Page 65 of The Lair

As much as I try to ignore the connection, I can’t help but think there’s something very wrong and very strange about all this. Days after the George Eden article went live, I found my car window down. Now I’m convincedIdidn’t do it, not even accidentally. How would that even happen? Other than the one time I did it to talk to Travis, I don’t recall rolling down my windows. I don’t do it during winter—it’s too cold.

Then, someone broke into the apartment next door but didn’t take anything. Days later, they try breaking into mine. And if Travis hadn’t installed that new lock, they would have.

I could be dead right now.

Maybe I’m paranoid, but what if someone is targetingme? What if Claudia’s ring isn’t truly dissolved and they’re after me, fearing I’ll speak out against them now that my name is on the news?

There are too many coincidences, and my gut is screaming that I’m not safe on my own anymore.

I don’t know why I search for his number and dial it. All I know is that I feel in danger, and there’s only one person whose presence can soothe me before I inevitably go into full panic-attack mode.

I tell myself that I’m being selfish for a good reason, that this is bad, and he’ll understand why I’m calling at eleven at night, as Travis’s gruff voice greets me from the other line. “Allie?”

“Hey, Travis. Sorry to bother you. I know it’s late, but… could you come over, please? Someone just tried to break into my apartment.”

There were times in the past fifteen months when I thought I had seen Travis look angry. As in, furious. It didn’t happen often, but I recognized the signs—his face turned meaner, colder, harsher, and his massive body was shackled with tension. His jaw ticked, and his eyes boiled with a pool of simmering anger.

I thought Travis had looked angry when his friend put his arm around me that night and said all those nasty things. I thought he had been pissed off when I messed up the stock orders, or when I hugged Charlie, or when Robert Marcelli had almost called me a bitch.

Turns out I had seen nothing.

Travis knocks once, hard, and says in that husky voice, “Allie, open up. It’s Travis.”

As if I would mistake that voice for anyone else’s.

I quickly check my phone and try not to react to the fact that we hung up six minutes ago.Six. I have no clue where he lives, but his driving speed is impressive nonetheless.

I haven’t opened the door all the way when I see firsthand how wrong I was about witnessing Travis’s true fury.

Those military eyes scan every corner of my apartment, then my face. Assessing, looking for something I’m not sure he finds.

“Are you hurt?”

There’s tension in his jaw and around his mouth, and he looks ready to pounce on any intruder.

“I-I’m not. I’m fine. Nobody got in.”

If bear-man had been a dragon-man instead, he would’ve breathed fire right about now. “What the fuck, Allie?”

That earns him a slow blink. I open my mouth to ask him what I’ve done wrong now, but he beats me to it.

“I told you that you couldn’t live here any longer.”

Is he for real?

“Iwantto move out.” He knows this. “You know I can’t find a place, Travis. Why are you angry at me?”

When his eyes meet mine again, some of his tension seems to deflate. “I’m not angry at you.”

I shut the door behind us. A few of my neighbors have gathered in the hall to discuss the break-ins, but I can’t find it in me to join them.

“Sure looks like it,” I accuse him. “Do you think I wantto live here? That I want to be on edge all the time, waiting for the lucky day I get robbed? Or worse?”

I’m aware that my chest is heaving, that my voice is louder, and that I’m getting worked up, and I hate every second of it. I’m not scared of conflict, but I don’t seek it either. And I hate that Travis thinks someone trying to break in is somehow my fault.

“Allie.” His voice sounds softer, but I’m barely listening.

“Do you think I enjoyed calling the police and hiding behind my couch, hoping that my door held up?” My eyes travel to the ceiling, and I tell myself I’m not going to cry. I’mnot. But my voice falls a second later, and so does the first tear. “I was so scared. I didn’t k-know what to do.”

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