Run While You Can (True Crime Junkies #11)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

A scraping sound jerked Gina James from her sleep.

Her eyes snapped open, every muscle instantly rigid as her dark bedroom came into view.

What was that noise?

The apartment was usually far from quiet at night.

Her new roommate, Emily, had a habit of staying up late on her laptop, watching reality dating shows with her earbuds half in.

The neighbor’s television typically droned through the thin walls until well past midnight.

Someone upstairs paced like they were training for a marathon.

But tonight—nothing.

The entire apartment building seemed to be holding its breath.

The scraping sounded again.

Gina’s heart beat harder.

Was that a squirrel? The wind?

Her imagination working overtime?

The digital clock beside her bed read 2:47 a.m., its red numbers the only light in the room.

The past few weeks since breaking up with Colin had left her jumpy, second-guessing every shadow and sound. She was still adjusting to living with someone again—a twenty-two-year-old who had to be reminded to pay her portion of the utilities. Emily had only moved in a month ago.

Click.

Chills pricked her skin.

The sound came from down the hall.

Was that the living room window? The one she’d cracked open earlier?

She listened but heard nothing except her heartbeat.

Call the police! an internal voice urged. Why are you waiting?

She forced herself from her paralyzed state and felt around on the nightstand. Finally, her fingers found her phone.

But as she hit the 9, the door flew open, and a blast of white-hot light exploded into her room.

Gina flinched and instinctively shrank back. As she did, the phone slipped through her trembling hands.

The device hit the wood floor with a hard, cracking thud.

A surge of panic ripped through her chest.

The one thing that could save her—gone. Out of reach.

She didn’t dare move to grab it.

The light at her bedroom door intensified, searing her vision.

Someone was in her room.

Her lungs seized. Her limbs froze. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream as primal terror flooded every cell.

“Don’t move.” The intruder’s voice was deep and gravelly, as if the man speaking had been gargling broken glass. Each word scraped against her eardrums. “Don’t scream. Don’t use that phone. If you do exactly what I say, you might survive this.”

That might hung in the air between them like a blade.

White spots and their dancing afterimages filled Gina’s vision. She couldn’t make out the man’s features or build. She couldn’t make out anything except that voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Please—” The word sounded just above a whisper.

“Shh.” The sound was almost gentle, which made her shivers worse. “I’ve been watching you, Gina. Through your windows. In the parking lot. At the coffee shop on Fifth Street where you get your latte every morning at seven-fifteen.”

Ice flooded her veins.

He knew her name. Her routine.

“And don’t bother hoping your little roommate will help you.

” His tone sharpened as he moved closer, as the light grew brighter.

“She’s sound asleep. You’re so protective of her, aren’t you?

Keeping an eye on her like a big sister.

It would be a shame if she woke up and wandered out here at the wrong moment.

I don’t take well to people messing up my plans. ”

Gina’s stomach bottomed out. Emily.

Emily was in the other bedroom—naive, oblivious, and completely defenseless.

Gina had promised Emily’s family she’d look out for her. Emily was new to San Francisco, still finding her footing, and her parents had asked Gina—firm, capable Gina—to keep an eye on her.

Gina had agreed without hesitation. Emily had been one of her mother’s piano students and a family friend. She’d moved to Chicago for a job, but she’d been carjacked while there. She’d needed to move somewhere for a fresh start, and Emily’s mother had asked Gina to help as a favor.

But right now, unarmed and with a stranger’s voice slicing through the dark, she couldn’t even protect herself.

“You sleep on your left side.” He stepped closer, the floor creaking under his weight. “You set three alarms and still manage to oversleep. You sing in the shower—badly. You cry sometimes when you think no one can hear.”

She smelled him now—stale cigarettes, coffee, and something else. Something chemical and sharp that made her nose burn.

“What do you want from me?” Her voice cracked.

“Everything.” The word slithered out of him. “But tonight, your cooperation will do.”

The light shifted as he bent down. A second later, he plucked her phone from the floor and slipped it into a pocket.

Metal clinked softly as he stepped around her bed. She caught glimpses—latex gloves, dark clothing, a small bag in his left hand.

Nausea roiled inside her.

“Sit up slowly,” he commanded. “Put your hands behind your back. One wrong move, and this becomes a very different kind of night. The kind your neighbors—and your roommate—will be giving statements about for years.”

Fear shot through her.

With trembling limbs, she pushed herself up straighter.

The man’s headlamp tracked her every movement, never wavering. She felt him studying her, memorizing her fear like a collector examining a specimen.

“Hands,” he reminded her, his patience somehow more terrifying than anger would have been.

She clasped her hands behind her back, feeling the bite of zip ties as the man secured her wrists. The intruder’s breathing was controlled, measured.

He’d done this before, hadn’t he?

The thought sent another wave of panic through her.

After her hands were bound, the man sat on the bed in front of her and secured her ankles.

Her eyes ached as the light on his head seared into her vision.

She pressed her eyelids together, trying to steady herself.

“Tell me about yourself, Gina,” the man said as if they were on a first date. “Start with your biggest fear.”

Tell me about yourself? What kind of game was this man playing?

The last thing she wanted to do was chat.

“I don’t have a biggest—” she started.

“Wrong answer.”

The next instant, something cold and sharp pressed against her throat. Not quite breaking skin but promising it could.

A knife, she realized. This man had a knife with him.

A fresh wave of fear swept over her.

Was he going to kill her?

A cry caught in her throat.

“Your biggest fear, Gina.”

“Being helpless.” The truth tumbled out. “Not being able to fight back.”

The man laughed, the noise sounding like grinding gears. “How beautifully appropriate.”

He didn’t speak again.

He only sat there.

Gina felt him—not just his presence, but his attention.

Heavy. Focused. Absolute.

The headlamp dimmed slightly as he tilted his head, studying her as if she were a puzzle he was savoring the process of solving.

Seconds stretched.

Maybe minutes.

Her sense of time warped under the blinding beam.

Then she heard it—a quiet exhale.

His.

Close enough to feel the faint warmth of it stir the hair near her temple.

“I wondered,” he murmured, “if you’d look different up close.”

Her heart hammered so hard she was afraid he’d hear it.

“You always seem so composed.” His gloved fingers brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “At work you keep everything in order. Everything neat. Everything controlled.”

Her stomach dropped.

He knew where she worked.

This man really had been watching her. How could she not have noticed?

Or had she? Those nudges of unease when she walked places alone—maybe they hadn’t been her imagination.

If she’d paid more attention—given more heed to her instincts—maybe she wouldn’t be in this situation right now. If only she could go back . . .

“You stay late at work far too often.” He almost sounded as if he were scolding a child. “Eleventh floor. Corner office with the plant by the window.”

Her breath hitched.

He laughed softly—a low, pleased rumble. “You work for Morrison, Blake, and Associates. I especially enjoy watching you through those big glass panels. It’s like a stage, really.”

“How—how do you know all this?” she whispered.

He ignored the question. “Your firm takes on such interesting clients. Powerful ones. Dangerous ones. Tell me, Gina . . . why corporate law? Why contracts? Why lie to yourself that paper is safer than people? Why pretend you’re not involved in things far bigger than you understand?”

Her pulse thrummed painfully in her throat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hmm.” His voice drifted closer, silk over steel. “I do, actually.”

Something brushed her shoulder.

His fingers, she realized. His fingers were trailing her arm, lingering near the zip ties.

She jerked away.

He chuckled as if her reaction amused him. “You’re doing beautifully, Gina. Terrified but obedient. You’re meeting my expectations. Bravo for that.”

Rustling sounded as he moved. Metal clinked. Then the soft zip of something opening.

His bag, she realized. What was inside? Something that would cause her pain?

She didn’t want to die!

“What are you doing?” Her voice cracked as nausea roiled inside her. She tried to shove worst-case scenarios out of her mind but couldn’t.

“Just . . . looking at my options.” A metal instrument glinted as he lifted it into the light.

She couldn’t tell what it was—pliers? Something sharper?

Something worse?

He let them dangle, the metallic clink echoing through the room.

She swallowed hard, nausea rising as unthinkable possibilities raced through her mind.

This man could hurt her. Really hurt her.

And she was powerless to stop him.

She should have fought back. Shouldn’t have dropped her phone. Should have been quicker on her feet.

But now it was too late.

She was at this man’s mercy.

She was going to end up as the subject on a crime documentary, wasn’t she?

Tears pressed at her eyes.