Chapter 1 #2
She winked and went back to drowning the ficus, and I moved on to the elevator bank, pressing the call button five times in rapid succession, as if that would make it arrive any faster.
As I waited, my phone dinged. It was a text from Birdie, my baby sister and co-conspirator in all things ridiculous.
Birdie
How did it go???
Billie
I’m home.
No reply for a half-second, then:
Birdie
srsly. debrief tomorrow. <3
Tomorrow was my soon-to-be niece’s 12th birthday.
My middle sister Bailey was marrying Cole, and his niece was turning twelve.
I wasn’t really a big kid person, but I liked Carly and her twin brothers, Luke and Leo, who were six.
Cole helped his sister raise the kids after her husband passed away and she was diagnosed with a chronic illness.
He was a good man, and I couldn’t be happier that in just six weeks’ time Cole and Bailey were getting married.
Birdie’s fiancé, rock superstar Dylan Hart, on the other hand, I was less happy about.
They’d been together for over a decade, and I couldn’t stand him.
But their wedding wasn’t for six months, so I had time to worry about her making that mistake later. Not a lot of time, but some time.
Both my sisters were going to be married, and I hadn’t had a serious boyfriend since college. And he wasn’t really that serious. I needed to feel something. Even if it wasn’t what I felt with Adam, there had to be someone out there that could make my pulse race, my knees week, my heart flutter.
I pocketed my phone and watched the elevator, longing to get upstairs and get into my bed.
When the doors finally opened, I stepped inside, pressed my floor, and watched my reflection in the smudged chrome I was underwhelmed.
I looked tired and over-caffeinated, but at least my lipstick was still on and my hair still held a glossy shine, so I’d take that as a win.
The doors parted on fourteen, and I made my way down the hallway, which always smelled faintly of weed, and more strongly, of Mrs. Finch’s lemon Pledge.
I was so focused on not thinking about Adam, or Evan, or my catalog of romantic failings that I almost didn’t notice the weird silence coming from the apartment.
The moment I opened the door, something felt off. Odd. A cold prickling sensation started at the base of my neck.
I stepped inside and instantly checked my security system. It was set. I disarmed it, and it glowed green: all clear. No window sensors were tripped, no doors ajar.
That should have been enough to calm me down, set my mind at ease, but it didn’t. I’d never been the type to spook easily—twelve years of living alone in San Francisco had cured me of that—but tonight, my internal warning sensors were being triggered.
I set my bag down and immediately did a sweep, room by room.
Bedroom: pristine, nothing out of place except a laundry basket that I’d left right where it was.
Bathroom: clear, toothbrush and hairdryer precisely as I’d left them.
Living room: throw pillows and a blanket untouched, candles still unlit.
I made my way to the kitchen, heart still thudding from too much adrenaline and not enough dinner.
That’s when I saw it, a single sheet of paper, dead center on the marble island.
It wasn’t there when I left. I knew this because I never left anything out on the counters, not even junk mail.
I had a rule about that. The smooth white rectangle seemed to glow against the marble counter, and my mouth went dry.
I didn’t touch it. I didn’t even move closer.
Instead, I did the only rational thing, turned on my heel, grabbed my purse, and walked straight back out the door, slamming it behind me.
My vision blurred and my hands shook as I walked down the hall and stabbed at the elevator button and muttered, “Come on, come on, come on,” until the doors opened.
Once inside, I kept my back pressed to the far wall and gripped my purse like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911, the numbers coming out of my trembling fingers so fast I had to try twice to get it right.
The phone rang, and I realized my hands were shaking hard enough to make my teeth chatter.
“911, what’s the address of your emergency?” the dispatcher answered as the elevator doors closed.
“Fifty-Seven Las Palomas Terrace, apartment fourteen ten. Someone broke into my home.”
The elevator descended, and I couldn’t hear anyone on the other end of the line. Sometimes the phone kept the connection, sometimes it dropped it. “Hello. Hello.”
I pulled the phone from my ear and saw I had no reception.
“Fuck.”
The second the doors opened, my phone was ringing, and I answered. “Hello."
“Hello, this is emergency services. We just received a nine-one-one call from this number, but the line was cut—”
“Yes! I called, I’m sorry, I lost service in the elevator. I’m at fifty—”
“Fifty-seven Las Palomas Terrace. I have your location.”
“Okay.” My shoulders dropped an inch. The police had my location. I was in the lobby of my building. Mrs. Finch was on the other side of her door. Nothing was going to happen to me. I lowered down onto the tufted bench ten feet from the building’s entrance.
“What is your emergency?”
“Someone broke into my apartment?”
“Are they still in the apartment?”
“I don’t know. I left.”
“Are you in a safe place?” the operator asked.
I looked around. The lobby was empty. Kenny, the security guard, wasn’t at his post, but the door to the street was locked. “Yes. I’m in the lobby.”
“Did you see the intruder?”
“No.”
“Are they armed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see a weapon?”
“No.”
“Were you assaulted?”
“No.”
“Do you need medical attention?”
“No.”
“Is your apartment secure? You said you’re not sure if the intruder is still inside?”
“I locked the door,” I said, “but—” I swallowed. “I didn’t check the closets or anything. I left right away.”
“That’s good,” said the operator. “Stay in a public place. Officers are on their way. Don’t go back inside until they arrive.”
I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. My head felt light, like my brain was floating above my skull. My palms were clammy and cold. I tried to imagine what the note could say, who could have left it, and why I hadn’t heard anything, but my mind was a blank.
“Help is on the way,” the operator repeated. “Is there anyone you can call to wait with you until the police arrive?”
I thought of my sisters, but both lived on the opposite side of the city, and I didn’t want to worry them. I didn’t have any friends in the building besides Mrs. Finch, and I wasn’t about to drag her into this.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Officers will be there soon. Call back if needed.”
I nodded again, then hung up, knowing my sisters would freak out if they knew I hadn’t called them, but there was nothing for them to do, really.
I stared at the lobby ceiling, trying to count the little holes in the acoustic tiles, but my vision kept going blurry at the edges.
I tucked my knees up, perched on the edge of the bench, and focused on my breathing.
In. Out. In. Out. If I could keep myself from hyperventilating, then everything would be fine. Everything would be just fine.