Page 43 of No Good Fight

“Lock up behind me,” I say. “And when you’re ready, I have a few more things to do to update the security in your apartment. This’ll work for today, though.”

“Yes, sir.”

My fingers tighten around the toolbag handle.

She sees it. Her gaze drops to my hand, then comes back to my face with a heat that does serious damage to my self-control.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” I tell her.

Her lips part. The hall light hums above us, bright and merciless.

Alex looks at my mouth, then away. “Goodbye, Ryder.”

The shake in her voice has nothing to do with fear.

I step back before I do something stupid enough to deserve every consequence. “Goodbye, Allycat.”

I wait in the hall until the deadbolt turns. Her shadow moves across the floor under the door a few seconds later, and I force myself to step away from her door.

The truck starts. I don’t leave right away. I can’t.

Not until I know she’s safe.

Mrs. Vance crosses the hall with a trash bag and sets off the new light. A moth does it again a minute later, throwing white across Alex’s door.

Satisfied that the light is working, and knowing Alex will call me if something happens, I finally start the engine and head toward my house.

I make it three blocks before I turn around because my anxiety skyrockets.

One more pass. Just to make sure she’s still safe. Then I can go home and catch up on the sleep I missed last night.

When I reach her building again, the hallway is dark. Alex’s bedroom window glows faintly through the blinds facing the road, and I let myself breathe for half a second.

Then the motion light flashes briefly.

No one stands by her door.

It’s got to be something small. Maybe another moth or something.

The light dies, leaving darkness behind.

I sit there with both hands locked on the wheel and count the seconds, trying to urge myself to go home. To leave it be.

A minute later, it flashes again and I know I might as well be sleeping in my truck tonight, because there’s no way in hell I’m leaving.

7

ALEX

The motion light outside my apartment is trying to kill me.

Not directly, obviously. That would be rude and weirdly ambitious for a piece of hardware.

But every time the hallway flashes white in the miniscule gap on the floor, my body reacts like someone just kicked the door in. My shoulders jump. My stomach drops. My fingers lock around whatever I’m holding until my knuckles ache. It doesn’t matter that half the time it’s Mrs. Vance taking her trash out. My brain has decided the light is a warning, and my brain, unfortunately, lives inside my skull with no plans to relocate.

I last forty-eight minutes after Ryder leaves.

Forty-eight heroic, stupid minutes.