Page 10 of The Saint

The bedsprings squeaked and sank down. Amelia flattened herself against the floor, terrified he could feel her through the mattress.

“Not yet,” the man on the bed said as the bed springs groaned. “Don’t know. Call back if you find out first.”

He grumbled and didn’t get off the bed. Even her shallowest breaths seemed to roar and reverberate. Her hands were sweating, but her grip on the phone felt like she was clinging to a life raft. Amelia tried to imagine the man on the phone pressed to her ear. He was calm to her helplessness, lethally trained to her unskilled incapability. Why hadn’t she taken self-defense classes?

“Amelia?” he whispered.

His voice was like honey. Trustworthy. The way he spoke, the way he sounded was as though he had the ability to protect her no matter the threat. She wanted to cry, and more than that, she wanted him to reassure her that all would somehow work out.

“Rub your finger over the mouthpiece if you want me to keep talking. Do nothing if you need me to shut up.”

He seemed to have read her mind. Eons passed as she cautiously repositioned her hand and fluttered her fingers over the bottom of the phone.

“Okay, I read you loud and clear,” he said quietly. “I’m here. You’re doing great.”

She almost snorted. Tears leaked out of her eyes.

“I can hear your breathing. Try to quiet that for me. Can you do that, Amelia?”

Absolutely not.But she tried. Amelia swallowed and listened to the even cadence of his voice, his breathing, the way he remained in control and calm.

“Easy breath in, easy breath out,” he whispered. “Good girl. Just like that.”

Her panic didn’t subside, but the hammering explosions in her chest slowed as he spoke.

“In… and out…”

The intruder pushed off the bed, walked across the bedroom, and jostled the window blinds. “This fucking night.”

Yeah, she could say the same thing, buddy.

He moved to the foot of the bed and re-kicked the bed skirt. He nudged a box against her foot. Amelia didn’t move a muscle. He kicked it again as though testing the resistance—the cat hissed. It thumped across the floor, hissing again.

Heavy footsteps jerked back. “Christ.”

The cat jumped on and off the bed.

The intruder let out a low rumble of laughter. “Stupid fucking cat.” His footsteps nudged the bed skirt again, but he stopped short. “Yeah, what?” he said, answering another phone call. “Not yet, man. It’s been thirty fucking seconds.” He crossed the bedroom and stopped near the window, standing closer to Amelia than he had when moving the shoeboxes under the foot of the bed. “Now? What about—yeah, I hear you. Fine.”

And just like that, he left the room. The footsteps were swift. He didn’t try to hide the sounds he made when rushing down the stairs.

“He’s gone,” she let out, choking on relief. “He took a call and left.”

“That’s good. Stay put until I say so. Okay?”

She wasn’t claustrophobic, but being trapped under the bed and ordered to stay put when the intruder could come back made her skin crawl. Hot panic curled in her chest. She wanted to push her arms out and move her legs. Amelia needed to push the mattress off of herself as though it were lying across her chest, pushing the oxygen from her lungs. Her pulse quickened and thundered loudly in her ears. “I need to get up. I have to get up.”

“Stay put, Amelia. Another two minutes.”

She counted the seconds.One, two, three, four—“I can’t. I have to—”

The cat returned. It nuzzled her shoulder. Tears slipped from her eyes. The silky soft fur brushed her damp cheek. It almost made the tears fall faster. A rough tongue scratched her chin. The cat purred. Its toe beans pressed against her arm. Amelia’s breaths slowed. She focused on the cat and gripped the phone.

Amelia’s claustrophobia slowly dissipated as she stared at the bottom of the box spring. The cat was petting her as thoughit knew she was teetering on the edge of a full-scale mental breakdown. “Who are you?”

His rough laughter was laid back. “Just a guy doing my job.”

Ha. At times, she’d sworn event planning in Washington, DC, was as stressful as it could get. People with their VIP personalities were her bread and butter. Those people hired her company because she was unaffected by status, job title, or bank account size. Amelia had absolutely nothing on this guy. His composed nature reminded her of Hailey and Jonathan.

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