Page 80 of Keep You Close

If the alarm system was disengaged, then maybe the owner had dropped by.

It didn’t happen often, but they had the code, so they could get in without tripping the alarm.

So could Tucker and Ella.

But there was no way they would come back here this late.

I wondered if maybe someone had snuck in while we were open. It wouldn’t be impossible. There were many times, especially in the middle of the day or right before pick-up time, that the front desk was unmanned because we were all busy trying to play with dogs or get them ready to head home.

But why would someone do that?

It wasn’t like this was a place to rob.

We never dealt in cash. I wouldn’t even know what to do with cash if someone tried to hand it to me. There was no register or safe to break into.

And, well, there was nothing of worth to steal.

Sure, dog treats and toys were expensive—especially the enrichment toys—but no one in their right mind would try to take them.

So, why?

The answer came charging back in a second.

Because it wasn’t about money.

It often wasn’t when a woman was alone and vulnerable.

Had one of the dog parents been harboring some sort of sick crush? Did they want to hang back and… act on it?

The steps drew closer as my head whipped around, desperate to find somewhere to hide, or a weapon to brandish.

There was a minuscule pantry in the room.

I turned and rushed toward, it, squeezing inside, then silently closing the door, telling myself that I wasn’t a sitting duck, that this was just to hide until the person passed the room, went to look for me somewhere else, then I would rush out, and make a mad dash for the front door.

The built-in wooden shelves bit into my back as I tried to take a few slow, deep breaths, attempting to think past the anxiety gripping my system.

It was going to be okay, damnit.

My hand tightened on my phone, wondering if I should call the police.

But I couldn’t risk making a sound. My own breath felt too loud to my ears. And I had no idea if a burner phone could be traced like a normal phone could. So what would be the point?

Tears pricked my eyes as I heard the footsteps move closer. I couldn’t tell if they were in the room, or if they were just in the doorway.

I stood there, not daring even to breathe as I heard the steps move into the kitchen, then, it seemed, walk back toward the doorway.

Maybe they didn’t check the closet because they didn’t think I’d heard, that I had a heads-up enough to hide.

They’d circle back eventually.

I pulled my phone to my chest to keep the light from it from illuminating the whole room, potentially giving away my hiding space.

Swiping to unlock it, I found the screen still open to the conversation with Atlas.

I didn’t stop to think twice.

I just typed out the message, saying a silent prayer that he would see it, that he hadn’t gone to bed yet.

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