Page 101 of Regards, Mia

I don’t like strange.

I backtrack to the door and peek up at the light. The bulb is shattered, and that’s when I hear it. A thump and a muffled cry.

My jaw clenches, and I glare at the door. Pulling out my phone, I'm about to dial Mia when I think better of it. If she would have wanted me to come in, she would have asked. I pace back and forth a few steps, glancing around the parking lot. There are the neighbors' usual cars that I've gotten to know over the last few months. But at the curb is that dark Lexus I noticed around Mia’s office. Not Jordan's BMW, as I'd first assumed when I thought Mia had company.

A prickle of fear runs down my spine. Mia is in danger. I need to get inside her place. Instead of knocking on her door again, Ithink of another way. Walking next door, I stand at the window of the condo for sale and dial the number for the real estate agent.

After a few rings, Chelsea answers in a bright, professional tone.

“Hello? You've reached Chelsea Taylor.”

I grit my teeth. The woman's cheerful voice sets me on edge. “Chelsea. It's Jay Sanchez.”

“Oh. Hello, Jay.” Her voice is full of false cheer. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you could let me in the condo you're selling in Frog Level?”

She's quick to agree. “I could show you the place this week,” she says. “What day is good for you?”

“I was thinking right now.”

“Right now?” Her voice is disbelieving. “I’m in the middle of dinner.”

“Maybe you could just give me the code and meet me over here after dinner?” I ask, trying to use my most persuasive voice.

“That's not the way it works,” Chelsea says, laughing.

“Well, I'm standing outside the condo right now, and I really want to get in. But there's another place I'm interested in across town. In fact,” I pause dramatically, my heart racing as I wonder what's going on behind Mia's closed door. “I think I'll just head there now.”

“That won't be necessary.” Chelsea practically chokes, trying to get the words out. She rattles off the code, then tells me she would never do this for anyone else.

I punch in the numbers, and the door unlocks. “Don't worry, I won't touch anything.”

The only room I'm interested in is the main bedroom with the second floor balcony that neighbors Mia's. I race up the stairs, kicking myself for not insisting I stick by Mia even after the threat was over. My instincts tell me she's in trouble, and my instincts never steer me wrong.

In the main bedroom, I fly through the room to theFrench doors that lead to the balcony. Just as I remember, it's an easy climb for a man of my height from one balcony to the next. I jump onto the landing of Mia's balcony and hope her bad habit of smoking hasn't ended, and she's been out here since she got home. My racing heart calms as I see a fresh pack of smokes and the French doors slightly ajar. I ease them open and sneak into her bedroom.

Best-case scenario is I'm a paranoid motherfucker, and Mia is curled up on the sofa watching television. Worst-case scenario, my gut is correct, and she's in trouble.

I creep down the hall, listening keenly as I near the stairs. Voices drift up from the lower level, and my stomach clenches. Mia's voice is too bright, and the following deep male answer is gruff and angry.

I prepare for the worst and inch down the stairs. The closer I get, the worse I feel. I knew something wasn’t right in the parking lot, but now that feeling has multiplied a thousand times. I press my back to the wall and creep closer, my skin crawling with the idea that Mia is in danger.

I should have insisted on staying with her instead of dropping her off. I should have seen this coming. I should have known.

“You should have wised up and dropped the case,” the man's voice says. “But no, you had to keep pushing.”

Mia’s soft chuckle sounds. “Just doing my job, Mr. Mattson. You shouldn’t take it personally.”

“Bitch,” he responds.

Anger explodes inside me, and I see red. Motherfucker. I’m going to make him regret talking to Mia like that.

There’s a loud pop, and my stomach turns. I would know a gunshot anywhere. My heart thunders so loud in my ears that all other sounds are drowned out. I storm into the kitchen, no longer thinking clearly as I fly around the corner. My mind is filled with horrific scenes of Mia lying in a pool of blood, her pale face terrified.

But what I see is far different. Mia stands over a man witha gun pointed at his head. Her face is a mask of calm, her feet are spread apart in a secure stance, and both of her hands are firm on the gun.

He tries to get to his feet, and she steps closer, pointing the gun at his forehead. “Make one move, and it’s your last.”

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