Bouncing in place to keep warm, I cup my hands over the glass door and peer inside. No flood. No burst pipes. No massive rats roasting marshmallows over a tiny campfire in the display case.
Okay. That’s a good sign.
I key in my passcode, unlocking the door. I won’t be able to go back to sleep until I check everything, so I might as well get this over with.
Inside, the tile floor is just as cold as the cement, but at least it’s dry. No leaks, no water damage. Yet. The glow from the street light spills through the front windows, enough to see that everything looks normal. No overturned chairs. No scurrying animals. Maybe the sound came from outside. Maybe some drunk asshole was setting off fireworks.
Still, I should check the back.
I push through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Pitch black. No windows for light to filter in.
I stop, listen, and wait.
Silence.
When my eyes adjust, I trail my fingertips over the cool stainless-steel counters and head toward the storage rooms.
Then I hear it. A shuffle.
Muted voices.
My breath catches.
What the fuck?
I spin toward the back hallway and slip into the office. My office. My space.
And I amnotsupposed to have company.
The yellow glow of flashlights slices through the darkness.
Holy shit. Someone is in here.
Someone has broken into the bakery.
And I’m alone. No weapon. No phone. Where the hell is my phone?
A flood of horrifying images crashes through my mind, each one worse than the last. Is this it? Is this how I die? My breath turns shallow, chest tightening as panic grips me.
Wait. Maybe it’s not as bad as I think. Maybe it’s just someone looking for food. A hungry, unhoused person hoping to find something to eat. If that’s the case, I would gladly make them something.
But what if they’re dangerous?
What if they want money? What if they’re high? What if they’re looking for something worse?
What if it’s a serial killer?
A rush of air leaves my lungs as I press myself against the wall. My skin prickles, a slow burn creeping through my body as one of the men speaks, a deep, raspy voice that ignites something primal inside me.
No. That’s impossible. My ears must be playing tricks on me.
“What the fuck?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
The flashlights jerk in my direction. A string of startled curses cuts through the air, beams of light zigzagging wildly. My fingers fumble for the switch, and before I can think twice, I flick the overhead lights on.
Blinding brightness floods the room. I squint, shielding my eyes, and my vision becomes a blur of shadows and movement. Then the figures come into focus.
Four, no, five men.
