Page 94 of Protected from Malice
Fair enough. So Indy’s going to look for a place on his own, which is probably better for him. After all, maybe he’ll meet a woman and want to take her home. Kiss her without worrying about his sister walking in on them. And in the meantime, he and Tyler are sharing the second suite at the hotel.
“Tyler’s still figuring things out,” Rafe told me. “He’s been isolating himself for a long time, but I think he’s realizing it might not be the best thing for him. So he’s using this time to get some perspective.”
Personally, I hope Tyler stays in Portland, too. He’s so smart, he could definitely find a job at one of the tech companies in the city. And like Rafe said, this might be better for him. A fresh start, like it’ll be for Indy.
A fourth buzz jerks me from my wandering thoughts.
The doorbell. Which means it’s not Rafe, who knows the access code for the door.
In the seconds it takes to pull up the video feed, adrenaline surges. The familiar tightness in my chest increases. I know it can’t be anything bad; it’s probably just a delivery or something, butstill. I think it’ll take me a while before I stop feeling jumpy about things.
But when I look at the feed, I release a relieved sigh.
It’s not an intruder. Not a dark-clothed man here to kidnap me.
Although that wouldn’t be very smart, would it—showing up at my front door at eleven AM on a Saturday to kidnap me?
Instead, it’s Gayla, a woman I know from down the street. We’re not friends, but we wave at each other and exchange pleasant greetings whenever we cross paths.
We don’t typically stop by each other’s houses, but I’ve had to bring some misdelivered mail to her on occasion. And judging from the envelope held in her hand, it’s likely she’s doing the same.
So I set my phone down and hurry over to the front door, speeding through the three locks I’ve gotten much better at unfastening. Once I get the door open, I smile at Gayla as I say, “Sorry to leave you waiting out here. I was cleaning?—”
“No problem.” Her gaze moves past me to scan the living room, no doubt noting the vacuum cleaner I haven’t put away yet. “You’ve been gone for a while, haven’t you? I know I always need to do a full house cleaning whenever I get back after a long trip.”
“A couple of weeks,” I reply. “Just freshening things up, you know?” I glance at the envelope in her hand. “Wrong mail again?”
“Yup.” She holds it out to me. “I could have put it in the mailbox, but I thought I’d hand-deliver it instead.”
Silence follows as her gaze roves around the room. “I like those pictures,” she finally says, gesturing at the cluster of nature photos I have on the wall above the electric fireplace. “Do you travel often?”
“Not too much. Sometimes I go visit my brother in DC, but I work a lot.”
Gayla nods. Then she steps past me and into the living room.
Well. I guess that’s settled. I never know whether to invite a neighbor inside or not. It’s a weird sort of relationship, I’ve always thought. I see them all the time, but we’re not close. We don’t talk about personal things.
But here she is. I’m not exactly going to kick her out now.
Shutting the door behind her, I turn in her direction. “So. I guess it’s supposed to be nice next week. Do you have all your patio stuff ready yet?”
Her features pinch for a second. Then she smiles. “Not yet.” A beat, and then, “I noticed the police here a couple weeks ago. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I head over to where she’s standing, looking at the framed photos. “It was a break-in, which was scary. But the police caught the guy. So you don’t have to worry.”
Gayla turns. Her mouth pulls down. “Do they think you were targeted? Or was it random?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I reply vaguely. Neighbor or not, I’d rather not get into the details of my attempted kidnapping and obsessive stalker slash would-be captor.
“Well.” She turns away from the photos to face me. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks. Me too.”
“It’s too bad,” she adds, “that everyone didn’t end up that way.”
There’s a flatness to her voice. “I think everyone ended up fine,” I reply.
Her eyes narrow. “Didthey?”
