I take the phone with trembling hands and punch in the emergency number I've memorized. It rings three times before a gruff voice answers.
"This is Rivera. Who is this?"
I freeze. I don't know any Rivera.
"Hello?" the voice demands.
Sam takes the phone gently from my hand. "Sorry, wrong number," he says, then hangs up. His eyes meet mine, and I see concern there. "Not who you expected?"
"No." My voice is barely audible. "It should have been Marshal Johnson. He's the head of my protection detail."
Sam's expression turns serious. "Beth, I think you should pack a bag."
"What?"
"Essential items only. Things you can't replace. Just as a precaution."
I stand frozen, unable to process what's happening. "You think I'm in danger."
"I think something's changed, and until you can verify what's going on, we need to be cautious." He moves to the window, glancing down at the street. "Are there any customers still in the store?"
"No. I locked up early."
He nods. "Good. Pack a bag. We can figure out the next steps after that."
"I can't just leave! I have... obligations. Responsibilities."
"Beth." His voice is gentle but firm. "I don't know what your situation is, but I know when something doesn't add up. Newagents with no warning? An emergency contact who's been replaced? Those are red flags in any security situation."
The tears I've been holding back all day threaten to spill over. "This can't be happening. I did everything they told me to. I followed all the rules."
"Sometimes the rules don't protect us," Sam says quietly. "Sometimes we have to protect ourselves."
I wipe at my eyes. "I don't know what to do."
"Let me help you." He holds out his hand. "I know somewhere you can go to think this through. Just until you figure out what's happening."
I stare at his outstretched hand. I've known this man for barely twenty-four hours. He appeared suddenly, with a key to my apartment and too many convenient skills. For all I know, he could be working for the people trying to find me.
But my instincts, the same ones telling me something is terribly wrong with my protection detail, say I can trust him.
"Why?" I ask, not taking his hand yet. "Why would you help me? You don't even know me."
"Because it's the right thing to do," he says finally. "And I don't walk away from people in trouble. Not anymore."
There's a story there, a wound still healing. But there's no time to ask about it now.
The front bell jingles downstairs, loud in the quiet apartment. Someone's trying to enter the locked store.
Sam stands, instantly alert. "Are you expecting anyone?"
I shake my head, rising on unsteady legs.
A loud knock follows, then another, more insistent.
"Stay here," Sam orders, moving silently toward the stairs.
"Wait," I call softly. "What if it's them? The new agents?"
