Chapter 4
DANIKA
Adrenaline floods my veins as the elevator plummets to the ground level. I know my chances are slim, but I have to try to get away. I just wish I knew how. I’ll never win a foot race with a man nearly a foot taller than me. I’m an artist, not an athlete.
What else, then? Do I push him in front of oncoming traffic? Effective if I’m okay with possibly going to prison and living with the fact that I killed a man. Urgency bleeds my brain of all thought. The harder I push myself to come up with an idea, the more blank my mind becomes.
Come on, Dani. Think!
The rev of a motorcycle draws my gaze behind me. The light up ahead has turned green, and traffic is inching forward … including a motorcycle not far from me.
I have no clue if I can pull this off, but it’s the only idea I’ve got. I’ll only have about half a second to make it work.
In three…
Two…
One…
I shove the Russian away from the street, then launch myself onto the back of the motorcycle. I burn my leg in the process but hardly register the pain.
“Drive, please ! I need your help,” I cry next to the man’s helmet.
My body tightly clutches his with my duffel still dangling from my shoulder.
By some miracle of God, the bike revs to life, skirting around the cars in front of it and away from the furious Russian screaming at our backs.
We zoom in and out of traffic, even going on sidewalks to avoid stopping, until we’re a good mile or so away from my apartment building.
Far enough that I feel safe asking the driver to stop.
Again, my luck holds up, and the guy pulls his bike over in the loading zone for a corner market.
“Thank you so much,” I say as I slide off the bike, careful not to burn myself again, and turn off my cell phone before I do anything else. Now that I’ve escaped, I don’t want them using GPS somehow to track me down.
My rescuer takes his helmet off to reveal a middle-aged man with kind eyes. “You okay? I can drop you at a police station if you want.”
“No, that’s okay. Thank you.” I offer a gracious smile, and while he returns the gesture, his eyes are full of pity. I don’t like the idea of anyone worrying about me, but my situation probably warrants concern.
I give one more wave and watch as he puts his helmet back on and disappears into the night.
Despite all that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours, I’m bolstered by the reminder that decent people still exist in the world—people willing to help a total stranger.
It gives me a tiny ray of hope that maybe an answer to my problems will present itself. In the meantime, I need to hide.
After using the only cash in my wallet to buy a blue Yankees ball cap in the corner market, I head to the subway. My best friend lives two stops away. I can spend one night with her, then move forward with my plan in the morning.
“Well, this is new.” Sachi studies the way my trademark red waves are crammed under a ball cap—an unusual style for me, even more so considering the sun isn’t out. Her eyes pop wide open. “Oh God. Tell me you did not try to give yourself bangs.”
I have to chuckle as I push past her into the one-bedroom apartment she shares with another girl. “I wish.”
“Then what’s up with the incognito mode?”
“Ria here?” I try to peek into the bedroom but don’t see signs of Sachi’s roommate.
“She’s out for the evening, why? What on earth is going on?”
I set down my duffel and have Sachi sit with me on the small futon sofa. “This is going to sound absolutely insane, but every word of it is true.”
My best friend of the past five years sobers, the normally serene skin of her forehead creasing with unease. “Are you in some sort of danger?” she blurts.
“You know that my dad isn’t in my life, but I sort of left out the part about him being head of the Russian mob.”
“Oh my God. You’re not joking.” If possible, her eyes widen even further.
I shake my head slowly, then launch into an explanation of the past twenty-four hours of my life. She listens raptly, asking questions like a soldier gaining intel before going on a mission.
“Sach, I don’t want you involved in this,” I tell her at the end. “I just need to stay here for the night, then I’m going to disappear for a bit and hope this whole thing blows over.”
“You may be staying here, but you are not disappearing. Not from me, anyway,” she counters sharply. What Sachi lacks in height—she’s barely four-eleven—she makes up for in spunk. We usually complement each other nicely, but right now, I just need her to listen for once.
“No, it’s too dangerous—” I try to argue before she cuts me off.
“All I’m saying is we’re going to get a couple of disposable phones so that we can keep in touch. No reason for you to be totally on your own if you don’t have to be.”
I slump back against the cushion behind me, realizing she has a point. “I guess that’s okay. I turned off my phone so he can’t track me, not that I have any clue how that stuff works.”
“Not good enough, hand me the phone.” She takes my lifeless device, removes the case, and pops out the SIM card. “This is the real culprit.” Her eyes light up as she snaps the tiny square in half.
“This is a product of all that true crime stuff you watch, isn’t it?”
“You mean my survival research? Yes, and as you can see, it’s paying off. Now, we need to get burner phones. I’ll run by the electronics shop around the corner in a minute.”
“Okay, but the phones are only for emergencies.”
She holds up her hand as if swearing an oath. “Scout’s honor.”
“Crap, what about my laptop?”
“Should be fine, just don’t connect to the internet.”
I have work due, but I guess staying alive is more important. I’ll worry about my projects later once I know I’m safe.
Sachi scoots closer with a conspiratorial lean. “Tell me about this place where you’re planning to stay.”
“Nope. It’s too dangerous. I’d like to think Biba doesn’t know you exist, but if he does, I want you to be able to honestly say you have no idea where I am.
” I keep going when she starts to frown, hoping to distract her.
“One thing I can use your help with is these.” I take out the bundle of lock picks still in my pocket from when Gran gave them to me earlier.
“What are those?”
“Lock picks. Our mission tonight is to figure out how to unlock a deadbolt.”
As I’d hoped, her eyes light up with excitement. “Let me run to the store to get those phones, and then we can get started. I’m sure there are tons of YouTube tutorials we can watch. You can learn how to do anything on YouTube.”
“Exactly.” The adrenaline filtering out of my system brings my attention to a throbbing pain a few inches above my right ankle. I remember the scalding pipe on the motorcycle and have a look.
“That a burn?” Sachi asks.
“Yeah, from the motorcycle.”
“Who has a motorcycle?”
“Random stranger—I hopped on to escape the Russian thug.” I lift my gaze to my best friend when she goes quiet and find her staring at me like I’ve just won an all-expenses-paid cruise to the Caribbean.
“Your life is totally insane, and I’m a little jealous.”
I roll my eyes with a smirk because I know she doesn’t mean it. Sachi grabs her purse and slides on a pair of flip-flops before pausing, then crossing the room to give me a big hug. “But for reals, I’m so sorry this is happening, Dani. I wish there was more I could do.”
“Thank you, honey. Having you here for me is more help than you can know.”
I give her one last squeeze before she leaves in search of phones for us.
After getting a baggie of ice for my burn, I dig in my emails to see what I can learn about Ricky’s travels, hoping for clues about a possible house sitter.
Unfortunately, not much info is available.
On the upside, we make decent headway on the lock pics after Sachi gets back with the phones.
We practice for over two hours on her apartment door while watching video tutorials.
I feel confident I could get in a lock like hers, but who knows what kind of lock Ricky will have.
I never paid attention to that sort of thing when I went to gatherings at his place.
I watch a few videos on other types of locks and learn what I can before deciding to call it a night.
The following morning, I slip out of the apartment without saying goodbye. It’s just too painful. I prefer to believe I’ll see her again very soon—the same with Mom and Gran. Losing touch with them is too unbearable to think about, so I don’t.
How fitting that today is Independence Day. The Fourth of July—the day I go in search of my freedom because spending my life in an arranged marriage would be a prison sentence.
I’m officially alone as I ride the elevator up to Ricky’s apartment.
Not only am I alone but I hardly recognize myself in the mirrored elevator wall with my hair under a ball cap.
Wearing baggy jeans low on my hips and an oversized T-shirt, I look like a preteen boy, which was intentional.
Very few people were out and about on the way over since it’s a holiday, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
I’m committed at this point. I don’t want to be careless and wind up back where I started.
But are you committed enough to break into this apartment?
I stare at the door and wait for someone to answer my knocking. It’s been more than enough time. If someone were inside, they’d have come to the door, right? Right.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and pull out the picks.
Here goes nothing.
The lock has an electronic keypad along with a traditional keyhole like so many door locks these days. We learned last night that as long as the lock has a keyhole, it can be physically picked regardless of the electronic component.
Time to see if my lackluster skills are sufficient to prove that theory correct.
I take out the two picks needed and begin the process.
With the straight stick inserted, I use a skinnier stick with a hooked end to feel for the pins inside.
I need to get each pin raised and locked in place.
Five times I try. Five times I fail and have to start over.
My hands are starting to shake. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I’m battling a swell of frustration threatening to overwhelm me.
On my sixth attempt, as I quietly plead with the lock to give in, I feel the internal mechanism click over. I freeze in shock.
I’ve unlocked the door and broken into my friend’s apartment.
My chest swells with a deep breath of elation as I push open the door. No one confronts me. The lights are off, and the place is silent. I don’t even hear the beeping of an alarm, which surprises me, but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
I did it!
I’ve secured a safe place to lie low until I can sort out my next move.
The relief is so intense that my head spins with dizziness.
Or is it disorientation? Ricky has redecorated since I was last here a few months ago.
The design is still masculine in its simplicity, and nothing much is on the walls yet.
I imagine he’ll have them full of his amazing photography when he has the chance.
I set down my bag and walk into the living room to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the incredible view. This bird’s nest in the sky is my new sanctuary. I don’t know what comes next, but I’m safe for now.
No sooner did the thought cross my mind than an arm clamps around my neck to secure me in a tight headlock.
“You think you can break into my place, you little prick?” growls a deep voice at my back.
I gasp and tug at the corded forearm blocking my airway, only managing to get out a petrified squeal. As if caught off guard, my attacker suddenly loosens his hold.
“The fuck ? You’re not a punk kid, you’re a woman.”
I nod and wheeze, “I’m so sorry. Please, don’t hurt me. I’m a friend of Ricky’s.”
I lift my hands to my sides in surrender and slowly turn around to find a gun pointed at my head. Another onslaught of adrenaline has my one good ear ringing so loudly that I’m nearly deaf.
A gun ? I wasn’t sure what would happen if someone was inside the apartment, but I never really imagined a gun being involved. It’s light out. I knocked. This man has a foot of height and probably a hundred pounds on me. Why is he holding me at gunpoint?
My eyes flit from the weapon to the man in front of me. This time, I’m not the only one in shock as recognition registers.
“It’s you ,” he hisses in equal parts awe and accusation.
I totally understand because I feel the same.
What are the chances that the man from outside the police station is here in Ricky’s apartment? Did he follow me and slip in behind me somehow? Who on earth is he, and how does he look so damn terrifying yet breathtakingly beautiful at the same time?
“I’m not breaking in,” I assure him quickly.
“You and I must have very different definitions of breaking in.”
“Ricky’s a friend, and I was hoping to crash here while he’s away. I would have asked, but as you probably know, he’s off-grid.”
Dark brown eyes study me with acute precision. “If you mean Richard Auburn, he moved out a month ago. This is my apartment now, and I never leave the door unlocked, which means you. Broke. In.”
Oh shit . Shit, shit, shit.
What have I done? Is he a detective or something? Is that why he was in front of the police station? Am I about to go to prison?
“This has been a horrible misunderstanding. I’m so sorry.
I’ll just grab my bag and go.” I take one lunging step forward to escape around him when his hand whips out lightning fast and manacles around my throat.
He doesn’t restrict my breathing, but the gesture isn’t friendly either.
It’s also not something a cop would do—not a good one, anyway.
He’s making a statement about who’s in charge, and I receive that message with perfect clarity.
“I don’t think so, Danika ,” he says in an eerily calm voice, making a point to show that he remembers my name. “Considering this is the second time you’ve orchestrated a run-in with me, you’re not going anywhere.”