The light in the window draws the attention of whoever is in the small parking area. The figure turns, and I suck in a startled breath. No face. Just a glowing white mask, tipped up and staring at me.
Gasping, I stumble backward, almost falling on my ass. Scrambling, I turn and dart across the floor and through the passage between the screens to the back of the loft. A partition falls, causing a clatter.
“Erik?” I call out.
“Yeah?”
A lamp turns on, and when I follow the light, I find myself next to his king bed.
“What?” He sits up, revealing a white t-shirt.
“He’s outside. Out there—right now.” My voice is rattled as I grab his forearm and pull.
“I’m up.” He rises from the bed. Below the waist, he wears only navy boxer-briefs.
Averting my eyes from his body, I say breathlessly, “He’s out there. Casanova.”
Erik moves past me in an instant, sprinting to the living room. I emerge, too, but don’t join him at the windows. Instead, I hang back.
“Where, Arya?” He stalks from one window to the next, staring down.
“By the cars.”
He shakes his head and moves to the edge of the last window, looking into the distance. I creep closer and look down.
“Hewasthere. I saw a light. And his mask. I saw him.” My words come out in a rush.
The Viking turns and glances at me. “All right.” He stalks back to the bedroom, and I follow with mincing steps. What is he doing? And what should I do? Call the police?
Erik bends over a safe and turns the dial. When he opens it, he pulls out a pistol. I freeze. He sets it on the nightstand and then pulls on a sweater, jeans, and socks. Reaching on top of a tall cabinet, he retrieves a rifle and a pair of night goggles.
I stare at him, frozen in place.
He closes the safe with his foot and grabs both weapons. “Come with me.”
“Wait, what?” My voice is soft as I follow him out to the living room.
“Sit there,” he says, motioning to the end of the sofa bed. Setting the pistol on the coffee table, he looks at me. “That gun is loaded, and the safety is off. Don’t touch it unless you need to use it. But if you need to use it, go ahead.”
Oh, my God.
Erik carries the rifle to the door. He sets it against the wall as he puts on his coat and hooks the goggles around his head, so they rest against his forehead.
I spring to my feet in a sudden panic. “Erik, no. Don’t go out there. Let me call—”
“Lock this door behind me. If anyone other than me tries to come through it, shoot him.” Without another word, he pulls the goggles down over his eyes and steps out onto the metal staircase.
“Oh, my God.” I rush over to the door and lock it. And then I search for my phone. I am about to call the police when a vivid image of them mistaking Erik for an assailant hits me. It’s dark, he’s armed, and they are not used to facing down gunmen.
I lower my phone, walking to the windows with my heart hammering. There’s no light now, just the endless black. My imagination fills in the landscape from memory… pavement turning to rocky shoreline, rocky ledge turning to water.
Time ticks by too slowly, until every nerve feels like a live wire.
Finally, there’s noise at the door.
“It’s me. Sorensen,” he announces.
I rush to the door and unlock it. My hand darts out impatiently and grabs his coat to drag him inside.
