Page 4 of The Woman in the Warehouse

A trip to get new bras would almost certainly mean I would need to get resized. Which meant getting felt up by a stranger.

The most action I’d had in months, I thought as I went down the steps to the subway, readying myself for what brand of insanity might be in store for me on my daily trip from Hell’s Kitchen to Spanish Harlem.

I was constantly keeping an eye on real estate in both neighborhoods, some part of me dying to be able to just walk from my place to work instead of taking public transportation.

But, well, this was New York. Shit was expensive. And I’d managed to inherit a small warehouse from my maternal grandfather in Spanish Harlem and a nice condo in Hell’s Kitchen from my great aunt.

For the time being, it made more sense to leave shit as it was, even if I did occasionally have to listen to someone rant and rave about lizard people, or have someone try to grab ass or try to hit on me while on the subway. Turns out, it doesn’t matter how boldly you wear Fuck Off on your forehead, some men will still have all of the audacity.

“Keep following me, fuckface, and you’re going to become intimately acquainted with the third rail,” I hissed at the guy who was practically breathing down my neck as I walked down the platform away from the subway.

“Bitch,” he grunted.

“You have no idea,” I agreed, jogging up the steps and getting smacked in the face with the smell of food cart hot dogs and relish.

My stomach, full of nothing but coffee that was likely burning a hole in my stomach lining, let out a gurgle.

I stood there for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of eating processed meat for breakfast before grabbing one to eat on the walk to the warehouse.

It was probably generous to call it that.

Back in my grandfather’s day, it had been a smaller scale print shop that mostly specialized in business cards and wedding invitations. It was a rectangular three-story brick building with a single loading dock out back that I’d had someone come in and turn it into a ramp, so that I could use it to drive my car up and park inside the lower level.

What can I say? Parking was either hard to come by or expensive in the city. And I didn’t actually need all three floors of the warehouse to conduct my business.

I saved a piece of the hotdog and tossed it over the fence between my warehouse and the building next door where someone’s dog always seemed to be left out, barking and snarling at anyone who came too close. Because her owners were into some shady shit. But, y’know, who the fuck wasn’t?

“Hey, pretty girl,” I said, risking my fingertips as she came over to sniff them, her butt tentatively wiggling. “At least it’s not hot out here anymore, right?” I asked, rubbing my fingers up her snout. “I’ll bring you something better tomorrow,” I promised the block-headed tan pittie with her obnoxious chain collar.

I walked up to my building, plugged in my passcode then waited to hear the click, before moving inside.

The lower level was empty except for the SUV with blackout windows that was parked right in the center of the floor.

Nothing felt wrong.

Not right at first.

Until I was walking past the car on the way to the stairs that led up to the second floor. And I noticed the utility cart that had been up on the second floor the last time I used it was sitting near the door to the loading dock.

Like it had been used to…

“Fuck,” I hissed, running up the steps, my heart starting to punch against my ribcage as a sick feeling rose up my throat.

I had security, damnit.

I had security on top of my security.

I flew onto the second floor, rushing toward the row of oversized black garage totes.

Not that I needed to.

The bright yellow tops were all off, strewn carelessly around the floor, a few even stepped on and cracked.

“No no no no,” I growled, peering into the tote that had been home to some of the more important merchandise. “Goddamnit!” I snarled, picking up the empty tote, and throwing it across the room. Then checking the one below it.

Empty.

Same with the ones piled next to them, then next to those.

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