Page 1 of Protected from Malice
CHAPTER 1
EDEN
I wishI wasn’t afraid to walk alone in the dark.
It’s not a unique situation. Plenty of women feel the same as me.
The instant we find ourselves alone in a darkened parking lot or a stretch of empty sidewalk at night, our bodies kick into high alert. Prickles of unease at the back of our neck, breath quickening, heart racing—all the while telling ourselves firmly,It’s fine. No one is out there, coming to get you. Those strange sounds thatmightbe footsteps are all in your head.
I know that’s how other women feel, because I’ve heard them say it. My coworkers. The women I talk to at the gym. My best friend, Zada, who lives in Queens and never leaves her apartment without pepper spray and a safety alarm.
Is it fair?
No. Not even close to it.
It’s not fair that my brother can walk anywhere he wants without the slightest concern for his safety, while I’m standing at the back exit of the building, waiting for someone to come by so I can walk out to the parking lot with them.
It’s not fair that I get nervous going to the grocery store after dark, always making sure to park as close to the entrance as possible, and hopefully, beneath a streetlight.
And it’s really not fair that I never used to think I needed pepper spray and a taser.
I thought—naively—that those stories I saw on the news couldn’t happen to me.
Now?
Now I’m not sure if pepper spray and a taser is enough.
And even though I can see my car from here, only two rows away, I’m still standing by the door, waiting.
I’m frustrated with myself for not being brave enough to just go for it.
It wouldn’t take that long to get there. Less than a minute. Surely it would be fine. Right?
But the instant my foot moves towards the door, my pulse races. My muscles lock up.
So I wait instead.
To take my mind off things, I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to my brother.
Hey. Just about to leave work and thought I’d check in. How are things in DC? And how’s the new job?
I haven’t spoken to Indy in almost a week, which is longer than I’d like. Before—back when he was still in the Army and often gone for weeks at a time overseas—I worried, but I knew his team had his back. Men I’d met, liked, trusted; men I knew would do anything in their power to make sure my brother returned home safely.
And they did. Mostly. They did all they could, at least.
As I wait for Indy to respond, I scan the hallway again while mentally cursing myself for staying so late.
I don’t usually. Usually, I leave around five, when everyone else does, and it’s no problem to find someone to walk out tomy car with. But I got caught up in my research and by the time I even thought to look at the time, it was already well past eight. Past dark, past the mass exodus of employees leaving Langworthy Pharmaceuticals, which is why I’m stuck here waiting for another straggler-workaholic like me to come by.
My phone chimes, drawing my attention back to it. Indy’s name blinks onto the screen, along with his reply.
Isn’t it late for you to be leaving work?
Nodding absently in agreement, I tap out a quick response.
A little. I’m getting my project ready for the IND application, so I’ve been extra busy with it. If the application is approved, that means we get to move on to clinical trials. But don’t worry. I’m waiting for someone to walk out to the parking lot with me.
The three dots blink for a few seconds before his next message appears.
