Page 40 of The Rough Ride (Sanctuary, Inc. #3)

L iz wiped a few drops of water off her phone and tapped the screen. It blinked once and went dark. She powered it on again, but it shut down a few seconds later.

She shook her head. The car and her phone? Unbelievable. That’s what she got for letting the phone get wet. She shoved it in her pocket. Maybe it would fire up in a little while.

She blew her hair dry and headed for the kitchen.

Knowing Nick, he’d bring food back with him, but she’d give anything right now for something other than peanut butter crackers.

His fridge was almost barren, but she found a brick of cheese and an apple.

She leaned over the kitchen counter and nibbled while staring at the twinkling Georgetown lights outside his living room window.

If only she could explain her work situation to Nick.

The Major was usually right. Top-tier hackers searched for information, but they didn’t physically harm their victims. On the other hand, too many weird things had happened lately.

What were the flowers about? Why had that hacker breached only her files?

There were dozens of people working higher security projects in the same building, and their files went untouched. It didn’t make sense.

A floorboard creaked. Her nape crawled. She glanced around the living and dining room, saw nothing, and told herself to calm down. Old buildings had their quirks.

Of course, she also understood Nick’s point of view.

She’d been edgy for weeks now, contemplating the ramifications of her ruined files.

It would take her at least two months to rebuild her entire cast of online personas.

And it had to be unsettling for Nick to know something was going on and not have details.

Liz wrapped up the remainder of the cheese, stowing it in the fridge.

Now was a good time to set up the port-a-crib.

She found it in the corner of the master bedroom.

Aww…he bought bedding with pink hearts. She held them to her chest and smiled.

He’s already planning for Ella to be part of his life.

She wrestled the plastic cover off the linens when a door clicked shut.

She set the bedding down, walked to the door, and peered down the long hallway.

Weird. He hadn’t mentioned tenants. She yanked the phone from her pocket, but it didn’t even blink.

So much for calling Nick to ask him about the eerie nuances of the property.

Maybe the security person he’d stationed out front had arrived?

She sidled to the drapes and glanced down the road.

That must be Lana in the silver sports car parked across the street.

Liz huffed a laugh. Her nerves had sizzled during the car fiasco and ensuing flashback.

Help was right out front—not that she needed it.

Nick had assured her the woman was a Sanctuary, Inc. operative and a professional badass.

A distinct unease settled in her chest. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t call Lana because her damn phone didn’t work.

When would she learn that phones and water weren’t a good combination?

She’d dunked one in a toilet when she was hugely pregnant with Ella and another in a gutter on a rainy day.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter. Nick would be back soon enough.

She threw herself into unpacking and setting up the port-a-crib for Ella.

He’d purchased a really nice model, and it expanded and clicked into place with ease.

It even had a comfortable six-inch-thick mattress.

She made the little bed, pausing to appreciate each layer because Nick had picked them out.

He’d outdone himself, right down to the two little heart-shaped pillows on top.

Liz flinched when a cat screeched outside followed by a barking dog.

Perhaps it was time to make more tea, and she’d lace it with that shot Nick mentioned to calm her nerves.

She usually enjoyed quiet moments, but with these creepy sounds tonight?

She couldn’t wait until he returned with the noisy fussing of Ella and Arlene.

Not to mention, they’d all be safe under one roof.

Liz placed the mug in the microwave and set out in search of fresh towels for her mother.

Anything to keep busy . But the guest suite was already meticulously equipped for visitors.

Nick must’ve hired a designer because the curtains matched the bedspread, which matched the nautical themed towels in the guest bath.

She giggled a second. The Nick she knew couldn’t care less if anything was fresh or coordinated because more than once she’d removed thread-bare towels and replaced them in his duffle with fluffy new ones.

Liz headed for the master bath, quickly wiped the counter, hung her towel on the porcelain hook, and rinsed out the tub.

Something winked at her from the floor, and she got down on all fours in case it was glass.

Little pieces of blacktop quartz must’ve fallen off her clothes, and she wiped them up.

As she backed out of the bathroom, there was a noise.

Breaking glass? The hair on her neck stood on end.

She sat back on her heels and listened again. But all she heard was complete silence.

Just admit it, girl. She hadn’t shaken off the willies since reliving that awful night in Iraq earlier.

The same unease she’d experienced a year-and-a-half ago on that desert ops crawled through her gut tonight.

She reached over to straighten the fluffy rug in front of the counter and cocked her head, resting it against the doorjamb, and listened again.

Omigod. Now that was definitely the sound of breaking glass.

Liz scrambled faster than a jumping spider and flipped the light off. Her fingers groped through drawers in the dark to locate the gun. She drew it against her chest and panted. What the hell?

Nick had said no one could get in. She peeked right and then left down the hallway. Nothing.

Shit. She’d clear the rooms one by one. She drew a deep breath, flattened herself against the hallway wall, and checked the guest suite. No broken glass. She nudged open the pocket door to the guest bath, but nothing had been disturbed.

Yet, somewhere in the distance, she heard floorboards creaking and footsteps.

A rush of adrenaline forced her into high gear as she cleared the master bedroom where everything was serene down to the brass lamp by the bed still on low.

Even the safe room door remained fully engaged with the red light blinking every ten seconds or so.

She flipped the light switch in Nick’s room-size closet. Not a thing was out of place.

Liz moved quiet as a cat down the long hallway, pausing to glance in the office.

The piece of paper she’d seen on the desk earlier was still there.

Nothing was broken. She slid against the hallway wall and inched toward the huge living area, gun ready to fire with her heart beating an irregular rhythm.

The footsteps started again. Judging by the sound, they were closer.

She tiptoed into the kitchen, silenced the beeping tea reminder on the microwave, and braced her arms on the countertop to shoot if necessary. What were these noises following her through the apartment?

She wheeled around when something rustled behind her. There was nothing there.

Was she going crazy? She shook her head. No—she wasn’t imagining these things. She stood watch for several minutes with the gun pointed at the open living area and listened.

Utter quiet.

Maybe Nick had brought in a tenant and they were watching a weird movie?

Perhaps the walls lacked insulation in certain areas and the sounds carried through a heat vent or old pipe?

Liz set the gun on the counter and retrieved her mug of tea from the microwave.

She skipped the shot of booze and stood by the counter, gun in front of her, sipping the hot liquid.

She rolled her shoulders, shook out her hands.

The silence overwhelmed her frayed senses.

There just had to be a tenant somewhere in the building.

The noises had stopped. They must’ve turned off the TV.

That’s all there was to it. Maybe in ten years, she’d tell Nick about the night she’d been scared out of her wits in this building.

And she’d overdramatize with self-deprecation the fear she’d succumbed to.

They’d laugh about it on the way to Ella’s recital or soccer game.

She tried to power her phone on again, but it remained ominously dark.

If only she could get some rest so she wasn’t this hyper-alert to her surroundings.

If she’d gone with Nick, she’d have Ella in her arms, and could’ve helped them pack up instead of hiding out here dealing with the kinks and groans of this old building.

Liz set her mug in the sink and sighed, then glanced at the ticking clock across the room. He’d been gone almost an hour. He’d be back in thirty minutes or so. Maybe she’d sit in the living room and wait. A floorboard creaked. She froze in place, her erratic breathing the only sound.

The creaks and footsteps grew louder, closer, followed by a distorted voice.

“You thought you’d gotten away with it, didn’t you?”

Liz’s heart leaped into her throat. There was someone in here. She scanned the ceiling. Where were they? She aimed the gun and stepped into the dark dining room, hugging the shadows and following the wall to where a view opened into the long hallway. There was nothing there.

But the footsteps grew faster and floorboards creaked all around her. Someone breathed hard and the soft cries of a baby iced her movements.

“What happened in Iraq followed you home, Lieutenant. I tried to make it easy and quick with the car, but you just weren’t close enough.”

Liz registered the voice and the words, but the crying baby commanded her full attention. She began to tremble. No. It’s not possible. But the cries grew more insistent, and her boobs ached. Every fiber of her soul honed into that cry. It was Ella. That was her hungry cry.

Panic flooded Liz’s mind. Where was the voice coming from? She’d already checked the entire loft and found no one.

Nick and her mother were supposed to have Ella. Or was Nick trying to call and say he couldn’t find her? With the phone not working, he wouldn’t be able to get through. An anguished howl escaped Liz’s constricted throat.

“Don’t you hurt my baby. Where the hell are you?” She looked around the room from floor to ceiling trying to locate the voice.

“Close enough to touch you, Liz. But you’ll never find me. Such a pretty little girl you have here. She can’t seem to figure out why I’m holding her instead of you.”

Liz followed the voice to a vent return in the living room and she climbed onto a chair to take a closer look.

Her heart raced when Ella wailed again followed by sniffles and little sobs.

“It’s okay, Ella girl, Mommy’s coming to get you.

” She pounded the wall with her fist and screamed into the still air. “What do you want from me?”

“You killed my brother in Iraq, you vile bitch.”

“I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I’m an analyst. I sit in an office and juggle numbers and strategies.”

“Jazz’s diary says otherwise. You were responsible for his safety that day, Lieutenant. His death was a massive dereliction of duty on your part.”

“Jazz needed help and counseling.” Lots of freaking counseling. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Liz swept tears from her face and jumped off the chair. She wouldn’t dare tell whomever this was about his suicide and risk angering them. They had Ella.

“That’s a lie, and you know it. Little Ella here is in the wrong place at the wrong time, too.

I suppose I could leave her somewhere like you did to Jazz.

But the evenings are cooling down a little.

On second thought, I don’t think babies this age know how to swim yet.

That would be a quicker end. Listen to how she cries when I pinch her. ”

Ella’s hurt cry pierced the air. Liz’s heart stuttered.

Fury fueled the adrenaline and terror coursing through her body.

She raced to the bathroom and grabbed the extra magazine clip she’d felt in the drawer.

When she returned to the living room, she screamed into the vent.

“What do you want from me? How can I make this right?”

“I thought you’d see my point of view,” the voice asserted. “I want a fair trade. Ella for you.”

“Okay. Done.” Liz held the gun up to a light, made sure the first bullet chambered. “How do I get Ella back?”

“I’ll leave her in the lobby. That lover boy of yours can get her later.”

“Whatever it takes,” Liz yelled from the kitchen.

She rummaged through drawers and quickly lined her thick socks with several of Nick’s sheathed kitchen knives.

If it were the last thing she did, she would eliminate this evil creature one digit at a time.

Screw with my life, blow off my foot, but you will not hurt my child.

“Meet me in the alley on the east side of the building, Liz. Three minutes.”

“You put Ella in the vestibule of the main lobby first. I’ll be waiting for you at the door in the alley.” Liz wrapped a couple very sharp paring knives in a thick dishcloth and anchored them in the flap of her nursing bra, handles exposed.

“Alright, and Liz?”

“What?” she shrieked.

“Unarmed, please.”

Liz tossed a loose knife from her pocket on the dining room table and waited. Could they see her? She hadn’t located a camera in the heat vent.

“Atta girl. Unarmed.”

Liz tucked the loose knife back into her pocket and lobbed the drapery remote onto the table. She stood back and listened. No reply probably meant they couldn’t see her. She slipped inside the drapes covering the elevator and tapped the down button.

They wanted war? GI Jane was on her way.