Chapter 9
Nora’s hands shook so badly she nearly dropped her phone.
The sound came again—metal scraping against metal. Someone was definitely picking the lock on Carson’s front door. Not trying to hide it. Not being careful.
They knew she was alone.
“Nora?” Carson’s voice in her ear, urgent and commanding. “Are you moving? Are you hiding?”
“Yes.” She was already backing down the hallway toward the bathroom, her heart hammering so hard she could barely breathe. “I’m going to the bathroom like you said.”
“Good. Lock the door. Put something in front of it. Anything heavy.”
Nora reached the bathroom and slipped inside, engaging the lock with trembling fingers. The lock was flimsy—just a button push on the doorknob. It wouldn’t keep anyone out for long.
Heavy. He said put something heavy.
Her eyes scanned the small bathroom. Nothing. No furniture. Just a sink, toilet, bathtub. The medicine cabinet was attached to the wall.
“Carson, there’s nothing to block the door with.”
“Then get in the tub. Behind the shower curtain. Stay low and stay quiet. I’m seven minutes out.”
Seven minutes. An eternity.
Nora climbed into the bathtub, pressing herself into the corner where the wall met the fixtures. She pulled the shower curtain closed, her phone still clutched in her hand, Carson’s voice her only lifeline.
“I’m in,” she whispered. “I’m hidden.”
“Good girl. Now stay completely silent. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. I’m coming, Nora. I promise I’m coming.”
The scraping at the front door stopped.
Silence.
Nora held her breath, straining to hear. Had they given up? Had they left?
Then…the distinct click of a lock disengaging.
The front door opened.
Nora pressed her hand over her mouth to muffle her breathing. Through the phone, she could hear Carson swearing, the roar of his engine as he pushed his car faster.
Footsteps in the apartment. Slow. Deliberate. Moving through the living room.
“Nora?” a voice called out. Male. Familiar in a way that made her skin crawl. “I know you’re here. Detective Black’s car is gone, but yours isn’t. Well, your car’s still dead in that parking garage, isn’t it? Where you ran from me that night?”
Eugene.
Oh God, it was Eugene.
The footsteps moved closer. Down the hallway.
“You can’t hide from me,” Eugene continued, his voice conversational.
Pleasant. Like they were old friends. “I’ve been watching you for so long.
Eighteen months of planning. Eighteen months of waiting for the right moment.
And you know what’s funny? You never even noticed me.
All those times you smiled at me in the lobby, said good morning, you had no idea. ”
Nora squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face. On the phone, Carson’s voice was low and urgent. “Stay quiet. Don’t respond. He’s trying to make you react. Six minutes, Nora. I’m six minutes away.”
The bathroom door handle rattled.
“Are you in there?” Eugene asked. “Behind this flimsy door? That’s not very creative, Nora. I expected better from Daniel Bell’s daughter.”
Her father’s name in his mouth made Nora want to scream. But she bit down on her hand, forcing herself to stay silent.
“Your father ruined my family,” Eugene said, his voice hardening. “Did you know that? He started the investigation that got my dad fired. Got him arrested. Made him so ashamed he killed himself. My mother left after that. I lost everything because of what Daniel Bell did.”
The door handle rattled again, more violently this time.
“But you probably don’t remember any of that, do you? You were just a kid. Living your perfect life while mine fell apart. So I waited. I watched. I learned everything about you. Where you worked, where you lived, what you wore, who you talked to. And you know what I realized?”
Something hit the door. Hard. The wood cracked.
“You’re just as weak as your father was. Just as easy to break.”
Another hit. The door splintered.
“Carson!” Nora couldn’t help it—the word burst out of her, terrified and desperate.
“I’m here!” Carson’s voice through the phone. “I’m pulling up now. Hold on, Nora. Just hold on!”
The bathroom door burst open.
Eugene stood in the doorway, and Nora saw him clearly for the first time. Mid-thirties, average height, plain features. The kind of face you’d forget immediately. Perfect for someone who wanted to blend in. To watch without being watched.
He smiled at her. “There you are.”
***
Carson took the stairs three at a time, weapon drawn, every second feeling like an eternity.
He’d heard Eugene break through the bathroom door. Heard Nora cry out his name. Heard the fear in her voice that made his blood run cold.
Please. Please let me be in time.
He reached his apartment door—hanging open, lock destroyed. Rushed inside, clearing the living room in seconds.
“Blackridge PD!” he shouted. “Eugene Whitmore, show yourself!”
A crash from the bathroom. Nora screaming.
Carson ran.
The bathroom door was splintered, hanging on its hinges. The shower curtain had been torn down. And Eugene had Nora backed against the bathtub, one hand wrapped around her throat, the other holding a knife.
“Let her go.” Carson’s voice was deadly calm, his weapon trained on Eugene’s center mass. “Right now.”
Eugene tightened his grip on Nora’s throat. She gasped, clawing at his hand, her eyes wild with terror.
“You can’t shoot me without risking her,” Eugene said. “I know you’re a good shot, Detective. But are you that good? Can you guarantee the bullet won’t go through me and hit her?”
Carson’s finger rested on the trigger, his aim steady despite the rage coursing through him. Eugene was right—from this angle, with Nora pressed against him, the risk was too high.
But Carson had spent nineteen years training for moments like this. Nineteen years learning to make impossible shots. Nineteen years preparing to do whatever it took to save people.
“I’m giving you one chance,” Carson said. “Let her go, drop the knife, and we can end this peacefully.”
“Peacefully?” Eugene laughed. “There’s nothing peaceful about what your department did to my family. About what her father started. This is justice, Detective.”
“This is revenge. And it ends now.”
“You’re right about one thing.” Eugene raised the knife. “It does end now.”
Everything happened in slow motion.
Eugene’s arm moving. The knife arcing toward Nora’s chest. Nora’s eyes going wide with terror.
Carson fired.
The shot was perfect, hitting Eugene in the shoulder—the knife hand. Eugene screamed and stumbled back, the blade clattering to the floor.
Carson was on him in an instant, weapon still trained, kicking the knife away. “Get down! On the ground now!”
Eugene collapsed, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “You shot me. You shot me!”
“You’re lucky that’s all I did.” Carson’s voice was ice. “Move again and the next one goes through your skull.”
But his eyes were on Nora. She’d slumped against the bathtub, gasping for air, red marks already forming on her throat where Eugene had grabbed her.
Sirens wailed outside. Backup arriving. Too late to help but in time to witness.
“Nora.” Carson couldn’t go to her. Not yet. Not while Eugene was still conscious and dangerous. “Are you okay? Talk to me.”
“I’m—” Her voice was raspy. “I’m okay.”
She wasn’t. Carson could see the shock setting in, the trembling in her hands, the glazed look in her eyes. But she was alive. Breathing.
That was all that mattered.
Finn burst into the apartment, weapon drawn, followed by two uniformed officers. “Jesus Christ—”
“Suspect is down,” Carson said. “Gunshot wound to the right shoulder. Attempted murder, breaking and entering, assault. Cuff him and get an ambulance here. And I want him in interrogation the second he’s cleared by doctors.”
The uniforms moved forward to secure Eugene, who was alternating between groaning in pain and muttering about injustice.
Carson finally holstered his weapon and went to Nora. She was still pressed against the bathtub, arms wrapped around herself, staring at nothing.
“Hey.” He crouched in front of her, careful not to touch her without permission. “Nora. Look at me.”
Her eyes focused on his face. Then, without warning, she launched herself at him.
Carson caught her, wrapping his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest and sobbed. Her whole body shook with the force of it—fear and relief and trauma all pouring out at once.
“I’ve got you,” Carson murmured, holding her tight. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“He was going to kill me. The knife—I saw it—”
“But he didn’t. I got here in time. You’re safe.”
“You shot him.”
“I did.”
She pulled back enough to look at him, her eyes red and swollen. “You saved my life.”
“That’s my job.” But even as he said it, Carson knew it was more than that. So much more.
This wasn’t just another victim. This was Nora. The woman he’d kissed last night. The woman who made him feel things he’d sworn he’d never feel again.
The woman he was falling for despite every reason he shouldn’t.
EMTs arrived, flooding the small bathroom. They insisted on checking Nora over—examining her throat, checking her vital signs, asking her questions Carson knew were meant to assess shock.
He stayed close, never more than a few feet away, watching Eugene get loaded onto a stretcher and taken away under guard.
It was over. Eugene was caught. Nora was safe.
So why did Carson still feel like something was wrong?
***
Two hours later, Nora sat in the emergency room, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, while a doctor examined the bruises on her throat.
“You’re lucky,” the doctor said. “No serious damage. The bruising will heal in a week or two. I’d recommend ice and ibuprofen for the pain.”
Lucky. Nora didn’t feel lucky. She felt violated and terrified and shaken to her core.