But when I try it, the line is dead. Then I remember hearing from one of the guests at the gallery how an earlier storm has taken out the phone lines.
I put the phone down and run my hands through my hair, my heart hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears.
I just saw a man get murdered in an alleyway. Saw his blood spreading in the rain, turning the puddles red.
Goosebumps crawl across my skin. I pace the floor. My small apartment feels like a trap closing around me.
Think, Holly.
In hindsight, I should’ve had the cab driver take me to the police station instead of here. But I was panicked and confused and wasn’t thinking straight.
So take a cab to the station now. Then get out of town for a few days.
Hands shaking, I start to throw clothes into a suitcase, not bothering to fold anything. Jeans, sweaters, toiletries. Everything goes in haphazardly. I just need to move, to do something, to get the hell out of Seattle before…
Before what? Beforehefinds me?
I press my palms against the dresser to try to steady my breathing, and the face of the handsome stranger flashes behind my eyelids. His piercing blue eyes tracking me with the focus of a predator spotting prey.
You're being paranoid,I try to reassure myself.He doesn't know who you are. Doesn't know where you live.
But my body doesn't believe the lie. Every instinct I have screams that I’m in danger.
He knew your name.
After slipping on a pair of sneakers, I zip the suitcase closed and grab my purse, mentally cataloging my escape route. Down the service elevator to avoid the lobby, out the side entrance, and grab a cab to the police station.
But when I pull my suitcase across the floor toward the door, I hear it.
A soft click.
The sound of my apartment door unlocking.
I freeze, ice flooding my veins.
It swings open slowly, andhefills the doorway.
The handsome stranger with the bright blue eyes.
And they're locked on me.
"Hello, Holly." His voice is a low rumble, wrapping around my name in a way that makes my stomach twist.
"How do you know my name?" My voice comes out as barely a whisper.
He steps into the room and closes the door behind him.
He moves with predatory grace, each step measured and purposeful. "I’m a very resourceful man.”
“I didn’t see anything,” I say.
He tilts his head. “We both know that’s a lie.”
I back away from him. My heart beats so hard, it’s like it’s trying to escape my body.
"What do you want?" I try to sound brave, but my voice shakes.
His gaze travels over me slowly, starting at my face and moving down. I'm suddenly hyperaware of what I'm wearing, just the simple black dress, now wrinkled and damp from the rain and sweat.
