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CHAPTER TEN

Jade

As horrible as it was to think, I was kind of glad that William had interrupted us.

I wasn’t happy he was hurt, of course. It was just that I was seconds away from spilling my guts to Levee.

I’d been lulled to confession by his quiet confidence, his ease, and, well, I won’t lie about this… his big, strong, manliness.

I was as feminist as you could get. But even strong, independent women sometimes wanted someone physically stronger to lean on. Or, you know, hide behind.

The thing was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to unload all of that crap onto Levee. A man who I really wanted to not scare away. And, let’s face it, a woman hyperventilating and crying about a missing neighbor and the men who she suspected killed him might just be a little too much for our budding… whatever it was.

I needed some time alone to get my emotions in check. The lack of sleep was making me unusually out of control of myself. So I dragged myself up to my apartment, locked myself in my bedroom, and took a much-needed nap.

Was it fraught with being chased by shadowy figures through an unknown building? Sure. But it was still sleep.

And as I dragged myself back out a few hours later, all was quiet across the hallway, save from the TV playing some sports game. I took that to mean William had been all patched up and that Levee had likely left with his friend Seeley.

It was for the best, I tried to remind myself several times that day as I fiddled with my portrait for Mrs. Jackson.

But I was too distracted, having to keep fixing things I was messing up. I knew if I didn’t step away from it, I would do something that would screw it up enough that I would want to start over. And I was on a deadline, as the portraits were going to be a gift for Mr. Jackson on his upcoming birthday.

Rolling some of the tension out of my shoulders, I made my way toward the door, grabbing my purse and keys, then moving across the hall to knock on William’s door.

There was no answer so I made my way downstairs, intent on going to the market, maybe buying some ingredients to make something warm and comforting, despite the heat. There was nothing like a hearty soup or stew to comfort you from the inside out. Or, at least, that was what my mom had always insisted. I was ready to test that theory out.

I was one foot out of the building when I saw someone who gave me an idea.

The super.

He was always around. Always busy. In a building this crowded and this dated, there was always an air conditioner on the fritz, a thermostat not working, plumbing issues, you name it.

“Mr. Booth!” I called, throwing my hand up as I spotted him bending down to pick up what looked like a pile of empty dime bags, curling them in his fist, then dropping them into the bin just a few feet away.

I saw him suck in a deep breath as he looked for who was calling him, then nodding at me before lumbering over.

Mr. Booth was a massive man. Tall, wide, with legs like tree trunks, and arms almost as big. He looked like he juggled refrigerators for fun.

He had pale skin made ruddy from the sun, or any personal exertion, with thinning blond hair, and small blue eyes.

“6D,” he said, nodding at me. Then his gaze slid to my hair, nodding. “Need me to snake the shower drain?”

“What? Oh, no. No, the drain is fine, thanks.”

“You sure? Hair like that…”

“I’m sure. No, actually, I was just wondering if you are allowed to go into other units?” I asked.

“What for?”

“Well, I’m kind of worried about my upstairs neighbor,” I admitted.

“7D? Why?”

“Well, I heard a loud thump the other night. But not a peep since. I’m worried he might be, you know, really hurt or something. I didn’t know if you could check in on him, or if I should have the police do a wellness check?”

“I, ah, I can take a look, I guess,” he said, gaze moving past me. “Just to put your mind at ease.”

“I would really appreciate it. I’m worried about him.”

If he went in and saw the blood, maybe he could call the police. Which would kind of… take me out of the equation, right? So the bad guys wouldn’t have a reason to suspect me.

I hoped.

“Sure. No problem. Let me know when the drain backs up,” he said before lumbering off.

Feeling satisfied, I made my way to the market, the long walk in the sunshine enough to chase away the lingering anxiety I was still feeling.

I was feeling like a different person as I made my way down the hall toward my apartment.

I was even excited to see what new art might be drawn on my whiteboard.

But the smile fell from my lips as I moved closer to see it wasn’t art at all.

It was a message.

And not one of Levee’s riddles. Or even one of the lewd ones I came across now and again.

No.

This one was a threat.

Mind your own business, bitch.

A strange whimpering sound escaped me as I reached for the pen with a shaking hand, using the eraser cap to remove the words.

Only they weren’t drawn on with the dry-erase marker. It was permanent.

On a grumble, I ripped the whole board off the door, not even caring at the spot of chipped paint that came away when I didn’t remove the peel-and-stick strip properly.

Unlocking my door, I rushed inside, going straight to the kitchen to toss the board.

I was a second away from dropping it when I realized what it was. Evidence.

Graphology was the study of handwriting. And they used that kind of thing to compare known samples if, you know, something happened to me.

As much as I didn’t ever want to look at it again, I brought it with me into my bedroom, slipping it into my top drawer where I figured it would be easily found if it came to that.

I shoved the whole bag of groceries into the fridge, all thoughts of cooking abandoned as the fear I’d been trying to tamp down came rushing back to the surface.

I slid my locks and put the alarm under my door. I closed the curtains. I sat in complete and utter silence, paranoid that I wouldn’t be able to hear someone coming.

But even if I did, what good would it do? There was only one way out of my apartment. If they came in that exit, I was trapped. Completely at their mercy. Up this high, I couldn’t even get one of those escape ladders to throw out my window.

I was a sitting duck.

My memory flashed back to the encounter with Mr. Booth in the courtyard, trying to remember who was close enough to have overheard my concern about my upstairs neighbor.

I hadn’t been paying much attention. The area was always relatively busy. People came and went constantly. And then, well, there were the people making a living by standing around and waiting for other people to come to them. Little drug deals with out there in the broad daylight.

Anyone could have heard.

Or Mr. Booth could even have mentioned something to someone while working on another task.

Who knew how they found out that I was asking around about my neighbor. All I did know was that they knew. And they weren’t happy about it.

Logic told me to go to the police. To tell them about the sounds, the signs of a struggle, the blood on the floor, the men I’d seen and heard, the threat on my whiteboard.

But aside from the whiteboard, I had no proof of… anything. And I imagined the whiteboard could be brushed off as just some neighbor who thought I was watching their comings and goings or something.

This was an area that had a lot of real crimes going on almost right under the police’s nose. They wouldn’t appreciate me bothering them without proof.

Besides, I wouldn’t have to be involved at all if Mr. Booth found what I found in the apartment.

I just had to be patient.

I sat all day, fiddling with sketches for Zayn’s commission because it was silly and fun, nothing that required a lot of concentration on my part as I waited for what felt like ages before I finally heard a knock on the door a floor above mine.

“7D?” Mr. Booth called. “7D, open up. Got a call about some noises,” he called, and I couldn’t help but wonder if his voice was always so loud or if I was just being hyperaware. “I’m coming in,” he called, and I heard a jingle of keys.

Then I heard footsteps walking into the apartment, then back out.

A slam.

Footsteps retreating.

But not… hurried.

Before I could even consider what I was doing, I rushed out of my apartment, taking the elevator down to the main level where I could ‘just so happen’ to run into Mr. Booth again and casually ask if he’d dropped in yet.

“6D,” he said, looking taken aback at seeing me at the mailboxes.

“Oh, hey again, Mr. Booth. Long day, huh?” I asked.

“They usually are,” he said, nodding.

“Did you get in touch with 7D?” I asked.

“No one was there,” he said, shrugging it off. “Maybe you heard noises from another apartment,” he said, turning and walking off.

“Maybe,” I agreed, watching him retreat.

There was no way he would be acting so casual if he’d seen what I’d seen, right?

What the hell was going on?

Before I could talk myself out of it, I was taking the elevator back up to a floor above mine, rushing down the hallway, and reaching for the doorknob, praying it wasn’t locked or I was going to need to look up how to pick a lock to get answers.

But the knob turned effortlessly in my hand.

My heartbeat was pounding in my ears as I moved inside where I couldn’t be seen.

And I stood there, stomach twisting and turning.

The chair was set neatly by the desk. His headphones were set on top of their stand. Some of the wrappers and cans were missing.

More than that, though, the big bloodstain on the floor was gone.

My gaze lingered on the spot, feeling like the ground had been pulled out from under me.

Had it just been a stain? Any old stain? Not blood?

Could I have missed 7D moving around his apartment, cleaning up not only the mess the men had made when they’d tossed the place, but also the chair and headphones?

Was I being paranoid?

Maybe the guys paid a visit just to rough him up. And I’d imagined all the stuff about the men carrying out a body.

I slid back into the hallway, feeling shaky.

But the fear this time had a lot less to do with the fate of my neighbor and the scary guys with their scribbled threats.

And a hell of a lot more to do with my own damn sanity.