CHAPTER 2
Timothy
I hear her moving around on the other side of the wall.
Footsteps.Quick, uneven.The scrape of a chair being pulled out, then pushed back in.A cabinet opening and slamming shut.Another one.She's checking something.Searching for something, maybe, or just burning off adrenaline.
I know that feeling.The need to move after your system has been flooded with fight-or-flight chemicals.The inability to sit still when your brain is cataloging threats and running worst-case scenarios on a loop.
I'm doing the same thing.
I drop my keys on the counter and move to the window that overlooks the parking lot.The sixth floor gives me a decent view of the entrance, the rows of cars, the street beyond.The black Ram isn’t here, but I scan anyway.Force of habit.The lot is quiet.A few residents coming and going.Nothing out of place.
But my gut is telling me something is wrong.
I've learned to trust that feeling.It kept me alive through three deployments to Afghanistan and more operations than I can count.And right now, it's screaming that the woman on the other side of this wall is in trouble.
Real trouble.Not the kind that goes away on its own.
I move away from the window and open my laptop on the kitchen counter.It takes less than five minutes to pull up the property records for the building.Carla Alexander moved in eight months ago.Paid first and last month's rent in cash according to the landlord's records, which I have access to through a contact who owed me a favor.
No lease before this one that I can find.No previous address.It's like she appeared out of thin air eight months ago.
I try social media next.Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn.Nothing.No profiles, no photos, no digital footprint at all.
Someone who doesn’t want to be found.
The footsteps stop on the other side of the wall.I hear water running.Then nothing.
I should let this go.Mind my own business.She made it clear she can take care of herself, and I have no reason to think otherwise.She's former military.I'd bet my truck on it.The way she moves, the way she acted in the parking lot.She's been trained.
But training only gets you so far when someone is hunting you.
And I saw her face when she thought that guy in the Ram was someone specific.That was not just caution.That was terror.
I close the laptop and lean against the counter, staring at the wall between our apartments.
Who are you running from, Carla?
My phone buzzes.Text from my buddy Vincent.
You settled in yet or still unpacking?
Settled.Job starts next week.
Good.Let me know if you need anything.And stay out of trouble.
I almost laugh.Vincent knows me too well.Trouble has a way of finding me even when I'm trying to avoid it.
Or maybe I go looking for it.
