“Amayah?” Luke’s voice cut in, quiet but alert. “What is it?”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t look away.
Luke followed her gaze—and stiffened. “Do you know that guy?”
Before she could respond, the man shifted—turned—and slipped deeper into the shadows.
Her breath hitched. “No. I . . . I don’t know.”
Luke took a step forward. “Stay here.”
“No—Luke, wait!” She reached out and caught his sleeve.
He stopped, but his eyes stayed fixed on the stairwell, willing the man to reappear. “You’ve seen that man before. At the Christmas bazaar.”
Not a question.
A knowing.
Luke scanned the area again, jaw tightening. “Get in the car. I’ll be right there.”
She obeyed, though her hands trembled as she opened the door.
“Lock it,” he murmured.
She did.
Then Luke hurried after the figure.
CHAPTER 21
Luke hitthe stairwell door with his shoulder, the metal handle rattling under his grip. The echo slammed up the concrete shaft as he stepped inside, scanning fast.
Nothing.
Just cold air and the faint hum of fluorescent lights.
He moved quickly to the railing, peering down the flights below.
No movement. No footsteps retreating. No shadow slipping through the landings.
The man had been right here—leaning near the stairwell, watching Amayah with that too-still stare.
Luke descended one flight, boots hitting the concrete hard.
Still nothing.
He paused, holding his breath, listening.
Silence.
No breathing. No shuffling. No distant door slamming open. No soft tap of shoes on cement.
It was as if the man had been swallowed whole by the structure.
Too late.
He was too late.
