10
FIONA
I’d just satdown to run some internet searches about Bergen that would no doubt prove fruitless considering how many times I’d done the same thing in the past when I heard a crash outside the apartment. I stiffened and went to the door. Was Zeke back?
I looked through the peephole and gasped. A man stood on the other side of the door, his face crimson with blood. Only the dark hair and the eyebrow piercing let me know who it was. I unlocked the door and yanked it open. Zeke tripped toward me, reaching out blindly.
“What happened?” I asked, grabbing his shoulders to steady him. I searched his face frantically, knowing he must be injured, but I couldn’t find where the blood was coming from.
“I nearly had him,” Zeke growled. “But he attacked me.”
I touched a finger to his face and frowned. The red liquid felt tacky. I leaned closer and sniffed. He smelled of a combination of chemicals I’d recognize in my sleep.
“It’s spray paint,” I said. “He got you in the eyes with spray paint.”
He scowled, his eyes still shut. “It fucking hurts.”
I couldn’t help laughing. Zeke was supposed to be this tough former spy, yet he’d been defeated by a can of spray paint.
“Are you sure it was our guy and not just someone putting graffiti on the walls?” I asked.
“I’m sure.” He sounded dead serious, and since that was unusual, I believed him. “He was wearing a ski mask, and he didn’t move like a kid. I don’t have proof but, somehow, I just know he was our guy.”
“Okay.” Any lingering amusement dissipated. “I’ll help you clean up in a second. I have some eyewash we can use. I’m just going to make a call.”
I called Ronan and arranged for him to contact the police and to send around a laboratory technician who’d be able to check for any evidence the assailant might have left behind, then I took a quick photograph of his face before putting an arm around his shoulders and guiding him into the bathroom. Using a cloth and soapy water, I wiped most of the paint off his face and gently cleaned his eyelids, which had become partially stuck together. Once he was able to open his eyes, I found the eyewash and rinsed his eyes while he swore and muttered.
“I can’t believe he caught me by surprise like that,” he said as he toweled himself dry. He looked at me with red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes.
I winced. “Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”
He scoffed. “For a little paint in my eyes? No. They’ll be fine. I’m more worried about what our spray-painter might have intended to use the paint for.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think it was a coincidence that you mistook it forblood.” He hesitated, then added, “I think whoever it was intended to leave you a warning message.”
A shiver rippled through me. If I’d found a warning spray-painted on the door in that shade of red, it absolutely would have freaked me out. It wouldn’t have taken long for me to realize it was paint, but it still would have shaken me. Honestly, even if the paint had been black, it would have still been upsetting.
There was a knock on the door and I went to answer. A Hispanic woman in a full-body hooded coverall stood on the other side.
“Hi, Amber.” I greeted her with a smile. “Ronan must have sent you.”
“He did.” She glanced over her shoulder. “There are a couple of cops just behind me, and I don’t think they’re typical patrol types.”
“Okay, thanks for the heads-up.” I felt Zeke’s presence behind me. “Zeke, can you run Amber through what happened outside? I’ll try to hold off on saying too much to the police until you’re back.”
“Sure, but Fi, if you get the slightest impression they’re looking at how they can spin this to make you seem more guilty, don’t say another word.”
“I won’t.”
He brushed past me and gestured down the corridor. “This way, Amber.”
In the other direction, the elevator opened and Detectives Harrison and Goodwin stepped out. They spotted me immediately and I forced myself not to give them the evil eye. In this case, they were here to help. Theoretically. As Zeke had said, there was always a chance they’d try to spin it to make me look more guilty.
“Hello, detectives,” I called. “Thank you for coming.”
Neither of them smiled.
