff had come from that pervert, she thought with a shudder of revulsion. Amelia pulled off the jacket and threw it on the floor. She angrily scrubbed her hands at the bathroom sink, thinking that in addition to losing her purse, something had been tossed on a very expensive outfit. She poured a neat glass of vodka and paced until Fletcher came in an hour later.
    “ My God, darling, you could have been killed,” he said after she told him about the man in the garage. He