Then, just to be safe, she counted to a thousand again.
The reality of what had just happened hit her.
Nausea boiled up inside her, and she threw up.
The building where Morrison, Blake, and Associates was housed rose in the San Francisco skyline like a glass and steel monument to corporate ambition.
Gina had always found the structure imposing, but tonight it felt more like a fortress—one of the few places where she felt halfway safe.
She’d been working late, burying herself in contract reviews and depositions—doing anything to keep her mind occupied.
Two days had passed since the intruder had broken into her home.
Two days since she’d woken up to that scraping sound, to the bright light in her face, to a stranger’s breath against her ear and his voice rasping darkness into her bones.
Her apartment somehow felt contaminated now, despite the fact she’d had the locks changed and a security system installed. She’d also gotten a new phone and vowed to never hesitate before calling 911 again.
After the man had left, she’d rushed to check on Emily.
Her roommate had been sleeping like a baby.
Then Gina had used Emily’s phone to call the police. Two cops had come but had found no evidence of forced entry, no fingerprints, no DNA.
There had been zip ties left as evidence, but they were the same kind Gina had in her junk drawer. They offered no clues.
None of her neighbors had seen or heard anything.
Her attacker had been a ghost, there and gone without a trace.
The detective assigned to her case had ultimately been unhelpful. He’d said most likely it was a burglar who’d been scared off or someone with mental health issues who’d gotten confused.
Neither she nor Emily bought those theories. Despite the new security measures, they’d both decided to stay somewhere else—for a little while, at least. Emily was staying with one of her coworkers from the library, and Gina was staying at her sister’s place.
She glanced at the clock. 8:47 p.m.
It was time to leave.
Gina packed her briefcase with tomorrow’s files.
Most of the office had cleared out hours ago, leaving only the security guards downstairs and the cleaning crew working their way up from the lower floors.
She was supposed to text her ex-boyfriend Colin when she was ready to leave so he could walk her out. He’d insisted—some combination of lingering guilt, leftover affection, and his tendency to want control even after the breakup.
But tonight he hadn’t responded to her last message from twenty minutes ago.
Typical.
She supposed she could call one of the security guards to walk her down. But she hated it when people made a big deal out of her. She’d never liked attention.
She should be fine walking to her car alone. This whole building was secure—even the parking garage.
She couldn’t live in this fear forever.
Swallowing her apprehension, she climbed into the elevator and took it down to the parking garage.
For some reason, the ride felt longer than usual.
When the doors slid open, she stepped into the cool concrete cavern of the garage.
