“Don’t move.” The intruder’s voice was deep and gravelly, as if the man speaking had been gargling broken glass. Each word scraped against her eardrums. “Don’t scream. Don’t use that phone. If you do exactly what I say, you might survive this.”
Thatmighthung in the air between them like a blade.
White spots and their dancing afterimages filled Gina’s vision. She couldn’t make out the man’s features or build. Shecouldn’t make out anything except that voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“Please—” The word sounded just above a whisper.
“Shh.” The sound was almost gentle, which made her shivers worse. “I’ve been watching you, Gina. Through your windows. In the parking lot. At the coffee shop on Fifth Street where you get your latte every morning at seven-fifteen.”
Ice flooded her veins.
He knew her name. Her routine.
“And don’t bother hoping your little roommate will help you.” His tone sharpened as he moved closer, as the light grew brighter. “She’s sound asleep. You’re so protective of her, aren’t you? Keeping an eye on her like a big sister. It would be a shame if she woke up and wandered out here at the wrong moment. I don’t take well to people messing up my plans.”
Gina’s stomach bottomed out. Emily.
Emily was in the other bedroom—naive, oblivious, and completely defenseless.
Gina had promised Emily’s family she’d look out for her. Emily was new to San Francisco, still finding her footing, and her parents had asked Gina—firm, capable Gina—to keep an eye on her.
Gina had agreed without hesitation. Emily had been one of her mother’s piano students and a family friend. She’d moved to Chicago for a job, but she’d been carjacked while there. She’d needed to move somewhere for a fresh start, and Emily’s mother had asked Gina to help as a favor.
But right now, unarmed and with a stranger’s voice slicing through the dark, she couldn’t even protect herself.
“You sleep on your left side.” He stepped closer, the floor creaking under his weight. “You set three alarms and still manage to oversleep. You sing in the shower—badly. You cry sometimes when you think no one can hear.”
She smelled him now—stale cigarettes, coffee, and something else. Something chemical and sharp that made her nose burn.
“What do you want from me?” Her voice cracked.
“Everything.” The word slithered out of him. “But tonight, your cooperation will do.”
The light shifted as he bent down. A second later, he plucked her phone from the floor and slipped it into a pocket.
Metal clinked softly as he stepped around her bed. She caught glimpses—latex gloves, dark clothing, a small bag in his left hand.
Nausea roiled inside her.
“Sit up slowly,” he commanded. “Put your hands behind your back. One wrong move, and this becomes a very different kind of night. The kind your neighbors—and your roommate—will be giving statements about for years.”
Fear shot through her.
With trembling limbs, she pushed herself up straighter.
The man’s headlamp tracked her every movement, never wavering. She felt him studying her, memorizing her fear like a collector examining a specimen.
“Hands,” he reminded her, his patience somehow more terrifying than anger would have been.
She clasped her hands behind her back, feeling the bite of zip ties as the man secured her wrists. The intruder’s breathing was controlled, measured.
He’d done this before, hadn’t he?
The thought sent another wave of panic through her.
After her hands were bound, the man sat on the bed in front of her and secured her ankles.
Her eyes ached as the light on his head seared into her vision.
