CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Hannah burst through the restroom door.
“Wren?” she called out to the empty room.
There was no answer. She gulped hard, trying to catch her breath after having sprinted down the hall from the home health office.
“Wren,” she said again. “It’s Hannah. Are you in here?”
After what seemed like forever, she got a reply.
“Um, Hannah. Yes, I’m in here, but I’m a little busy right now. Is something wrong?”
The voice came from the closer of the two stalls. She sounded fine, if a little annoyed. Hannah didn’t want to freak her out, so she didn’t mention Quaid’s disappearance.
“All good,” she lied. “Just wanted to check on you.”
Relieved, she was tempted to use the other stall. Unfortunately, it had an “out of order” sign on it. She’d have to hold it.
“I just got inside the building,” Kat said in Hannah’s earbud. “I’m heading for the elevators. What’s the status up there?”
Hannah was about to tell her when she noticed a shadow move across the floor in the “out of order” stall. She froze. Why would anyone legitimately be in a stall with a non-working toilet? They wouldn’t.
He was in here.
“Might as well touch up my makeup as long as I’m here,” she said loudly, turning toward the mirror so that anyone peeking through the crack in the stall door couldn’t see her texting Kat.
She typed two words: He’s here.
She’d barely hit “send” when she heard a sound that sent a shiver through her.
The sliding lock to the “out of order” stall was moving.
She turned around to see the door starting to open.
Shoving her phone in her pocket, she dove toward it, slamming it shut.
She heard a distinctly male grunt right before the sound of the metal latch smashing into the metal door echoed through the restroom.
“What the hell?” Wren demanded.
“He’s in here!” Hannah shouted, her full weight pressed against the stall door. “Get out now!”
She’d just gotten the words out when there was a forceful bang on the door. It opened slightly before she regrouped and threw her shoulder at it. Quaid must not have been expecting that because she heard him stumble backward. He must have bumped into the toilet because there was a sudden flush.
A moment later, Wren shot out of her stall. She was still zipping up her pants. Her eyes were wild with confusion and fear.
“Do that later!” Hannah barked. “Get out now!”
Wren didn’t need to be told a third time. She turned and darted for the door, ripping it open. It smacked into the wall before slowly starting to close behind her. Hannah returned her attention to the stall in front of her.
She could hear Quaid scrambling to get upright again and debated what to do.
Should she hurry out of the bathroom now, too?
If so, he’d only be seconds behind her. She might not even get to the door before he caught up to her.
But she wasn’t sure she could brace the stall door a second time if he slammed into it.
Before she could make a choice, there was a thud as he threw himself against it. Even with her feet planted firmly, the violence of his thrust was too much. The door shot back at her, hitting her in the chin and chest, and sending her flying.
She toppled back. As her backside hit the floor, Quaid popped out. He was dressed as he had been this morning, in the L.A. Rams cap and blond wig. But unlike before, his eyes were filled with rage and something else—lust maybe? In his right hand was what looked like a hunting knife.
For a moment, she froze. It was like she was back on that hiking trail with Dallas Henry when he revealed his true intentions, gun in hand.
All the panic and anxiety of the last month washed over her, and she feared that it would incapacitate her.
It only lasted a second, but it felt like an eternity.
And then something else replaced the fear. It wasn’t quite anger. More like resentment, but less with the knife-wielding stalker in front of her than with herself. She was sick and tired of being fragile and uncertain. That wasn’t who she was. And it was time to get back to the real her.
Quaid glanced down at her briefly but seemed uninterested.
His attention turned to the restroom door, which was just closing.
He started to move in that direction. Hannah knew she’d never get up in time to stop him before he got out, even with his halting gait.
So instead, she extended her leg, clipping his foot. He stumbled but didn’t fall over.
As she hurried to her feet, he turned to face her.
He seemed to have forgotten about Wren for the moment.
His face was twisted with fury. Hannah looked around.
There was nowhere to go. She was pinned between him and the back of the restroom.
There was no way to make it to a stall for protection before he got to her.
Hannah had lots of self-defense training, but wasn’t sure how much good it would do right now. She was unarmed, cornered, and facing off with a man who had two inches and about forty pounds on her. Nonetheless, she assumed a defensive position.
“Time’s up, Elton,” she said, keeping her voice as emotionless as possible. “I called the cops. You'd better run.”
But it didn’t work. He didn’t run. Instead, he advanced on her with his shuffling gait.
She backed up several steps until she was pinned against the wall.
He continued to move forward. She realized that she might actually have a better shot at escaping this situation if he rushed her.
Then she could dive at his knees while staying low enough to protect herself from the knife.
“Need a knife to fight a girl, huh?” she taunted, hoping to get him agitated enough to act rashly. “That’s what I’d expect from a beta boy like you.”
There was something cathartic about spitting that insult at him, as if she was directing it not just at Quaid but at Dallas, the wannabe men’s rights martyr who had ruined her ability to trust.
Quaid took another step forward, still frustratingly under control. Any closer and she wouldn’t have room to dive at him.
“I’ll show you how beta I am,” he growled.
He’d barely gotten the words out when the bathroom door smashed open. Kat stood in the doorway. But she didn’t stay there for long.
By the time Quaid turned to see what was happening, she’d broken into a run. There was a gun in her right hand, but she didn’t fire it. Hannah suspected that it was likely because Quaid was so close to her.
The man started to swing the knife at Kat just as she leapt at him, extending her left leg.
It connected with the center of his chest, sending him backward.
Hannah hopped out of the way just in time.
Quaid careened into the restroom's back wall.
His head slammed against the wall like a bowling ball being dropped on the ground.
He looked stunned. But he was still holding the knife. As he tried to regroup, Kat rushed him. He swung the knife at her lazily, but the former Army Ranger deflected the blow and landed one of her own, smashing the butt of her gun against his temple. He crumpled to the floor.
His fingers were still limply wrapped around the knife handle.
Kat kicked his fist, sending the weapon sliding across the floor.
Less than ten seconds later, he’d been rolled onto his stomach with his hands zip-tied behind him and Kat’s knee in his lower back.
She looked up at Hannah. Her wig was off-kilter.
“Use a paper towel to grab the knife,” she instructed. “You don’t want to get any of your prints on it.”
Hannah nodded, still shocked at the impressive speed and violence that Kat had at her disposal.
She thought she was decent when it came to hand-to-hand fighting.
She’d incapacitated her fair share of folks with ill intent, but this was something different.
The whole fight was over before she’d had a chance to do a thing to help.
She retrieved the knife, which had skittered next to the toilet in the “out of order” stall. When she turned around, she noticed something she’d missed before: Kat’s leg was bleeding.
“I think he got you,” she said, pointing at the woman’s left shin, where the blood was seeping through her pants.
Kat glanced down. “So he did.” She didn’t sound overly concerned.
“I’ll call for the cops,” Hannah said. “And for an ambulance too.”
“I’ll be fine,” Kat said dismissively.
Hannah shook her head, pointing at Quaid, dazed and bleeding profusely from his forehead.
“It’s for him.”