me…” He faltered. “Get over you.”
“Do you hear God when you pray to Him?”
“It’s more like a feeling, a direction. I surrender myself in a given situation, and do what feels right in my heart. God is about love, after all.”
They turned onto John Street.
“That’s my building,” she said.
“I’ll park a few blocks away in case someone’s watching. I don’t want them to track us by getting my plate number.”
“Oh, okay.”
He pulled up to the curb and glanced at her. “When we get inside, stay behind me, okay?”
“Sure.”
They walked side by side the two blocks to her building, Morgan continually scanning the street. Although her place was tucked away behind the Seattle Center, there was always plenty of foot traffic during big events.
“Hang on,” Morgan said, stopping short about ten feet from the apartment building.
She peered around him. The front door was ajar.
“Sometimes we leave it open when we’re moving stuff inand out,” Julie offered. She didn’t want to assume this was a nefarious sign related to her stalker.
“Just the same, let’s take it slow.” He edged his way toward the front door, just as one of Julie’s neighbors wheeled a dolly stacked with boxes around the corner.
“Oh, hey,” she called out to Julie.
“Hi, Heather.” Julie’s anxiety eased. “See,” she said to Morgan. “She left it open.”
“Did you connect with your uncle?” Heather asked.
“Pardon me?” Julie said. She didn’t have an uncle.
“Your uncle stopped by this morning looking for you. He said you missed dinner last night and he was worried.”
Morgan glanced at her, slightly shaking his head.
Julie got the message. “We must have just missed each other.”
“Can I help with the door?” Morgan offered, holding the door for Heather.
“Thanks.” She smiled at Morgan and a twang of jealousy shot through Julie. How silly. What right did she have to feel jealous about anything Morgan did? She studied him. Was he attracted to Heather? No, he was fixated on the stairs leading to Julie’s apartment.
“See you guys later,” Heather said, pressing the elevator button.
“’Bye.” Julie started up the stairs, but Morgan gently grabbed her arm.
“Me first,” he said.
“Right, sorry. I don’t have an uncle,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Do you think—”
“Probably. Let’s focus on getting your clothes and getting back home.”
Home. It had been a long time since she thought of Port Whisper as her home.
They got to the second floor and she pointed to her apartment. He opened his hand and she passed him her keys. “Stayflat against the wall. If something goes wrong, head down the back stairs to the restaurant next door and call 9-1-1.”
“Okay.”
“Under no circumstances do you come inside until I tell you it’s safe to do so.”
She nodded, fighting back another adrenaline rush.
Morgan stuck the key in the door and unlocked it, disappearing inside. The door didn’t automatically shut, the charm of an old building. She listened intently for sounds of a struggle, or for Morgan’s signal to join him. Seconds dragged like hours as she stood there, clutching the phone.
The front door to the building slammed closed down below. Footsteps echoed up the stairwell and she held her breath. What if her “uncle” had been waiting across the street for her to return home?
She peeked inside her apartment, unable to see anything but the long hallway leading to the living room.
Footsteps grew louder, closer…
The back of a man’s head came into view and she jumped into her apartment and gently shut the door. Pressing her forehead against the aged wood, she took a slow, deep breath and eyed the peephole.
Nothing. It could be an upstairs neighbor, or a visiting family member.
She was overreacting. Heading into the living room, she framed her cheeks with her hands, trying to ground herself. She turned the corner into the living room and stopped
“Do you hear God when you pray to Him?”
“It’s more like a feeling, a direction. I surrender myself in a given situation, and do what feels right in my heart. God is about love, after all.”
They turned onto John Street.
“That’s my building,” she said.
“I’ll park a few blocks away in case someone’s watching. I don’t want them to track us by getting my plate number.”
“Oh, okay.”
He pulled up to the curb and glanced at her. “When we get inside, stay behind me, okay?”
“Sure.”
They walked side by side the two blocks to her building, Morgan continually scanning the street. Although her place was tucked away behind the Seattle Center, there was always plenty of foot traffic during big events.
“Hang on,” Morgan said, stopping short about ten feet from the apartment building.
She peered around him. The front door was ajar.
“Sometimes we leave it open when we’re moving stuff inand out,” Julie offered. She didn’t want to assume this was a nefarious sign related to her stalker.
“Just the same, let’s take it slow.” He edged his way toward the front door, just as one of Julie’s neighbors wheeled a dolly stacked with boxes around the corner.
“Oh, hey,” she called out to Julie.
“Hi, Heather.” Julie’s anxiety eased. “See,” she said to Morgan. “She left it open.”
“Did you connect with your uncle?” Heather asked.
“Pardon me?” Julie said. She didn’t have an uncle.
“Your uncle stopped by this morning looking for you. He said you missed dinner last night and he was worried.”
Morgan glanced at her, slightly shaking his head.
Julie got the message. “We must have just missed each other.”
“Can I help with the door?” Morgan offered, holding the door for Heather.
“Thanks.” She smiled at Morgan and a twang of jealousy shot through Julie. How silly. What right did she have to feel jealous about anything Morgan did? She studied him. Was he attracted to Heather? No, he was fixated on the stairs leading to Julie’s apartment.
“See you guys later,” Heather said, pressing the elevator button.
“’Bye.” Julie started up the stairs, but Morgan gently grabbed her arm.
“Me first,” he said.
“Right, sorry. I don’t have an uncle,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Do you think—”
“Probably. Let’s focus on getting your clothes and getting back home.”
Home. It had been a long time since she thought of Port Whisper as her home.
They got to the second floor and she pointed to her apartment. He opened his hand and she passed him her keys. “Stayflat against the wall. If something goes wrong, head down the back stairs to the restaurant next door and call 9-1-1.”
“Okay.”
“Under no circumstances do you come inside until I tell you it’s safe to do so.”
She nodded, fighting back another adrenaline rush.
Morgan stuck the key in the door and unlocked it, disappearing inside. The door didn’t automatically shut, the charm of an old building. She listened intently for sounds of a struggle, or for Morgan’s signal to join him. Seconds dragged like hours as she stood there, clutching the phone.
The front door to the building slammed closed down below. Footsteps echoed up the stairwell and she held her breath. What if her “uncle” had been waiting across the street for her to return home?
She peeked inside her apartment, unable to see anything but the long hallway leading to the living room.
Footsteps grew louder, closer…
The back of a man’s head came into view and she jumped into her apartment and gently shut the door. Pressing her forehead against the aged wood, she took a slow, deep breath and eyed the peephole.
Nothing. It could be an upstairs neighbor, or a visiting family member.
She was overreacting. Heading into the living room, she framed her cheeks with her hands, trying to ground herself. She turned the corner into the living room and stopped
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