“Shut up,” she muttered, trying to drown out the pounding on the door as much as she wanted to drown out the hideous memories.
She wiped her glasses clear. Yes. Safety. Survival.
“Max, come!”
She ran back to the workroom, shoved the top off a wooden crate and pulled out the long, ungainly sword from the packing material inside. The weighty blade clanged against the concrete floor and, for a moment, the pounding stopped.
She pulled out her keys and unlocked one of the storage vaults. “Max!” The dog followed her into the long, narrow room, lined with shelves from floor to ceiling.
“Charlotte! I’m coming for you!”
The banging started up again as she turned on the light and locked the door behind her. He was so angry, so menacing, so cruel. Charlotte crouched against the back shelf, holding the sword in front of her. Max trotted back and propped his paws up against her thigh. The smell of wet dog and her own terror intensified in the close confines of the room. “Stay in the moment,” she whispered out loud. She petted her companion, to calm herself, to take control of her scattered thoughts, but stopped when she saw the blood she’d transferred onto the dog’s tan fur.
“It’s okay,” she lied. “It’s okay.”
But she’d chosen the smart, well-trained dog for a reason beyond his scarred ear. Max scratched at Charlotte’s coat, nuzzled her pocket. Call someone. The words were in her head, hiding in some rational corner of her brain.
“I can’t. If I turn on the phone, he’ll call me.”
We need help.
The deep brown eyes reached out to her, calmed her.
Charlotte nodded and pulled out her phone. She couldn’t face the police on her own. Couldn’t handle crowds. She turned it on and immediately dialed the first number her terrified brain could come up with.
The pounding outside continued, beating deep into her head. After three rings, a familiar woman’s voice picked up. “Hello? This is Audrey … Kline,” she whispered in a breathless tone.
“Audrey?”
Pound. Pound.
“Charlotte?” Her friend’s tone sharpened, grew concerned. “Is that you?” A second voice, a man’s, murmured in the background. “Alex, stop. Charlotte, is something wrong?”
Alex Taylor. Audrey’s fiancé. “I’m sorry. I forget other people have lives. I’ll call Dad at the restaurant—”
“Don’t you dare hang up!”
“What is it?” She could hear a difference in Alex’s voice. He, too, sounded efficient, rational, concerned.
“Talk to me, Char.”
“I’m at the Mayweather Museum. There’s a man at the door. Richard’s dead. I can’t—”
“Richard’s dead?”
The scratch of a dog’s paw reminded her to breathe. “Someone shot him and I’m here by myself. There’s a man …”
“Alex is calling the police now.”
“No.”
“But Charlotte—”
“What if it’s like …?” Before. Swallow that damn irrational fear. Breathe. “I won’t come out unless it’s someone I know. Have Alex come.”
“We’re on our way,” Audrey promised, relaying the information to Alex. “Are you safe?”
Alex must be on his phone, now, too. She could hear his clipped, professional tones in the background. “He’s not calling 9-1-1, is he? I won’t come out for a stranger.”
“Shh.” Audrey was hushing her, talking to her as if she was the paranoid idiot she fought so hard not to be. “He knows.”
“I locked myself inside. Max is with me.” Charlotte needed to hear her voice, needed the lifeline to sanity to keep herself from flinching at every pound on that door. “Audrey?”
“Alex is calling a friend of his. Trip’s apartment is close to the museum. We’re twenty minutes away, but he can be there in two.”
“No. I want you to come.”
“Trip’s a friend. He’s a SWAT cop, like Alex. He helped save my life during the Demetrius Smith trial. He won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“I haven’t met—”
“We’re leaving the house now. I don’t want you alone any longer than you have to be.”
“Wait. How will I know him?”
“Trust me, Char. You can’t miss him. He’ll be the biggest thing in the room.”
The biggest thing in the room? Audrey meant the description to be concise, comforting. But Richard was dead and she was alone, and whoever was banging on the outside door was no small potatoes, either.
The pounding stopped, filling the air with an abrupt silence even more ominous than the deafening noise. Charlotte’s breath locked up in her chest. Was he looking for another way to get in?
“Char?”
She jumped at Audrey’s voice. “Biggest thing in the room. Right.”
“Trip will be right there. The whole SWAT team is on their way.”
The instant Charlotte disconnected the call, it rang again. The name and number lit up with terrifying clarity.
Richard’s number.
“Oh, God.”
It rang. And rang.
“Stop it!”
She pulled her hand back in a fist, intent on hurling the tormenting object against the door. But a paw on her thigh and a glimmer of sanity had her shoving it onto the shelf beside her instead. She’d need it on to know when Audrey got here.
Then she huddled in the darkness with the sword and the ringing and her dog and waited, praying that her friends got to her before whoever had murdered Richard did.
“AUDREY CAN’T RAISE HER on her phone, big guy. You have to go in.”
“Got it.” Trip Jones stuffed his phone into the pocket of his jeans and peered over the Dumpster into the parking lot behind the Mayweather Museum of Natural History. He pulled his black KCPD ball cap farther down across his forehead to keep the rain out of his eyes, but it didn’t make what he was seeing any less unsettling. What have you gotten me into this time, Taylor?
Trip retreated a step after his initial recon, wrinkling his nose at the Dumpster’s foul smell and running through a mental debate
