to move on to Plan B. And think positive.
Maybe he'd gone out? Unlikely, given his propensity toward being a recluse, but anything was possible.
Everything in her itched to get inside, but she needed to be cautious. Given the steady stream of pedestrians, using her file to pick the lock might raise attention. Patience. Sooner or later someone would open the door.
She tried to appear casual, even while everything in her wanted to scream as she waited not-so-patiently for an opportunity to present itself. Finally a group of women barreled out the door looking like they had primped for a night of clubbing. She held the door for them and muttered, "Thanks, keys at the bottom of my purse." Without giving them much of an opportunity to see her face, she charged up the steps, making it to Alex's apartment on the third floor in less than a minute.
She hit the landing slightly winded, but it had more to do with nerves than exertion. A tingly sensation tracked down her spine. She glanced at her watch—a little before midnight. Two apartments lined either side of the hallway, one facing the street, the other facing the building behind. She'd been there before and knew Nick's place faced the street.
But it was the complete and utter silence that made her fingers tremble and her knees go weak. That and the nauseating roll in her stomach forewarning of trouble.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention while dust swirled around the perimeter of the tent. Having a hint of a breeze might stave off the stream of water coursing down various parts of her body.
Not only was she sweating her ass off because Alex thought she could get Amir to relax and tell her some juicy tidbits, the guy hadn't made so much as a sound. She had to wonder if the guy could even talk.
Was he deaf? Mute? Based on his lack of response, she had to wonder.
A sound from outside filtered inside. Amir got even twitchier. Maybe he wasn't deaf after all. It sounded like a camel nuzzling to her.
The desert winds stilled. The groaning and bleating of the camels came to an abrupt halt as the whiff of something intangible but sinister trailed in the air.
She moved her hand from the table to the gun she kept strapped to her leg. A tingle settled in the curve of her spine, setting off a series of pinpricks up her skull as she removed her gun from its hiding spot as discreetly as possible.
The winds started up again, making the sides of the tent vibrate, like the prop department had suddenly turned back on the industrial-sized fan. Sand blew into the tent, swirling about the confines. Maybe there was an uptick in Amir's skittishness, because despite the mundane-ness of the moment, something set off her radar. She launched herself over the table, bringing Amir to the ground with her. Seconds later a bullet tore through the side of the tent while she and Amir wrestled for control along the sand-covered floor.
Sensations and the sounds of that moment in Afghanistan seemed to envelope her in those ten or so steps down the hall. Fear, as her constant companion, snaked up her back, grasped its gnarly arms around her neck, and squeezed. Maybe she had PTSD like the shrink told her, because it felt like she'd been hurtled back into the day everything in her life shifted. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath to calm herself and tried to focus on where she was. New York, outside her friend Nick's apartment, rather than surrounded by desert.
Everything about the aloneness of the moment made her want to give in and scream until she couldn't anymore. She was a loner by nature, but the sensation pounding in her chest pleaded for company at this moment in time. Replicating that all-encompassing fear was not a good headspace to be in. Despair threatened to unhinge the last spot of sense in her psyche.
Breathe.
Focus.
She placed her ear against the wooden door of Nick's apartment. Why couldn't she hear his TV blaring? He liked his TV and music loud. There was
Maybe he'd gone out? Unlikely, given his propensity toward being a recluse, but anything was possible.
Everything in her itched to get inside, but she needed to be cautious. Given the steady stream of pedestrians, using her file to pick the lock might raise attention. Patience. Sooner or later someone would open the door.
She tried to appear casual, even while everything in her wanted to scream as she waited not-so-patiently for an opportunity to present itself. Finally a group of women barreled out the door looking like they had primped for a night of clubbing. She held the door for them and muttered, "Thanks, keys at the bottom of my purse." Without giving them much of an opportunity to see her face, she charged up the steps, making it to Alex's apartment on the third floor in less than a minute.
She hit the landing slightly winded, but it had more to do with nerves than exertion. A tingly sensation tracked down her spine. She glanced at her watch—a little before midnight. Two apartments lined either side of the hallway, one facing the street, the other facing the building behind. She'd been there before and knew Nick's place faced the street.
But it was the complete and utter silence that made her fingers tremble and her knees go weak. That and the nauseating roll in her stomach forewarning of trouble.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention while dust swirled around the perimeter of the tent. Having a hint of a breeze might stave off the stream of water coursing down various parts of her body.
Not only was she sweating her ass off because Alex thought she could get Amir to relax and tell her some juicy tidbits, the guy hadn't made so much as a sound. She had to wonder if the guy could even talk.
Was he deaf? Mute? Based on his lack of response, she had to wonder.
A sound from outside filtered inside. Amir got even twitchier. Maybe he wasn't deaf after all. It sounded like a camel nuzzling to her.
The desert winds stilled. The groaning and bleating of the camels came to an abrupt halt as the whiff of something intangible but sinister trailed in the air.
She moved her hand from the table to the gun she kept strapped to her leg. A tingle settled in the curve of her spine, setting off a series of pinpricks up her skull as she removed her gun from its hiding spot as discreetly as possible.
The winds started up again, making the sides of the tent vibrate, like the prop department had suddenly turned back on the industrial-sized fan. Sand blew into the tent, swirling about the confines. Maybe there was an uptick in Amir's skittishness, because despite the mundane-ness of the moment, something set off her radar. She launched herself over the table, bringing Amir to the ground with her. Seconds later a bullet tore through the side of the tent while she and Amir wrestled for control along the sand-covered floor.
Sensations and the sounds of that moment in Afghanistan seemed to envelope her in those ten or so steps down the hall. Fear, as her constant companion, snaked up her back, grasped its gnarly arms around her neck, and squeezed. Maybe she had PTSD like the shrink told her, because it felt like she'd been hurtled back into the day everything in her life shifted. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath to calm herself and tried to focus on where she was. New York, outside her friend Nick's apartment, rather than surrounded by desert.
Everything about the aloneness of the moment made her want to give in and scream until she couldn't anymore. She was a loner by nature, but the sensation pounding in her chest pleaded for company at this moment in time. Replicating that all-encompassing fear was not a good headspace to be in. Despair threatened to unhinge the last spot of sense in her psyche.
Breathe.
Focus.
She placed her ear against the wooden door of Nick's apartment. Why couldn't she hear his TV blaring? He liked his TV and music loud. There was
Similar Books
