Page 65 of Boxed In

“Oh yeah?”

“Hooking class with my girlfriends.”

“Why did you do it?”

“It was cool. And so was smoking. I’m lucky I hated those little pieces of nicotine in my nose.”

“Yeah. Very lucky.”

He tipped his head to the side, studying her, and she struggled to hold her gaze steady.

“I don’t see you as being a conformist.”

“I’m smarter now.”

He nodded, then finished the last of the chocolate in the cup. “I should practice some of my exercises,” he said.

“Exercises?”

“Zabastian says my body isn’t as limber as it should be. He says I’m not prepared for . . . trouble.”

“Are we expecting trouble?” she asked, hearing her voice go a little high.

“I hope not. But I should be ready.”

“You want me to . . . go somewhere else?”

“You can stay.”

She pushed the desk chair into a corner and sat down, watching as Luke slipped off his shoes and socks before dimming the light in the room. Only the desk lamp provided a small amount of illumination as he stood in the center of the rug with his arms hanging at his sides.

His lips moved, and he spoke words she couldn’t hear as he raised his arms above his head before folding in the middle, then dropping to his hands and feet in a posture that she recognized as a yoga pose. Downward facing dog.

He went through more yoga moves like the salutation to the sun. She’d taken some classes and seen it done before—but never as fast as Luke was executing it.

She watched as he slipped easily into a zone where he was far away from her and from the world.

Then he went into some of what she knew were the warrior poses.

He seemed to be operating on another plane of existence—until the doorbell rang. As the sound reverberated through the house, he snapped instantly back into the real world.

She and Luke stared at each other.

“Are we expecting company?” she whispered.

“I don’t know.”

He moved to the window and looked down toward the front door, but the view was obscured by the porch roof.

Luke pushed down the arm of the desk lamp so that the light in the room was barely visible.

"I'll keep watch on the street. You slip downstairs and into the dining room. Look out the window and see if you can tell who's on the porch."

The doorbell rang again.

Olivia hurried downstairs and into the darkened dining room. When she looked out the window, she saw a bulky man standing on the porch. Because the light was off, it took her several seconds to recognize him. It was Carl Peterbalm.

He was holding something in his hand, and she saw it was a flashlight. She jumped back, but maybe he had seen the movement in the darkness.

The beam zeroed in on the window. She saw Peterbalm’s face register shock—then triumph.

“Olivia!” he shouted. “I see you in there. Let me in.”

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