“Just you.Figured you’d want to handle the situation yourself.”
“I do.Keep this quiet for now.”
I ended the call and stood there for a moment, phone still in my hand, working through what I knew.Someone asking about Marci.Someone who felt wrong to Angela, who’d been working atLucky’slong enough to know when someone was lying.Someone heading east -- straight toward the stretch of town where Marci lived in the apartment above the hardware store.
I’d dropped her off a few hours ago.Watched her go inside.But she’d been shaken, exhausted from the panic attack and the ride and everything she’d told me.If someone knocked on her door right now, would she answer without looking through the peephole?Would she assume I had come back to check on her?
My hands moved on autopilot, pulling up her number and hitting call.The phone rang once.Twice.Three times.Four.Then voicemail -- her voice sounding distant and formal as she asked me to leave a message.
I hung up and tried again.Same result.Straight to voicemail after four rings.
The door behind me opened and Knuckles stuck his head out.“Everything all right?”
“No.”I was already moving toward my bike, keys in hand.“Meeting over?”
“Close enough.Atilla’s wrapping up.What’s going on?”
“Someone’s asking questions about Marci.Need to make sure she’s safe.”
Knuckles’ expression shifted, humor vanishing.“You need backup?”
“Not yet.I’ll call if I do.”
I threw my leg over the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath me.I used my Bluetooth to call Marci for the third time as I pulled out of the parking lot.The warm air rushed past, carrying the scent of approaching rain.
The call went to voicemail again.Her voice came through calm and professional, asking me to leave a message.No calm lived in my chest now, no professional distance.Only a cold certainty something was wrong, a certainty she wasn’t answering for a reason, and every second spent away from her apartment counted as a second too many.
I ended the call and twisted the throttle, the bike leaping forward.Roads stayed mostly empty at this hour, with all the early morning workers already at their destinations.Streetlights streaked past.I hit the turn onto Main Street faster than I should have, the bike leaning hard into the curve, tires gripping pavement.
Her apartment sat another ten minutes away.Ten minutes stretching into hours, time bending out of shape and refusing to move at a normal pace.I called again.Voicemail.Again.Voicemail.
My knuckles had gone white on the handlebars, jaw clenched so tight it ached.The fragments she’d given me played on repeat.He tracked her credit card.Showed up at her work.Made everyone’s lives difficult.Two years of running.Two years of looking over her shoulder.
And now someone was asking about her.Moving east toward where she lived.
I had promised myself I wouldn’t get involved.Wouldn’t let whatever surrounded her twist into my responsibility.The Spokeneeded a bartender, she needed work, and the arrangement should have ended there.Clean.Simple.Yet somewhere between finding her behind the bar last night and hearing the raw fear in her voice while she described a man who refused to release his hold, simplicity slipped away.
The bike screamed through the streets, eating up distance, and I prayed I wasn’t already too late.
Chapter Four
Marci
Silence swallowed the apartment.A heavy, choking kind that pressed against my ribs and filled every breath with dread.
I stood in the center of the small living room, arms wrapped tight around myself, staring at the dead lights.Everything had shut off -- the ceiling fan frozen in place, the TV silent and the screen black.When I’d gone to sleep, I’d still had power and a landline.I’d also woken to realize my cell had died because I’d forgotten to charge it.I’d cursed myself for forgetting the charger at work, but panic drowned out every rational thought.
Someone was out there.
A shadow moved earlier near the edge of the lot, a shape lingering too long behind the old fence.I’d seen someone walk past the building before -- strange men drifted through this part of town often -- but nobody kept coming back.Nobody stared up toward my window and stood perfectly still.Nobody watched.
My stomach knotted.Every instinct screamed danger.I’d locked the door and checked every bolt.Again.Again.Again.My fingers scraped metal as I twisted the chain once more.Still didn’t feel secure.
A softcreakcame from somewhere in the apartment.The kitchen floor settling, maybe.I backed toward the hallway, chest tight, breath uneven.The drywall felt cold under my palm.Sweat slicked my spine and the urge to bolt fought against the terror that froze my legs.
Think.Move.Hide somewhere safer.
Where?A closet?Too obvious.The bathroom?A single flimsy lock between me and someone determined to get in.My mind spiraled.Walls closed in.Every dark corner felt alive.
