Excerpt of Back on the Market by L.A. Frazier

I go back to the kitchen and pick up my cell phone to dial 911. A woman answers and identifies herself. She asks for my name and location. I give her both. Then I explain that I'm a Realtor showing the house and found a dead man upstairs. I leave out the "naked" and "boss" part of the story.

She says she'll send the police right over and then asks if I'm in any immediate danger. I tell her I don't think so. She asks if I'm alone. I tell her yes. She asks if I'm sure, and suddenly I realize that I never checked the rest of the house.

I admit to not having seen all the rooms, but really, how many dead bodies would you expect to find? She agrees, but then cautions me that maybe someone who is not dead could be in the house.

I catch my breath as I realize what she means. Suddenly I'm straining to hear every sound. Why, oh why did I let the other people go? Not that either of them looked like they could protect us. Well, maybe her. But I know I could outrun the two of them, and really, in the end, isn't that what counts?