Page 108 of Protected from Malice
“Wait,” the man calls from behind me. He’s even closer than before. So close?—
NO.
There’s a bathroom. Two doors up ahead, on the right. I can go in there.
Putting on a burst of speed, I lunge for the doorknob, praying the room’s not already in use.
My hand is so sweaty, it nearly slips off the knob as I grab it. But it turns. Oh, thank you, it turns.
I yank the door open and lunge inside, then slam it shut behind me. With shaking hands, I twist the lock just as a thunk sounds on the other side of the door.
Sliding down to the floor, I press my back against the door, as if my weight might keep the man from breaking it down.
He wouldn’t. Right? Not here? Where anyone could come by and see him.
But then again, whereiseveryone? Why is no one making a coffee run right now?
Then it hits me.
The owner’s son is in town, visiting. And to celebrate, there’s a brunch being offered in the conference room in the east wing. A brunch I vaguely remember reading about in an email, but immediately put out of mind because of everything else going on.
So everyone is probably there.
Except me. And the man on the other side of the door.
Call Rafe.
Describe the man to him. Have him… what? Call the police? Send someone? Can he get here in time?
It takes me three tries to dial Rafe’s number, and by the time the call goes through, I’m sobbing so hard I can’t even talk.
“Hey, Brain,” he answers. “Are you—” His cheerful tone shifts to a worried one. “Baby. What’s wrong? Is it too much, being there? Do you want to go home now?”
“It’s him. Oh, Rafe.” My voice cracks. “It’s him.”
“What?”
“In the lounge,” I stammer. “I heard his voice. The man who—” Another crack. “I know it’s him, Rafe. I never saw his face, but I know his voice. I… I hear it in my nightmares. It’s him.”
“Fuck.” A car door slams. “Eden. Where are you now?”
“In the bathroom. In the west wing of the building, on the basement level. I—” A sob escapes. “I think he’s still outside the door. Waiting.”
“Is the door locked?”
I cast a frantic look at it. “Yes.”
“Okay. I want you to stay right there. I’m on my way.”
“Rafe.” My voice wobbles. “I’m scared.”
“Baby. It’s okay.” Rafe pauses. A burst of chatter—women excitedly talking about happy hour this evening—cuts in. Then silence again. “Eden. What does he look like?”
I squinch my eyes shut, as if it could protect me from the memory. “He’s wearing a gray suit with a… a blue plaid button-down. A small pattern. And his hair… it’s short in the back but long in the front. Kind of… floppy.”
“Good, baby. You’re doing really well. What else?”
“He has blue eyes. Thick eyebrows. Brown, like his hair. And he’s wearing a fraternity ring, I think.”
