Page 361 of Faking the Goal

I look at the clock again.

Six fifty-eight.

Every muscle in my body tightens.

I check the placement of my phone for the fourth time. Screen down beside the sink, microphone active. Matthews and his team are listening. The cameras are recording. The hallway is covered. Every exit from the building is watched.

I am not alone.

I repeat it beneath my breath.

"I am not alone."

A pair of headlights briefly washes across my window.

My heart stops.

The light disappears.

Seconds later, I hear footsteps outside.

I stand frozen in the middle of the apartment, staring at my door as footsteps move through the hallway outside.

Closer.

Closer.

Slow and unhurried.

The same pace Conrad always uses.

My palms turn slick again, and I rub them uselessly against my jeans. I force my shoulders down, smooth my expression, and summon the version of myself Charlie expects to see.

Frightened.

Lonely.

Ready to let him in.

The footsteps stop outside my door.

For one suspended moment, there is nothing.

Then three soft knocks break the silence.

My body wants to run.

Instead, I think of Kentaro.

His smile.

His hands.

The life waiting for us when this is finished.

I draw one last breath, lock every terrified part of myself behind my ribs, and walk toward the door.

I open the door to find Conrad standing there alone.