Page 46 of Soft Tissue Damage
Water gushes over my feet.
“What the frick?” I whisper, walking into my sodden apartment. Water is spouting from beneath the sink. The force of it has pushed the cabinet doors open. I can see a broken pipe, and I get soaked through trying and failing to staunch the flow.
I go back into the hallway and call my landlord and then Alexandra. I try both numbers again and again, alternating between them, but neither picks up. Meanwhile, the flooding in the hallway is getting worse. I can only imagine that people downstairs must have water dripping or even gushing through their ceilings.
I pace up and down for a moment and then try Alexandra again. As soon as I hang up, my phone rings, and I answer without looking at who’s calling. “Alexandra, you’re not going to believe this.”
It’s not Alexandra’s voice I hear in my ear, but a deep, masculine one.
“Elena? It’s Cullan.”
12
Cullan
Ifrown when I hear the strain in Elena’s voice. “Is everything okay?”
“Not really, Mr. Grant.” She sounds shaky. “I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls.”
I called Elena twice and she didn’t pick up.
Twice.
I only call when I know she’s not busy. I have her schedule, thanks to the spyware on her phone, and I possess every email, text message, app interaction, and browser search she’s made. I know that she watched three episodes ofBridgertonlast night. I know when her period is due. I know everything about her, but I don’t have her.
I had to take mattersinto my own hands.
I’m in my garage putting a tool back into the bed of my truck. The tracker on my phone chimed and told me that Elena reached home, so I thought I would try calling her again. “What’s happened?”
“I’m not really sure. I just got home, and my apartment is flooded.”
The apartment that’s just had a ridiculous rent increase by a sleazy landlord. Elena’s not safe or happy there.
“Oh, no. That’s terrible,” I say, admiring the wrench I’m holding. “I wonder how that happened.”
“My landlord isn’t answering his phone and neither is my roommate. I don’t know what to do.”
I close the truck bed and fasten it. “I’m coming over. Electricity’s more my wheelhouse than plumbing, but I’ll see what I can do. At least I can make sure that you’re safe until your landlord arrives.”
“Mr. Grant, you’re busy. You don’t have to do that.”
“Don’t go into the apartment. You might be electrocuted.” I hang up before she can argue with me.
Elena won’t be electrocuted. I tripped the fuse in her apartment before loosening the pipe under the sink, but she could still slip on the wet floor.
When I step out of the elevator carrying my toolbox, Elena is waiting in the corridor, her beautiful face tense and worried.
I go to her and put my hands on her shoulders. “Don’t worry. It will be all right.”
I was doing installation work today, so I’m wearing a shirt over a Henley with some jeans and steel-cappedboots. My sleeves are pushed back past my elbows because it’s a warm day, and I smell faintly of sawdust.
She nods, and I go inside. It only takes me a moment to shut off the water to her apartment at the valve. The water gushing from beneath the sink slows to a trickle, and then stops. I gaze around slowly, taking in the water dripping down the walls. The wet sofa, and the waterlogged carpet.
I go back out to the corridor and place my toolbox down.
“It was a broken pipe,” I tell Elena. “I found the isolation valve and turned the water off. A plumber will be able to fix the pipe.” I press my lips together and frown.
“Thank you, Mr. Grant. What’s wrong?”
