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  The bathroom door swung open with gusto, and Katelyn sauntered in sporting her Betty Page hairstyle and rockabilly dress like a boss. She was the only person Scarlet knew who could pull off anything, especially her retro fashions.

  “Hey Red Lettie. Shirt’s untucked.”

  Katelyn took a step toward her, fully intent on tackling the problem head-on. Scarlet held up her hand and twisted her face in amused confusion. Katelyn was forever trying to assign her ridiculous nicknames. Last week's attempt: ‘Scout.’ That didn’t go over so well.

  “Red Lettie?”

  Katelyn stopped, nodded and grinned. “Yes, daaahling. Red for Scarlet and Lettie for . . . let. You know, the last part of . . .” She scrunched up her nose and tapped her chin. “Okay, I will grudgingly admit it's an imperfect amalgamation, and it sounded better in my head. However, unless you offer me a pleasing alternative, I'll be chiseling it into your headstone with the bones of your ancestors.”

  Scarlet rolled her eyes with a smile, then narrowed them playfully. “Scarlet’s short enough. And no headstone chiseling.”

  Katelyn dramatically slumped her upper body a good five inches, and Scarlet laughed. Katelyn stood back up straight and smoothed down the front of her dress.

  “Fine. Suck all the fun out of my day. See if I care. I just won't tell you the next time there's a broccoli seed stuck in your teeth.” She examined her perfectly polished nails, then crossed her arms.

  Scarlet raised her brows in smug victory. “Bluff called. I don't eat broccoli.”

  Katelyn snapped her finger and stamped her heel at the same time. “Frick! Why can I not remember that? What person doesn't eat broccoli?! It's wholly un-American.”

  She clucked her tongue and took another step toward Scarlet, arm outstretched. Scarlet shook her head. “Nah, I got it. Thanks, though.”

  She twisted her torso slowly to see her back in the mirror and threw a toothy smile to Katelyn from the reflection as she jammed her right hand down the back of her shirt, roughly stuffing it under the waistband. Katelyn thinned her cherry-painted lips and re-crossed her arms.

  “You know, it's okay to ask for help. It doesn't mean you're weak.”

  Yes, it did. Besides, she didn't need it. She was handling it just fine on her own. For the most part. Except in the mornings, getting ready for work. Or at night, when she was trying to do the dishes. Or bathe. Or sleep. But no one needed to know that. She was also sick to death of painkillers and wasn't taking them like she should. So, it hurt. Often.

  “I know. I'm good, though.”

  Katelyn snorted and went into the stall. Scarlet spared a small smile at her own reflection before scooting back out into the business-gray hall with business-gray carpet.

  The old, open-air building was set dead in the heart of town, flanked by a covered parking garage, an overflow lot, and some run-down Korean restaurant that always smelled like rotten cabbage.

  Needless to say, she never ate there.

  Grungy brick lined the interior and either the painter lost faith in humanity or died before he could finish, as there were large, random swaths of color. The huge space was cordoned off into separate offices, each with walls that didn’t reach the ceiling, making the whole place hum with the sounds of low-level conversation, beeping phones, and printers. The ceiling housed a tangle of cables, ductwork, and sprinklers, and a massive elevator opened to a central reception counter.

  The customer service section, and her office in particular, was beyond there and to the right, and she couldn’t wait to sit back down again. Not that fielding support calls was a particularly cushy job, but at least as a manager, she got a cushy chair. She scrunched up her nose and stretched her neck.

  As she approached the elevator, it's gleaming, polished doors slid open, vomiting forth the passenger she least wanted to see.

  “Scarlet. There you are. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

  She stopped dead in her tracks and pinned him with a tired glare as he approached her with his usual swagger.

  “We were never on for dinner, Steven. I'm busy.”

  Busy doing anything but something with you, she wanted to say. It was her mistake for telling him that she liked him a while back. When he was a random, pretty-boy type that, for some reason, always caught her gaze and smiled, or smirked like he knew some secret.

  Once she got to know him, however . . . not such a big fan.

  Now she had to deal with that backlash when they saw each other, which was at least twice a week. She was beyond glad they didn’t work in the same office.

  He slithered up beside her and placed his hand on the small of her back. Her skin crawled in reflex, but her stomach clenched, and she frowned.

  Despite his pushy personality, he was devastatingly handsome. A fact her body fully appreciated.

  Medium build, but muscular, and always impeccably dressed. He was well-spoken and headed straight up the corporate ladder if he wasn’t already at the top. Not to mention his million-watt smile. Short, styled brown hair and sky-blue eyes rounded out what everyone else said was the perfect package. The other women in the office couldn't fathom why she wasn't fawning all over him.

  She had almost indulged him before the attack. But he’d been so apathetic to a scuffle below their rooftop smoking deck a few days prior that she'd probably be dead in a gutter if he’d come on the scene of her near abduction.

  The other more pressing issue was that he smoked and always reeked of cigarettes. Like now. Even though he tried to mask it with too much cologne.

  “Oh, come on. You're always busy. How about lunch tomorrow then? I'll buy.”

  She grumbled and started walking again. He kept pace with her, following her past the reception desk and around the partition wall that separated her section from the others. Her four employees were hard at work answering support calls, and she stepped quietly between them into her compact office. He waltzed right in behind her and sat across the desk from her, looking for all the world like he was supposed to be there.

  “Come on. Please?”

  She squinted and wrinkled her nose as she regarded his big, puppy dog eyes. Eyes she used to enjoy having look at her.

  “I'll think about it.”

  He clapped his hands once and bolted up out of the chair. He started to speak, but her desk phone trilled, two red lights blinking. She shooed him out as she picked up the receiver.

  “You're weeeelcooome!” Katelyn's playful singsong voice rang through the handset.

  She hung up, and Scarlet laughed.

  Katelyn really was a wonderful friend. They hadn't known each other before they started working together but had become thick as thieves after the first few days.

  It was Katelyn whom Scarlet told the hospital to call first, and she rushed right over. Though, not fast enough to catch sight of the hooded hero with her own eyes. Scarlet frowned. It was also Katelyn who urged her to call her mom, even though they both agreed it was probably a bad idea.

  Marianna Price was a tad over-protective. Thankfully, she was also fairly absentee in Scarlet's life. Always had been. Hence, her early forced independence.

  But that still didn't stop the lecture.

  Whatever. Scarlet ground her teeth and opened the long, thin center drawer of her desk, on the hunt for a pen. She bit her lip and tilted her head as she took out a small, white card and held it in between her thumb and index finger. One of only two things she saved from her hospital stay, this tiny piece of card stock meant everything to her.

  It was starkly empty save for a single letter.

  N.

  It had been nestled inside an adorable, squat flower arrangement in a black mug, the other saved item. She had no idea if he chose it special or just grabbed something, but she liked to pretend it was intentional. She smiled again as she replayed the conversation for the billionth time and rubbed her thumb across the face of the card.

  "More manly, indeed." She set it
back down in its place of honor right beside her stack of hair ties, which were bound by another hair tie. She was constantly losing them. Much like her pens, which she knew were growing legs.

  The remainder of her day wound on like usual, ending at the same time it always did. She carefully grabbed her purse and slipped her shoes back on. Had she a choice, she'd go barefoot every minute of her life, but that's sort of frowned upon, and unsafe. Especially on these streets.

  She stood lost in thought at the elevator waiting for Katelyn when her phone buzzed from her purse. Great, time to dig. Stupid thing was never in the same place twice. She frowned and rummaged around until she found it. It was her building manager informing her that her security light was out, yet again, and needed to be replaced immediately as per the Homeowners Association agreement. Fantastic.

  “If you keep making that face someone's going to assume you're building a bomb in your basement lair.”

  Katelyn walked up and peered at the phone, wedging her head between it and Scarlet.

  “Ewww. I hate HOA's. That's why we rent. No worrying about our own maintenance.”

  Scarlet grunted in frustration and dropped her phone into the gaping maw of her purse. Yes, it would take a good minute or two to find it next time, but she was too miffed to care. She pressed the tip of her nail against the elevator call button and frowned.

  “Now I have to stop at the hardware store, instead of rushing home to tackle my entire to-do list of absolutely nothing,” Scarlet said, smiling.

  Katelyn rolled her eyes. “Your seclusion is your own choice, you know. You could be going on dates all the time; it’s not like you lack options. For fuck’s sake, the barista wrote his phone number on your cup yesterday!”

  Scarlet shrugged. He was cute enough, but just not . . .

  "Also, you could come over and eat with John and me. We'd love to have you.”

  “I'm good. I'll come over again soon, though, I promise.”

  She enjoyed their company. Their home was lovely, and the fact that John was a chef meant the food was always fantastic. Well, when he wasn't off catering an event like he almost always was. The major issue was that being around the two of them was like sticking your face in a vat of syrup.

  Katelyn snorted as they reached the ground floor and stepped out, their heels clicking on the polished marble tiles.

  “Yeah. I don't believe that for a hot minute. I'm going to have to drag you, kicking and screaming.” She cast a sidelong glance at Scarlet and shook her head. “See you tomorrow, girl.”

  “Yep! Bright and ten minutes late.”

  Katelyn laughed again and walked away, calling back over her shoulder. "You're not going to be able to use your shoulder excuse for much longer.”

  Scarlet grinned and turned to face the other direction.

  At least she snagged a decent parking spot today; she was aching. It was worse at the end of the day, especially today since she stubbornly didn't take her anti-inflammatory. She was bound and determined to get better on her own.

  She carefully slid into the car and sat for a minute, letting her muscles relax. Through the exit of the parking garage, a small group of guys strolled into view, laughing loudly and shoving each other. She swallowed as her heart sped.

  She knew logically that most people were fine upstanding citizens. There were tons of groups of friends that weren't a bit of trouble and had no intention of bothering anyone no matter how they dressed or acted.

  The problem was that her generally open and accepting nature had been damaged. And logic played no part in fear. Now she couldn't be sure.

  She locked the doors and cranked the car. They passed by with no issue, and she pulled out.

  At least the hardware store was on the way. Now she just had to figure out which stinking bulb she needed.

  Nick

  Harsh white light filled Nick’s vision before his phone buzzed for what felt like the seven hundredth time in four minutes. He grumbled to the roof as he snatched it off the counter, then put it to his ear.

  “Annalise. For the love of God, I’m trying to work. What now?”

  “You’re the one that said I had to check in every time a bug farted!”

  Nick snorted and tilted the phone down as he handed the plain white shopping bag to the customer at the counter. “Here you go sir, have a great night.” The man nodded, and his face elongated for a fraction of a second before he smiled with far too many teeth. Nick furrowed his brow and as the door chimed behind the man, Nick rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

  “Do you know where the party is yet?”

  “Nope. Starla apparently wanted to make it an uber surprise. She sent out this super mysterious text that her 'rich father'—and yes, I did do air quotes because that’s exactly what she typed—would send a car to get me. She’s such a . . . anyway. So, I’m standing in front of the building like a dumbass.”

  Nick’s knee-jerk reaction was to bark at her for swearing, but she was eighteen, and he really didn’t have a leg to stand on. So, he settled for sighing. Loudly.

  “Oh, hang on, I think that’s him. It’s a pretentious black car at any rate.”

  Nick wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, printed the end of day report from the register, and headed down the hall to the office. Were the walls twisting? He could tell by the lower volume of her voice she’d tilted the phone down from her face.

  “Hey, are you Starla’s . . . woah okay, guess not. What are . . .Hey! STOP! NI—”

  Her scream muffled, and Nick’s blood turned to ice.

  “Annalise?! What’s going on?” His heart stopped altogether when her phone hit the concrete.

  More muffled screaming. Two car doors slammed. Tires squealed. Then nothing but distant car horns and normal street noise.

  “ANNALISE!” He shouted uselessly and ran from the store, skidding to a stop at his truck.

  “Shit!”

  He fumbled the keys and phone in his shaking hands.

  He couldn’t breathe as he finally got the key in the door and jerked it open. Before he cranked the truck, his phone bonged, startling him. The screen blinded him, and he winced, then words swam into view one letter at a time.

  YOUR SISTER’S QUITE A FIGHTER.

  SHE MUST GET THAT FROM YOU.

  Nick stared, unblinking. He didn’t have time to respond before the next text.

  IF YOU WANT HER TO LIVE

  YOU HAVE 17 MINS

  427 COL BLVD

  TARGET IS BLOND, BROWN SHIRT

  SIDE ENTRANCE. YOU CAN SPEAK

  ONCE KILL IS CONF--

  Nick sucked in a deep breath as his head fell out of his hands, nearly hitting the desk.

  “Damn it!”

  His heart slammed against his ribs. Just a nightmare. Calm down. He confirmed by taking quick stock of his tiny office and its ugly green paint. One slow breath out through pursed lips, and he glanced up at the ceiling.

  Fifty days. How could this be his life now? Not a damn thing he could do, no one willing to help him. How much longer could they really expect him to do this? And above all his own devastation sat Annalise’s personal hell. Fifty days of captivity, abuse, and God only knew what else.

  His stomach turned, and he gritted his teeth.

  The front door chimed, but he didn’t bother to get up, knowing his guys would handle it. At least, they’d better. That's what they got paid for, at any rate. Just like Nick got paid to manage their lazy selves. He groaned and rubbed his eyes with his right hand before picking up the ledger to scan it again.

  It was so damn irritating that it never added up right the first time. He had tried several times to convince Brad to buy a computer, like the rest of the free world. No go. If Nick was the owner, you could bet your ass things would be different.

  “Hey, can I help you?”

  At least Grant had bothered to greet whoever it was. God only knew where Kyle was. Probably out back smoki
ng. The numbers blurred and Nick closed his eyes. He hoped to God he didn’t fall asleep again. How many more times would he have to see that damn nightmare?

  Grant cleared his throat. “Well, if you don’t know the fixture type I can’t really help you. And we can't give refunds, so you should just go home, find out what you need, and come back.”

  Nick shot out a humorless laugh. Another stupid move on Brad's part. Just give a refund. Make the customer happy. It wasn’t rocket science. He finally caught the customer's voice when she raised it in irritation.

  “You're telling me that even if I bring it back inside of twenty-five minutes, you still won’t refund me? What about an exchange? Can you at least do that? Also, who charges forty-seven dollars for a light bulb?! Does it do taxes?”

  Nick snorted. Feisty. That always got his attention. He lowered the ledger and cocked his ear toward the door.

  Wonder how Grant's gonna handle her. He rotated the chair to face the door.

  He knew how he’d handle a woman like that. He smirked as he dropped the ledger on the desk and rested his forearms on his knees, linking his fingers together. Then he frowned. Well, he knew how he would’ve handled a woman like that. He doubted he'd ever have one again, nothing serious anyway. How could he maintain a relationship, hiding the fact he was a killer? He groaned and covered his face. He couldn't, that's how.

  “Give me one sec, ma'am. I'll get my manager.”

  “Good Lord, Grant, grow a spine already,” he muttered, pushing up from the wooden chair. Cracks rang out as he twisted. He'd been sitting a lot longer than he thought, apparently.

  Grant's pimpled face rounded the corner, and he almost ran straight into Nick.

  “Dude, she's crazy. The hot ones always are, though. I think she must be grumpy from her broken arm or whatever that is. You handle it, I'm going on break.”

  He passed Nick and dropped heavily into the side chair of the office. He was acting like he'd been working thirteen-hour shifts back-to-back for two weeks when in reality, he'd only been here two hours. In two days.

  Nick stared at him a moment longer before he shook his head and strode toward the front. What did some eighteen-year-old kid know about crazy? Nothing, that's what. Precisely nothing. And hot to him probably meant tall, blond, stacked and vapid.