He paid the fare, then left the safety of the car.
There were a few people milling about outside the apartments. Scott knew their faces and said a quick greeting as he hurried towards the front door. He swiped his keycard, tapped in the code for the building, then stepped inside the lobby. He took the lift up to the fifth floor and looked both ways before crossing the corridor to get to his apartment.
The lock was intact, much to his relief, and he pushed open the door, then flicked on the light.
Scott tensed, expecting Warren to be there, but his apartment remained exactly as he left it that lunchtime. Even so, he grabbed a frying pan from the kitchen and checked each room, including cupboards and under his bed, but he was alone. He flicked on all the lights and left them on as he returned to the living room, collapsing onto the sofa and dropping the pan with a clang.
The phantom weight of the necklace pushed down on his shoulders. A shock collar. A concealed one. Thomas had told him it hadn’t been purchased at the event, and Anthony had lied to him. Scott should’ve asked more questions. He should’ve taken more notice of the necklace around his throat, but he’d assumed Anthony was just shy about buying him a gift.
Many clients bought him gifts.
But Scott should’ve been smarter.
He should’ve sensed something was off.
It was only ten o’clock, but the mental and physical toll of the night had worn him down. He heaved himself up from the sofa and went straight to his bed, flicking the light off and crawling beneath the covers.
It was only when he revealed his face from under the duvet and flipped onto his back that he saw it.
A glowing unhappy face on the ceiling.
His blood ran cold.
His apartment, with the card, code, and key for the doors hadn’t stopped him.
Warren had been here.
Warren wanted him to know he’d been here.
Scott jumped off the bed, and in a mad rush, he started shoving his clothes into a duffle bag he kept under the bed. He didn’t have many possessions, didn’t need them. It was mainly clothes and hair and beauty products that he needed for survival.
He packed as much as he could carry, then called a taxi to pick him up outside.
Would an unhappy face be considered a threat?
Maybe not to anyone else.
There was no forced entry. The lock was intact, and nothing else in the apartment was out of place.
It was Warren’s way of showing Scott he could get to him.
He wasn’t safe.
Scott left his apartment, checking behind himself, glancing up and down the corridor and even the ceiling of the lift in case there was a face.
The same people from the apartments were outside, but Scott kept his distance.
He didn’t know if they could be trusted, if one of them had let Warren into the building, whether innocently or if they were paid, it didn’t matter.
They were pawns in his game, just like Anthony.
He called the station from the taxi. Pauline’s shift had ended, and he left a message with another officer about the unhappy face drawn in glow-in-the-dark paint on his ceiling.
The officer on the other end didn’t sound impressed and asked him more than once whether he’d been drinking that night. He promised Pauline would call Scott the next day; Scott bit his tongue to stop himself from saying not to bother.
It was clear to him he was on his own.
He needed to disappear, go somewhere Warren wouldn’t find him.
