Page 4 of Home Coming

In her tiny yet costly city apartment there wasn’t much choice of where to run. The person was between her and the door so she went the other direction, to the bathroom where she slammed the door and flipped the lock.

She leaned back against the door, bracing with her legs to keep him, or her, from kicking it in.

Then her mind flashed to all the other things the intruder could do. Shoot through the door, even though she hadn’t noticed a gun.

Chop through it with an ax—yes, she’d seen that old Jack Nicholson movie and that scenario had been horrifying enough then when it hadn’t been happening to her for real.

She needed to get away from the door and hope the lock held. And she needed to call for help. Thank God she’d had the sense to grab her phone.

Backing up until her back was pressed against the sink vanity on the wall farthest from the door, she glanced down at the cell gripped in her hand and realized she’d been live on TikTok the entire time.

Thousands of reactions and comments streamed by. For once in her career she didn’t need or want the outpouring of viewer engagement. She needed real life help, not virtual. Her viewers didn’t know her address. They couldn’t send help or call the police.

Hands shaking, she managed to tap the screen to end the live but before she could navigate to dial 9-1-1, a call came through to the cell.

The nameAlexander Barringtonappeared on the display and she almost dropped the phone trying to answer with her trembling fingers. Hell, her whole body was vibrating but she somehow managed to connect to the video call.

“Xander,” she wheezed, breathless.

“Bailey. Are you all right? My assistant just called me and said you were being attacked.” Xander, managing partner of the Paragon Agency, was Bailey’s entertainment lawyer slash manager slash agent.

Right now, when she was too scared to even manage to dial 9-1-1, the older man was also her savior.

“Oh my God. Xander, they’re in my apartment.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. They wore a mask. They were right behind me in mybedroom.” The harrowing tale felt even more horrifying as she voiced what had happened—what was still happening—aloud.

Xander turned to someone standing nearby but out of the frame.

“Call 9-1-1.” When he focused back on her he asked, “Where are you now? Are you safe?”

“I’m locked in my bathroom,” she whispered.

Xander relayed her apartment’s address to the unseen person then his gaze met hers through the cell. “The police are on their way. Are they still in the apartment?”

“I don’t know. Don’t hang up, please,” she begged.

“I won’t. I’m on my way there now and I’ll stay on the line with you the entire time. I promise.”

“But I’m in Brooklyn. You’re in Manhattan.” She’d be dead by the time he made it to her.

“Believe it or not, I just happen to be in Brooklyn.” He smiled. Apparently the man could maintain his cool and remain calm both in negotiations and life threatening emergencies. “Help is on the way. Stay there with the door locked.”

“I will.” She didn’t see that she had any other choice.

The longest ten minutes of her life passed by until finally, Xander said, “Bailey, I’m here. So are the police. Can you open the door and let us in?”

Xander and the police had arrived at the same time? In her opinion, that said a lot for the response time of her manager but not so much for that of the Brooklyn PD.

“I’m afraid,” she said, her voice shaking.

She hadn’t heard any noise, any indication the person was still there waiting for her, but she still couldn’t bring herself to unlock the door and give up her only line of defense.

What if they were still there silently lying in wait to attack the moment she opened the bathroom door? By the time the police got inside, she’d be a goner.

“I know you’re scared, but we’re right here. I promise you, we’ll break down this door to get to you if anything happens. Okay?”

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