Chapter 1 #2
She inhaled deeply to steady herself, and the musty scents of mothballs, dust, and ten-year-old candy from the dish on the table next to her wafted into her nose.
Meow
Dani jumped out of her skin and slapped her hand to her stomach. A black-and-gray cat sashayed along the couch then leaped to the floor next to her. Its head nudged her hand, and a deep purr rattled from its chest.
“Hey, there.” Dani stroked its back. The satiny fur between her fingers calmed her nerves.
God, she hoped they didn’t come here looking for her.
The last thing she wanted to do was endanger this poor woman and her sweet cat.
The animal climbed onto her lap and kneaded her pajamas with its paws.
“Sorry, buddy. I can’t stay.” She lifted the cat, set it on the couch, then rose to her feet.
Television chatter floated down the hallway.
She followed the cackles of Thelma and Louise and stopped before the threshold to the woman’s bedroom.
The kind old lady she often passed in the hall lay flat on her bed, eyes closed, snoring lightly. She didn’t speak a word of English.
Dani skirted back the way she’d come and through the kitchen.
The front door beckoned her. She couldn’t hide out here forever—what if they knocked on the door?
She couldn’t have the old woman’s death on her hands.
Dani brought her eye to the peephole and rested her fingertips on the door.
Nothing to see out there. She backed away and her gaze landed on a wooden knife block.
She reached over, pulled out a paring knife, and held the cool, hard steel in her palm.
As she unchained the door, the sound of clanking metal made her wince.
She pulled open the door and swept her gaze down the hallway toward her unit.
Nothing. The men had been quiet enough getting into her apartment that they hadn’t disturbed anyone.
The firing of the gun ricocheted through her memory and she realized they’d been using a silencer—the only sound had been bullets ripping through wood.
She entered the hall. A feathery brush against her shins brought her to a halt.
The cat darted into the hallway and Dani breathed a curse.
She couldn’t chase it. She had to find a way back into her apartment and cause some kind of diversion.
One of the men was outside but the other was probably still in her unit, ransacking it.
She closed the door softly behind her and her gaze landed on the door directly across the hall.
The electrical room.
She cast a glance down each end of the hall and then shoved the door open.
The fluorescent light above hummed and electricity whirred in the tiny space.
Turning the power off would conceal her, and if anyone in the building woke, they’d attribute the outage to the storm.
She approached the fuse box, set the paring knife on the floor at her feet, and narrowed her eyes at the small print.
Using both hands, she flicked off the breakers two at a time.
The sound of energy seizing followed each motion.
She hit the last breaker and darkness closed in around her.
Dread swelled in her stomach and she bent down, picking up the knife.
She pulled open the door. More blackness met her at the threshold.
She swallowed the terror climbing in her throat and stepped into the hall.
In the absence of the constant drone of electricity, it was dead quiet.
Quiet enough that her breath sounded like waves crashing on a shore.
She clenched her teeth to stop the tremble of her chin.
Water trickled from the wet strands of her hair and rolled down her exposed shoulders to fall on her bare feet.
She kept one hand on the wall and the knife thrust in front of her as she moved in the direction of her unit. She had to get in and out—and fast.
But could she stab a man in the process? Her fingers brushed over a door casing and she swept her hand across the rough wood until it landed on the door handle. If her counting of each door she’d passed was correct, this was her unit.
Her blood galloped against her temples. She pushed on the handle and the door glided open without her having to turn the knob.
She slid herself inside and closed the door.
The old hinges squeaked and every muscle in her body went rigid.
The sound of objects hitting the floor in her bedroom reached her ears.
The guy inside hadn’t heard the door, but she had to hurry before the other man returned.
She might be able to take down one of them, but not two at the same time.
Dani tiptoed over the tile floor into the kitchen, where she settled against a wall and crouched. She had to draw him out of the bedroom. Standing, she grabbed a glass next to the cast-iron pan in the dish rack. Then she returned to a crouched position. She closed her fingers over the cool object.
She mouthed a silent prayer—Please, God, let me make it out of here alive—pulled her arm back, and threw the glass as hard as she could. It shattered against the wall and dozens of pieces of glass ricocheted off the cupboards and floor. The rummaging in her room stopped.
“Adrian? Is that you?” The man spoke in English but with a German accent. Acid rose up her throat with every stomp of his footsteps, which were coming up the hall behind her. She heard the whish of slacks rubbing together as his black shoes strode past her.
“What the . . . ?” He stepped into the rectangle of illumination coming from the window and stared at the glass at his feet.
Dani tore her butt from the floor, raised her arm, and jammed the knife into his hamstring.
He screamed and cursed in German. “Fick!”
She leaped to her feet and grabbed the handle of the cast-iron pan as the man reached around and yanked the knife from his leg. The metal hit the floor with a clatter and Dani tightened her grip on the pan. His eyes, as black as coals in the shadow, shifted to her.
He shot out his arm but kept his injured leg rooted to the spot.
He turned the muzzle of a gun toward her but she dodged out of reach and swung the frying pan into the side of his skull.
His head snapped to the side and his eyes fixed on hers before rolling backward.
His legs crumpled quicker than a broken fold-up chair with too much weight on it.
She let out a whispered screech and dropped the pan in the sink, shaking her hands as if to erase what she’d done.
She peered at the man’s slouched form. His eyes were closed but air hissed through his nose.
Not dead.
A tremor of disappointment shook her. One thing was for sure—she didn’t want to be here when he woke up.
First, she had to find out who he was. She bent down and reached into the inside pocket of his coat.
A metallic object filled her palm. She pulled it out and held the object up to the shaft of light.
The blood pumping through her veins slowed to a crawl as she read the writing on the badge: Swiss Polizei.
She sucked in a breath and shook her head. A cop? He wasn’t dressed in uniform, not wearing a radio . . . what the hell? Wouldn’t there be more of them if they’d come to arrest her? They sure as hell wouldn’t have broken into her apartment.