Chapter One
Piper
I walked into the dilapidated kitchen and swiped a finger over the cupboard door. The blue paint crumbled off, turning to dust on my fingertip.
“This place is a mess,” I muttered with a tickle in my throat. Maybe it was from the mold in the air or the warped pine floor beneath my feet. Perhaps it was the bubbling floral wallpaper in the breakfast nook and the rotting windowsill over the rusted sink. There wasn’t an inch of this house that wasn’t disintegrating.
I turned toward Leo, my boyfriend of two years. “It’s perfect.”
He smiled and shook his head of dirty-blond hair. Funnily enough, we had the exact same shade of hair. Same eye color, too. Hazel. It was the reason I’d noticed him when we first met. My best friend, Constance, “Conni,” had pointed him out at a party. “Hey, look. It’s your male doppelganger,” she’d said.
My heart warmed with the memory. Not about how he and I looked similar—lots of people did—but when we sparked up a conversation, we discovered we had the same likes and dislikes, too. Two peas in a pod.
I loved how the smallest, unforeseen events, like meeting someone at a party, could change your life. Today, of course, was not one of those moments. This was months of planning coming together.
“How did I know you were going to say you love this shithole?” Leo chuckled.
“Was it the way I moaned in ecstasy at the hand-carved banisters in the foyer?”
He stepped in closer, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Why don’t you moan like that when we’re having sex?”
I shrugged coyly. “If you had original parquet floors, I just might.”
He laughed. “Are we really doing this?”
How could we not? The home was everything we wanted, built in the late 1800s and two stories of pure craftsmanship just crying out to be brought back to life.
“We’re never going to find a Victorian at this price anywhere in the city.” It had six bedrooms, a basement, and a quarter-acre lot—unheard of in this San Francisco neighborhood where every home was valued at five million or more. The only reason this property hadn’t been divided up was because the home had been declared a historical landmark. Developers couldn’t touch it. Yet.
“But we talked about getting out of California, starting a family.” Leo’s eyes swept across the brown water stains on the ceiling.
“No. We agreed to give it six months, and if we couldn’t find a home for you to renovate, then we’d start looking elsewhere.” The truth was, with the way things were going around here—the drugs, crime, and let’s not forget the insane taxes—I wasn’t opposed to leaving the state. It was probably the smart thing to do. But something about this city—the history, the great food, and the smell of the salty fog rolling in from the cold bay—blinded me to the bad things. I still loved it here and hadn’t lost hope that San Francisco would turn around. In a decade or two? In the meantime, home prices were at rock bottom. This was our one chance to get in.
“Leo, I promise when we’re ready to have kids, we can reevaluate.” I kissed the top of his hand. “I’m marrying you. Not this house.” By now, he had to know I would always put us first. This home was nothing more than a great investment, a foothold into our bright future.
“It’s going to need a few hundred thousand in repairs—way over our budget,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but it’s been on the market for years, and Maurice says he knows the estate’s administrator. They really want to get rid of it before it’s condemned.” At which point, a developer could petition to remove the home’s historical status. “Let’s at least have Maurice float an offer and see what happens.”
Maurice was our Realtor, who’d been helping us speed along the process of finding a property. Leo and I were getting married next summer. At least, that was the plan, though we’d both agreed that finding our historic dream house and remodeling it together would come first. We wanted a home where we could have a picture-perfect wedding to start our picture-perfect life.
Leo was an architect, working for a firm here in the city, but he wanted to get out on his own, doing exactly this: renovating historic homes. This house would be his first big project and his calling card. Also, his office and our house.
Me, I was teaching history at the community college. Ancient Greece was my specialty, though I also taught European history, too, to boost our income. God knew we’d need every dime to do this project.
Leo’s hazel eyes flickered with conflict.
I took his other hand. “Leo, I believe in you. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I have a new job with a great salary. Giving it all up to go into construction and remodeling is a huge risk.”
“Which is why you’ve done your homework and planned everything out.” Leo was taking the exam for his contractor’s license next month. With his background in architecture and his deep love of historical buildings, he’d have clients coming out of the woodwork.
“Okay.” He nodded with quick jerking motions. “You’re right. You’re always right.” He pecked my lips. “I’m going to take another look at the attic and basement.”
“Good thinking.” I snapped my fingers. “Let’s submit photos of all the crap that needs fixing with our insanely low offer.”
Leo gave me a stern look. “You’re absolutely sure you want this house?”
“I’m sure about you, Leo.” And whether or not we bought this place wasn’t going to change that. I was thirty-one and knew what I wanted in life. Leo was it for me. The safe harbor, the planner, and the thinker I needed to keep me balanced. We also enjoyed the same coffee, music, and books: dark, lively, and deep in the weeds, filled with facts. We even had the same pet peeves when it came to organization. Never dishes in the sink. Spices alphabetized. Laundry folded the minute it was dry. Neither of us could relax if there were messes around the house, which would make this project all the more challenging. But I believed in us and in Leo.
Leo left the kitchen, and I wandered out to the patio, where piles of rotting weeds, plastic bottles, and tainted syringes littered the space. We were going to need a biohazard team to make this yard safe.
“It’s going to be worth it,” I sighed to myself. In six months, we’d see our dream rise from the ashes of neglect, and everything would be perfect.
Unexpectedly, the sky went dark and filled with black clouds.
I buttoned the front of my gray cardigan. “That’s weird.” I’d never seen a storm roll in so fast.
A sudden movement caught my attention. I turned my head and spotted a shirtless man with strong arms standing in the tall weeds across the yard. He lifted his hand, revealing a shiny Minoan labrys. It was the same kind of double-headed ax I’d seen in history books, with the elaborate, geometrical patterns.
What the…?Before I could register what was happening, he charged.
I screamed, turning to go back inside. I made it three steps before he had the back of my sweater. How had he reached me so fast?
“Help!” I yelled out to Leo.
The man jerked me to the ground, onto my back, and I felt my head crack as I hit the brick patio. My vision flickered with stars, and when it returned, the man was hovering over me, his cold gray eyes narrowed.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Spittle flew from his mouth as he snarled his words. “If you run from me again, I will kill you.” He sandwiched my face in his hand and smashed his mouth against mine. His other hand slid beneath my sweater, savagely cupping my breast.
I had no fucking clue what was happening, but I wasn’t about to let some crazy asshole assault me.
I raised my knee, hitting him in the gut, though I’d been aiming for his groin.
He fell back, quickly getting to his feet. “You fucking cunt, I’m going to hurt you for that.” He began removing his leather belt.
I scrambled to my feet. “Help! Help!” I ran inside to the kitchen, colliding with Leo.
“What’s going on?” Leo grabbed my shoulders to steady me.
“There’s a man. He has an ax!” I looked over my shoulder, but there was no one there.
Leo rushed to the back door and slammed it shut, locking it.
That wasn’t going to help. It was a French door with glass panels.
Maurice came into the kitchen, panting. He was a thin man with gray hair, probably about my dad’s age. “What happened?”
“There’s a man.” I pointed to the back door, trying to catch my breath. “He attacked me.”
Maurice’s face contorted. “I was upstairs looking out the window.”
“Did you see where the guy went?” Leo asked.
“All I saw was you, Piper,” Maurice said. “You were running toward the house and fell, but there was no one else.”
I rubbed the fresh, tender spot on my skull and glanced toward the French door, noticing the sun was out again. I don’t understand.
“Let’s get you to the ER,” Leo said.
“No. I’m fine,” I lied. Of course I wasn’t fine. I felt disoriented and embarrassed. I’d made a big stink for nothing.
But I saw the man before I hit my head.Or had I?
“I just want to get home and ice it,” I said.
We left the house, and as Leo and I drove down the hill, my mind quickly reshuffled the facts. Obviously, I’d hit my head first. Then I dreamed up the attack. Nothing else made sense.