he was thankful for it. He headed out the door leading into the main section of the warehouse.
He hoped whoever was in the car was just some poor idiot who had gotten lost and would soon be on her way.
* * *
SOPHIA REARDON WAS lost and felt like some poor idiot. She rolled her window down farther and took a few deep breaths of air, trying to refocus.
Was this warehouse really the place? All of them looked the same. If she could read her own handwriting that would help. Of course, if people would do their jobs correctly in the first place she wouldn’t have to be here at the corner of Serial-Killers-R-Us Street and Shouldn’t-Be-Here-Alone Avenue.
Sophia looked down at the napkin where she’d scribbled the address. Yeah, that was definitely an 8 not a 3. Which meant it was this warehouse she was supposed to be at, not the just-as-scary first one she’d gone to.
All Sophia needed were a few pictures of the interior ceiling frame and doorway of the warehouse to help finish a computer rendering of the building. This warehouse was identical to one that had burned down in an arson case two weeks ago—the work of a serial arsonist who had hit buildings in four different states. The FBI had been called in to help local law enforcement.
Sophia muttered under her breath again as she grabbed her camera gear and purse. She put her FBI credentials in her pocket, in case some poor security guard needed to see them. She pushed open the door to the warehouse and walked in slowly, giving her eyes time to adjust. She cursed her office mate, Bruce, who had begged Sophia to take these pictures.
“‘The new girl at the coffee shop said yes to lunch, Sophia,’” Sophia said in her best mimicry of Bruce’s voice. “‘But today’s our only chance this week. Please, please, please go take pictures at the horror-film warehouse for me. I’m worth getting mutilated for.’”
Sophia sighed. Bruce owed her. Big-time. Sophia hated this cloak-and-dagger stuff.
Sure, she worked for the FBI, but would be the first to tell you she wasn’t an agent. She didn’t even do CSI stuff usually, although she was part of the forensic team. She was a graphic designer, for goodness’ sake. She designed brochures and fliers and posters. Safe in the comfort of her office in DC, not in some warehouse in Scaryville.
As the door closed behind her, Sophia took a deep breath and reminded herself there was plenty of air in this building and nothing to be afraid of. She was not trapped back in that car like during the accident five years ago. Sophia went through a couple of the mental exercises Dr. Fretwell had taught her to get her brief moment of panic under control. Once it had passed she grabbed her camera and began getting the shots she needed.
The doorway posed no problems so she got those first. But the beams in the ceiling area were going to be more difficult to film. Looking around she realized the office in the back would give her much better access to the shots she needed of the ceiling framing.
Sophia cautiously made her way back to the steps leading up to the office. It didn’t look as if there were any serial killers or cyborgs living here, but the place still gave her the creeps. Wooden crates and boxes were piled all along the stairs and landing, making getting up them precarious. Sophia kept a firm grip on the railing for as long as she could until she had to let go to step around a huge crate.
As she began climbing the second set of steps, Sophia caught something moving out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see what it was just as an arm reached out from behind her and covered her mouth, pulling her up against a hard chest and silencing her startled scream.
A deep voice breathed quietly in her ear, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Sophia was shocked into complete stillness for a moment then burst into a flurry of action. She elbowed the abs behind her and swung her legs backward at his shins. Although she heard a couple of grunts, the hand over her mouth didn’t move.
Terror completely overwhelmed her. The hand was cutting off her air and she couldn’t breathe. Panic made her blows even more frantic and she heard more grunts, but he still didn’t release her. She reached back and tried to scratch his face, but he caught both her wrists with his free hand before she could do any damage. He pulled her closer to his chest so her kicks couldn’t do any harm, either.
“You’ve got to calm down. I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice said, but his words barely penetrated Sophia’s terrorized brain.
She was desperate to get his hand off her mouth. She allowed her knees to give way so all her body weight fell. He didn’t let go of her face, but he did let her hands go so he could grip her weight with his other arm.
Sophia reached up and grasped the hand covering her mouth with both of her hands, her need for air overwhelming all other thoughts. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear Dr. Fretwell reminding her that there was plenty of oxygen, that there was always plenty of oxygen, but she couldn’t make herself believe it.
“Listen, I don’t want to hurt you,” the voice said again in little more than a whisper in her ear. “But I need you to calm down.”
Sophia didn’t believe his assurances for her safety for a second, but her only thought was to get the hand from around her mouth. It took all of her mental energy, but she forced herself to stop struggling.
“Good.” The hand over her mouth eased just the slightest bit. “I’m going to let you go, but if you scream we’re going to be right back in this position. Got it?”
Sophia nodded. The hand moved very slowly from her mouth, as if he was gauging whether she would keep her word not to scream. It hovered there, ready to reclamp over her mouth at the slightest noise from her. Sophia gulped air and struggled to get a hold of herself.
She wasn’t going to scream. She knew there wasn’t anybody around the warehouse close enough to hear it. Plus, she definitely didn’t want that hand—or worse, a gag—over her mouth, cutting off her supply of oxygen. Well, not cutting off the actual supply of oxygen, but making her brain think she wasn’t getting enough oxygen.
Damn claustrophobia. The last thing she needed was to become a sobbing nutcase on the floor because some creep gagged her. She needed to keep her wits about her and figure out how to get away from the big chest still standing right behind her.
Whatever trouble she was in here, she was going to have to get herself out. Because screaming wasn’t going to help.
“Are you okay?” the voice asked, the mystery man still standing directly behind her, hand still hovering near her mouth.
“Yes. Look, I was just here to take some pictures of the door and ceiling.” She was breathing so hard she could barely get the words out, so Sophia lifted her camera to the side so he could see it. “Whatever you’re doing here, I don’t know anything about it and I don’t care.”
There was no response from the man behind her. Sophia didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.
“I haven’t seen you. I have no idea what you look like. I’ll just leave. There’s no cell phone coverage out here, so it’s not like I can call anyone or anything.” Sophia didn’t know if that was true or not. She had forgotten to charge her phone again last night, so it was sitting dead out in her car. But she wasn’t
