Page 9 of The Saint

“Shit,” the man muttered. “Do you have any training?”

“What kind?”

“Tactical? Self-defense?”

“I’m an event planner.” The only things she was trained in were buffet menus and color-coded motifs.

“Shit,” the man said again but this time with far more conviction. “Tell me everything you know about the situation.”

Amelia squeezed her eyes closed and listened to make sure the footsteps weren’t coming closer. “One person came toward me. Three toward Hailey and Jonathan—”

“Focus on your situation.”

“A man came inside. Broke in.”Like me, but she didn’t see any benefit to sharing that detail.

The cat stopped trying to cuddle and positioned its body facing the door. He could hear the intruder better than she could. “He’s in the hall bathroom.”

“Good. That’s great. Take a breath. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Nice and easy.”

She tried. His voice was more calming than his orders. He wouldn’t cut it as a yogi unless they offered yoga at boot camp, but he sounded like he could talk his way out of a shitstorm. The cat slipped from under the bed.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Under a bed.”

“Afuckin’bed. I remember. Only tell me new intel. Main bedroom? Guest bedroom?”

She almost smiled. “A teenager’s room.”

“What’s around you?”

“A bed skirt. An abandoned water bottle and T-shirt. I’m half hidden on one side by shoeboxes. Lots of crap.”

“Do you have any weapons?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not even wearing shoes.”

“That’s fine. You don’t need shoes,” he said in a way that was oddly relaxed. “Amelia, right?”

“Mm-hmm. He’s close.”

After another eternally long moment, he said, “I’m going to stay on the phone with you. I’ve enhanced the response coming—”

“Does that mean more cops?”

“Something like that. Where is he now?”

She tried to recall the layout. “Another bedroom—no, the hall again. Coming closer—”

The door creaked open. Her lungs hurtled into her throat, but she caught her scream before the whole neighborhood heard. Amelia tried the technique suggested by her boot camp yogi. She breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth—in and out, in and out, just as the man on the phone, a military yoga zen drill sergeant who coached her breathing as though he were yelling, “Right foot! Left foot!”had demanded she do.In through my nose. Out through my mouth.

Her heartbeat slowed from its runaway pace.In and out. One breath in. Another breath out.Amelia tried to disappear as the bedroom door opened wider.

Cautious footsteps entered. She held her breath as the man walked by and kicked the bed skirt in search of her hiding spot. The closet door opened. Clothes clattered, torn off their hangers. Amelia replayed the voice of the man on the phone. She didn’t even have to have her shoes on. Just take it nice and easy.

“Is he in there now?” the man whispered on the phone, and taking her silence as an answer, continued, “If he finds you, fight back. Don’t freeze. Don’t try to reason. Don’t waste your energy screaming. Bite. Use your elbow. Use your fingernails. Knee him in the nuts. Fight dirty. Do you hear me?”

The other man seemed to pause his search and said, “Yeah? Hello?” as though taking a phone call. He sat on the bed. “What do you want?”

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