Page 73 of Beautiful Scars

"Don't move. Stay exactly where you are." In the space of a breath his voice becomes controlled, precise. "Tell me what you see without getting up."

"I'm lying on the couch. My... my spare keys are on the table." My breath starts coming in ragged gasps. "Z, those keys were hidden in my—"

"Focus, Sunny. I need you to tell me what you can hear?"

I strain to listen. "Nothing. It's quiet."

A beat of silence. "Is your phone on silent?"

"No."

"Put it on silent now. But don't hang up." I hear him barking orders to someone in the background.

"Good. Now, very slowly, I want you to slide to the floor between the couch and the coffee table. Stay low. Tell me when you're there."

I do as he says. My heart is hammering so hard I worry that if someoneishere with me they can hear it.

"I'm down."

"Good. Now listen carefully. I want you to move to the door as quiet as possible. Stay against the wall if you can and keep down. If you hear anything, anything at all, you freeze. Understand?"

"Yes."

"When you reach the door, don't open it. Listen first. Three seconds minimum. You copy?"

"Copy." The military precision of his instructions helps to keep the panic at bay.

"I'm four minutes out. Ty's not responding but I've got Wolf coming. You ready?"

"Ready."

"Move. Now."

I slither along the floor, keeping my head down, fighting the urge to stand up and run.

Once I'm at the door, I press my ear against it. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three—

A floorboard creaks somewhere in the hallway outside.

"Z," I breathe into the phone. "Someone's out there."

"Sunny, run. Get into the bathroom. Now. Lock the door." His voice is tight. "I'm almost there."

I turn towards the bathroom, but freeze at a sound that makes my blood run cold—the scratch of a key in the lock.

There's a loud click and the door starts to open.

"Sunny, move. NOW." Z's voice is steel in my ear.

I bolt for the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.

"Talk to me," Z demands. "Are you secure?"

"Yes." My voice is barely a whisper. "The door's locked."

"Good. Get in the tub. Stay low. Keep your head down."

I climb into the bathtub, pressing myself as flat as possible against the cold porcelain. Heavy footsteps move through my apartment—slow, methodical. Searching.

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