Earthy tones of blue bombard me when I enter her massive living room. Regan’s apartment spans one half of the top floor of Hector. I love space, but it comes at a cost. An impressive eyesore is a bitch to keep clean, much less sweep for a suspected intruder.
Confident the triple-sized living area is empty, I direct my focus to the left. Although I’ve never been inside Regan’s apartment, her floorplan appears to be an exact replica of Isaac’s—it’s just mirror-reversed.
“Rae?” A faint hum jingles through my ears. I’m shocked I can hear anything with how hard my pulse is thrumming through my body. I feel like I’m trapped underwater, submerged by worry.
When another groan filters through my ears, I quicken my pace. It was a moan laced with painful frustration.
After sweeping a guest bedroom on my right, I continue down the hall. I know which room is Regan’s as it has a light beaming through a partially cracked open door.
“Rae?” I call out again, praying she is alone, but petrified of scaring her. “Are you in here?”
The door creaks when I push it open. No signs of human life are seen or heard. Her bedroom is a similar palette to her living room, although I don’t have time to admire it. A tormented scream shreds my eardrums. It is closely followed by a loud bang.
I charge for the door the noise bellowed through, my steps as hurried as my heart rate. Although her bathroom door could be unlocked, it suffers the same fate as Regan’s front door. It buckles under the force of my foot, its elegant design wiped in an instant.
With my finger curled around the trigger of Brandon’s gun, I merge deeper into the steam-filled space. The fact Regan neglected to voice anger at the demolition of her door has me worried. That isn’t something she’d take sitting down. She’d be up in my face, demanding immediate repair.
I understand why she’s not complaining when an image breaks through the fog surrounding me. Regan isn’t being held captive by a gun-toting swindler with a death wish. She’s taking a bath. The earbuds lodged in her ears have music pumping through her veins as rapidly as her bubble-covered skin has blood pumping to my cock.
Although the image of her unharmed cools my turbines, it doesn’t completely quell my worry. The steam vaping from the scorching hot water adds a whole new dimension to my unease.
Forgetting Regan has noise-cancelling instruments wedged in her ears, I demand, “Rae, get out of the bath.”
When she remains in place, humming a tune, I tug an earphone out of her ear before repeating my request. Wish for my own noise-cancelling headphones engulfs me when Regan screams blue murder. She darts out of the tub, the slippery oils coating her skin not hampering her efforts in the slightest.
Though she’s issuing me every death threat I’ve been given the past six years in under a minute, I snag a fluffy towel off the towel rack and hand it to her. Usually, it would be the fight of my life to keep my eyes off her naked frame, but since I can’t remove my eyes from the death threat messily scrawled across her large vanity mirror, the fight isn’t as torturous.
“What the hell?” Regan murmurs, finally spotting the cause of my concern. “Who did that?” She tugs her towel close to her body as if it will protect her more than my gun.
I start my interrogation like always, “Did you notice anything out of place when you arrived home tonight? Missing articles of clothing? The TV turned on when it should be off?”
Regan shakes her head, her eyes unable to leave the threat guaranteeing brutal mutilation of her body. I step into the path of her vision, blocking the horrifying words from her view. When I’m given the devotion of her wide-with-terror eyes, I ask, “Has anything like this happened before?”
She shakes her head once more, its juddering as violent as the shake of her hands.
“It’s okay,” I assure her, my tone calm even though I’m feeling anything but. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She accepts my pledge more quickly than I expected. It is probably more because of the fear enveloping her than blind faith.
I stop removing my cellphone from my pocket when Regan garbles my name. My eyes jackknife to hers, stunned by the sheer terror radiating in her voice when she asks, “Did you arrive with company?”
Before I can respond, a flurry of black captures my attention. Someone is darting away from the door I just kicked in.
“Stay here,” I demand of Regan before taking off after a shadow. They were so quick, I didn’t register any details of their face, much less what they’re wearing.
When I enter Regan’s living room, I head to the right, the groan of someone crashing into a firm surface directing my steps. As expected, the assailant is hightailing it down the corridor of Regan’s apartment building. He is wearing the same overalls Brandon mentioned during surveillance, but the straps have been undone, exposing a spotlessly clean wife beater shirt.
“Stop or I’ll shoot,” I warn, lining up my target from the doorway of Regan’s apartment.
He tests my patience by continuing down the hall. He shouldn’t. This is the first time I’ve mixed business with pleasure, and I don’t see it ending well. He was conspiring to hurt Rae. If his threat is anything to go by—badly!
“Fuck!” I curse when he throws open a laundry chute halfway down the hall and dives inside. Because of his svelte frame, he fits through the trap door with ease.
I nearly fire off a shot, but years of experience tell me my effort will be too late. While charging for the emergency stairwell, I raise my hand to my ear. Because I’m so accustomed to being on the job, it takes me several long seconds to recall why I don’t have access to my usual equipment. My feet stomp faster when I realize I don’t have the ability to radio in assistance.
Just as I throw open the fire exit door next to the elevator bank, Brandon barrels into the corridor. He is wheezing and out of breath. “Assailant. On. Camera. Saw. Him. Re-enter.” He breathes deeply through each word, showcasing why he is a technician instead of a field agent. He’s extremely unfit.
“Where do the laundry chutes exit?” The hammering of my heart echoes in my tone. It’s not racing a million miles an hour because I am weak like Brandon; it is the fear enveloping me responsible for its frantic beat.
