I didn’t move right away but just stared at him, my pulse thudding hard in my throat.
“Now,” he insisted. “Unless you’d rather do this in front of an audience.”
My stomach dropped.
I handed the receipt to the woman I’d just rung up and slipped around the counter, ignoring Trina’s raised eyebrows as she moved to take my place at the register.
I followed him. God help me, I don’t know why I did.
The door shut behind me with an ominous thud as I stepped outside, the cold air slapping me in the face.
It was still dark out. The street was quiet, except for the occasional car gliding by. Snow drifted in soft spirals around the curb, barely sticking. I folded my arms against the chill as he turned to face me. We stood just under the twinkle lights, half in shadow and alone—but not really. People from the other side of the glass were watching us.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped.
I blinked.
“What?”
“You called the cops.”
“I— You murdered a man!” I whisper-shouted, arms hugging my body tightly as I shivered.
“I saved your life.”
“You snapped his neck like it was a twig!”
He stepped closer. “You think he was just some random jerk? Joel Epstein served time for assault with intent. The rape charges were sealed after the trial—two victims, both young, both grabbed near their buildings at night. He stalked them for days before making a move. Same pattern both times. He waited until they were tired. Distracted. Coming home from work.”
My stomach flipped, a jolt of alarm going through my body.
“He was out of jail for less than three months. I ran background checks on every tenant in your building. I know who shares your floor—how the guy down in 2B works nights and has two DUIs; he’s usually passed out by sunrise. I know that the woman in 1A filed a restraining order against her ex last year, then moved back in with him. The kid across the hall in 1B? Works for a weed delivery app and leaves his door propped open when he’s high. The girl in 3A? She’s solid. Nursing student. Keeps pepper spray in her coat pocket and never walks with earbuds in.”
My jaw dropped. “That is insane.” I took a step back. “You’re insane.”
“I don’t take chances when it comes to security,” he said. “I collect data. Analyze risk. And I saw yours from a mile away. You’d be dead if I hadn’t been diligent.”
“And you think that justifies murder?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he handed me the bag he was carrying.
“Put that on.”
Confused, I peered down into the bag and pulled out a navy blue peacoat. The wool was dense but soft. It looked expensive. “No, I can’t accept this. It’s—”
“Take it, and for Christ’s sake, stop wearing that damn hoodie everywhere you go.”
Hesitantly, I unbuttoned the coat and slid into it. I was instantly warmer but also more confused. He looked pissed off, but then again, he always looked pissed off. So what was new? Still, the fact that he was aware I always threw on my hoodie whenever I went out into the chilly air was disconcerting. But he’d cared enough to give me something useful, and that was thoughtful and kind, which was unexpected to say the least.
My heart hammered. He just stood there, watching me wordlessly. I hated how calm he was, how in control he always seemed.
It didn’t make sense. He had killed a man like it was nothing—and then turned around and handed me a coat like he was worried I would catch a chill. How could someone be both a killer and a protector? I didn’t know what to do with that. So I focused on what I did know and circled back to defending myself against his anger at me for calling the police.
“I told the truth,” I said, “to the police. Because I thought it was the right thing to do.”
He laughed once, cold and humorless. “You don’t call the cops on someone like me.”
“Why? Because half of them already work for you?”
