Another pause. Short. Sharp.
Then, “What happened, Sierra? Where are you?”
“Austin,” I whisper. “I’m in my neighbor’s apartment downstairs. I think someone broke into mine.”
The air on the line changes. Like a switch flips.
“You think or you know?” he asks.
My heart lurches. I don’t know if I should tell whoever this is about the drive. I decide against it, at least for now.
“I can hear them,” I say. “My father told me to call this number if I was ever in danger.” My fingers clamp around my phone. “Are you going to help me or should I call the police?”
“Text this number the address you’re at,” he says.
Mrs. Daisy leans closer, whispering, “Who is that?”
I cover the phone with my hand. “A number my dad left.”
The man on the line keeps talking, calm like a blade.
“Are you alone?”
“No. My neighbor is with me.”
“Good. Stay there. Do not go back into your apartment. I’m sending a bodyguard to you now.”
“A bodyguard,” I repeat, because my brain can’t make it fit.
“Yes.”
Mrs. Daisy whispers, “Police.”
I nod at her, the fear in me warring with the need to listen to the voice on the line.
“Should I call the police?” I ask.
“I advise against that,” he says. “If your father gave you this number, it was because he believed the police cannot help you. Right now, your priority is staying alive. Listen carefully. Do not leave your neighbor’s apartment. Do not go upstairs. If someone comes to the neighbor’s door, you do not open it unless I tell you it’s my man.”
“I won’t open the door unless your man comes,” I echo, and the words slide under my skin in a way I don’t have time to unpack.
“What’s your name?” I ask, because I need something human to hold onto.
A pause, like he’s deciding how much to give me.
“Gray,” he says finally. “Grayson Calhoun.”
The name means nothing to me, but the sound of it is steady, grounded.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay, Grayson.”
“You did the right thing calling,” he says, and I hate how much relief that gives me. “Stay where you are. He’ll be there as fast as I can get him to you.”
My hand shakes around the phone. “Who is he?”
Another beat.
“Knox Sutton.”
