The low hum of the air conditioner slowly began to overpower the staccato drumbeat of the blood pounding in her head. Its cool air kissed her sweaty skin, fluttering the baby hairs falling in her face from her messy side braid and settling her nerves.
She scouted out the rest of the open-concept living room and kitchenette, then worked through the remainder of the house. After checking inside the hall bathroom and her bedroom, she quietly peeked inside the door to the second bedroom. She could hear the tinny sound of the baseball game’s announcer coming from his headphones. They were always way too loud, but she’d let it slide this time.
She closed the door silently, even though it wouldn’t matter. Everything was as she’d left it. Safe and sound.
For good measure, she went through the main room to the small kitchen and peered out of the front window. There was only the lively music and hubbub on her street that she loved. Nothing out of the ordinary.
As she relocked the back door, she prayed the new dead bolt her landlord installed would work this time. The last one allowed the door to drift open with the lightest of breezes.
After several more moments of relative quiet, the tension in Hannah’s chest finally started to ease. She leaned against the wall to take a much-needed breath. Even if thegringoin question was just a tourist—the most logical conclusion, really—she still couldn’t shake the undeniable terror that’d taken over her body at the thought she’d been found again. That, plus the news segment—
Mierda.
She’d almost forgotten the scariest detail of it all. Regardless of whether the person sneaking around theirbarriowas someone she should be afraid of, the man that actually instilled fear inside her down to her very bones was missing. If she couldn’t keep tabs on him, could that mean he’d stopped keeping tabs on her?
He could be dead.
A confusing feeling fluttered in her stomach.
What if my father is dead?
She wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. She could stay where she was. Hell… could she go back home? To Atlanta?
Was there even anything to go back to?
She’d left her art teaching career behind over two years ago. Could she return to that life? Did she even want to?
One thing at a time.
She blew out a breath that trilled her lips. The sound made her pause one last time to see if anyone would appear to inspect the noise. Granted, with the loud commotion in the neighborhood and how effective headphones were these days, she could set off a bomb and none would be the wiser.
When she was met with silence, she pushed off the wall, accidentally bumping the canvas hanging beside her. The painting was the only one she’d had a chance to paint for herself since she’d arrived in the city. Although the hasty strokes weren’t her best work, the blues she’d used for the sunrise and the ocean at the brink of the horizon had reminded her of home, so she kept it anyway.
She looped her necklace around her finger out of habit and straightened the painting with her other hand before going to the small kitchen. It was well past lunchtime. She could finish the laundry after whipping up something to eat.
“Nothing like running for your life for no reason to work up an appetite,” she snorted to herself.
Her laugh died as soon as she saw the dishes—thatdefinitelyweren’t supposed to still be dirty—mocking her in the sink. She shook her head with a huff before tucking her necklace back underneath her T-shirt, freeing both hands to wash and put the dishes away, no longer minding how loud she was being. If she interrupted the game at this point at least she’d get some help with the chores.
Unfortunately she wasn’t so lucky. When she had finished the task all by herself, she left out a large pot for sweet tea and plates for thepanuchos de cochinita pibilshe’d prepared that morning.
Her mouth watered as she thought about eating the juicy shredded pork nestled on top of fried, black-bean-stuffed tortillas. It wasn’t the healthiest of meals, but in her mind, feeding a picky eater with fried tortillas was healthier than starving them. Besides, they deserved a bright spot in their situation.
She put a pot of water on the stovetop to boil so she could make the sweet tea, hoping the Braves would keep winning and she wasn’t counting her eggs before they hatched. Next, she used a washcloth to wipe off the plates she’d need for thepanuchos. Up until Mérida, she’d used paper plates, but this home actually came with its own furnishings, including kitchenware, making it possible for her to cook the recipes her mother had taught her.
While she was drying off one of the gorgeous clay plates, something on the glazed surface caught her eye. She lifted it to the light to inspect the smudge. In the reflection of the bright-yellow sun painted in the center, a large shadow moved behind her and she whirled around.
A huge man stood in the middle of her living room in front of the cracked open back door with its now busted lock. She gripped the clay plate tightly and stepped away from the counter, her eyes wide.
“Mierda.”
CHAPTERSIX
The tall, blond man’s face twisted in an evil grin.
She sucked in a breath and the plate dropped from her grasp, crashing to the floor. She jolted away from the cabinet to race for one of her guns, but an audible,familiarclick stopped her in her tracks.
“I would not move if I were you.”
