I should’ve walked away the second I tasted her.
But I hadn’t.
And now I couldn’t.
And that made her dangerous.
Not to herself.
To me.
Chapter seventeen
Iwas already sweating by the time I handed off the third cappuccino of the morning. The shop was warm, bustling with early risers, and the espresso machine had been groaning nonstop since we’d opened the doors at five. My apron strings dug into my waist, the winter boots I’d chosen to wear were making my feet sweat, and my hair was falling in my face, annoying the crap out of me—thanks to my broken hair tie. Anxiety was shooting through my veins, and it felt as if my skin was on too tight.
Maybe I was angsty because I hadn’t slept.
At all.
So much had happened last night—having to do that humiliating performance for Delgado, getting grabbed in the stairwell on the way up to my apartment, watching yet another man get murdered in front of me.
The entire series of events was something straight out of a psychological thriller.
There’d been no hesitation by my stalker. No mercy. Just a sickening crunch, then silence, my attacker’s limp body crumpling to the ground before our feet.
I’d called the police in a frenzy and told them everything about the man who’d attacked me and about the one who’d saved me.
They had followed me down to the third floor.
But we’d found nothing there.
No body. No signs of a scuffle. Not even a scuff mark.
It was like the whole thing had been scrubbed clean in a matter of thirty minutes.
The policemen hadn’t said it, but I’d seen it in their eyes:She’s crazy or maybe confused. Maybe she had too much to drink.
By the time they’d left, I had less than an hour before I needed to get ready for my shift at Cipher. I was wired, and my brain wouldn’t shut off. My fingers wouldn’t stop twitching. Again and again, my mind replayed it all—the rough grab, the brutal kill, the low command he’d given me as he leaned in and pressed his forehead to mine:Run.
Sleep hadn’t even been an option.
Outside, snow was falling in soft, clean flurries, coating the sidewalk and parked cars in a dusting of white that looked like something out of a Hallmark movie. The front windows were rimmed with evergreen garlands and dotted with little holly berries and twinkle lights that blinked cheerfully against the darkness. Carmine had made the girls who worked the afternoon shift hang decorations yesterday, the kind that straddled that awkward seasonal holiday period between Halloween and the Christmas season. All they needed to do was swap the turkeys and cornucopias for Christmas trees and stockings, and the whole place would go from Thanksgiving to Christmas in a snap. I had to admit, the decorations looked surprisingly good—festive and cozy.
Too cozy for the mood I was in.
It seemed like the universe had decided to rub holiday cheer in my face—wrapping the world in glitter and snowflakes while I tried to pretend I wasn’t still reeling from hearing the sound of a man’s neck breaking.
“Two everything bagels with scallion cream cheese and a medium dark roast—no room, to go,” I called out to the waiting crowd of customers.
A man in the black trench coat stepped forward and took his order, mumbling a thank you before heading out the door. Another customer stepped up to order. My hands moved on autopilot as I worked the register.
Smile, bag, swipe, nod, ring up.
But my thoughts were far away.
Back on the third floor of my apartment building.
The hallway had beenpristine, as if it had all been a delusion.
