Chapter Five #3
Summer plied everyone with hot coffee and some sweet biscuits she foraged from the pantry—which was decidedly empty; she needed to do some shopping.
The locksmith came around mid-morning and replaced her broken lock on her front door, which made her feel much more secure.
The cleanup took less time than she imagined.
By lunchtime, they had most of the mess tidied up.
Books and unbroken trinkets back on the shelves, plants repotted.
Two of the couch cushions were still intact, but the rest had to be thrown out, and her couch sat in the corner looking lopsided and sad.
Summer wondered if she could get replacements or whether she should just buy a whole new lounge.
But the decision was too big to be made today.
She straightened her bedroom, remade her bed with fresh sheets, and placed the clothes back in the wardrobe.
Anything that was broken was loaded into a large plastic bag, which Trent carried downstairs to the dumpsters around the back.
The only thing left to clean was her darkroom, but Summer wanted to tackle that alone.
It’d take time and patience to get everything back to rights, check to see if any of the equipment was damaged, and only she knew where all the items lived.
Summer’s stomach rumbled loudly; the coffee and biscuits had not done enough to replace the breakfast she’d missed.
Mayte flopped down on the two remaining cushions on the couch, while Trent groaned dramatically as he lowered himself into the single armchair, which thankfully was still intact.
A surge of gratitude filled Summer, making her chest ache as she went to stand next to Serena, who’d taken a seat at the island bench.
“Thank you,” she said, leaning her hip against the countertop. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“No problem, sweetie.” Trent waved a weary hand in the air.
“I owe you all lunch,” Summer said. “Come on, I’ll take you down to Olé on the Ave.” It was a rustic-chic little cafe that specialized in tapas and Spanish sweet pastries, great coffee and even better cocktails, and was one of Mayte’s favorites.
“Ohhh, that sounds wonderful.” Trent was on his feet in a second, dragging off his coveralls.
Mayte and Serena weren’t far behind.
“Food sounds good.” Mayte patted her stomach. “But you don’t have to treat us,” she argued, fixing Summer with a steely stare. “We did this to help you, no strings attached.”
“I know you did. But I’m starving, and we deserve a reward after all that hard work. And you need to let me show my gratitude. Please,” she added in a beseeching tone to her voice.
“Okay,” Mayte relented, even though Serena continued to scowl at Summer, but didn’t offer a vocal argument.
“Oh, goodie.” Trent clapped his hands with glee.
Summer herded them out onto the landing, locking the door carefully behind her, with her new keys.
She still had no idea how the thief had gotten into the complex, but she decided that upon her return from lunch, she was going to knock on a few doors to see if anyone had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary.
Someone had let him in; that much was sure.
Because the alternative—that the burglar lived in the building—was too terrifying to contemplate.
* * *
Summer punched in the code to her building’s front door.
She’d already bid farewell to her friends on the street, thanking them again for their help.
Her stomach was bulging and uncomfortable; they’d eaten way too much food, and the three cocktails Summer had consumed were making her sleepy.
They’d spent longer than they intended in the café, and it was now almost dinnertime.
But Summer felt far better. The laughter and companionship of eating and drinking with her buddies had lifted most of the terrible weight pressing down on her shoulders.
She climbed the stairs wearily, looking forward to an early night. Hopefully, she could sleep, and thoughts of someone breaking in wouldn’t haunt her.
An incoming text beeped on her cell, and she pulled it out of her pocket to see who it was from.
Her heart skipped a beat as she momentarily imagined it might be from M?rten.
Maybe he was messaging to check how she was going?
But it was from an unknown number, and Summer bent her head over her phone trying to decipher the weird message, taking the stairs up to her landing on autopilot.
It was from Peter Macdonald from the United States Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS) in Yellowstone National Park, asking her to call him at her earliest convenience on a matter of urgency.
Summer stood in front of her apartment door staring at her phone, wondering if it was some kind of scam.
She’d never heard of this guy before. And he—
Something wasn’t right. A prickle of awareness slithered down her spine. This landing was usually well lit, but the section over near the lift was in semi-darkness. Funny, that light had been working when they’d left to go to the cafe earlier, hadn’t it?
There was a flicker of movement in the far corner. As Summer stared intently, a figure morphed out of the gloom. A man wearing a hoodie. A tall man. She glimpsed a large, hooked nose protruding from the shadow of his hood.
Oh, fuck!
It was the same guy from last night. He took two steps toward her, an aura of menace emanating from him.
“Hey, bitch.” He smiled, showing crooked teeth.
“Do you remember me? There ain’t no cops around to help you tonight, and you ain’t got no baseball bat either.
This time I’m going to get what I came for.
” He took three more steps, and Summer turned and ran.
She wasn’t stupid enough to want to fight him.
This guy was mean and on a mission; to hurt her.
She had a slight head start on him as she sprinted down the stairs, but she could hear him thundering after her.
His legs were longer, so he could take the stairs at a faster pace.
He was gaining on her. As she rounded the landing on the fourth floor, she thought about calling out for help, knocking on someone’s door, but decided he would catch her if she stopped running for even a second.
Her breath burned in her throat, and she nearly dropped her phone as she swung herself around the corner using the railing to keep herself upright.
Halfway down the stairwell to the third floor, she heard a cry and then a thud, followed by a string of loud curses.
She kept going, but could no longer hear the pounding feet close behind.
He must’ve fallen. She risked a glance upward and saw him struggle to stand on the flight above.
He began to hobble down the steps, but he’d hurt himself, because he’d stopped gaining on her.
She had a chance to get away. Her relief was palpable as she dared to take her first full breath since she’d seen him standing there. Not allowing herself to slow down, she continued to bound down the staircase like a rabbit fleeing a fox, until she hit the front door and burst out into the street.
But she didn’t stop there. She turned left and sprinted down the road toward the only place she knew she’d be safe.
In her panicked state, her mind was telling her to run, run straight to Jacob and Nikki’s house.
Straight to M?rten. It was stupid and pathetic, but the only thing her adrenaline-fueled body understood right now was that he would protect her. Oh, please, God, let him be home.