Page 33 of Heartfelt Pain
Roma’s voice causes both of us to stop in our tracks. I can see it on Isolde’s face—the desire to catch the masked man and the surprise at finding Roman Zimin right outside my apartment.
She makes a judgment call, remaining by me, and I don’t blame her. I’ve done nothing but bitch about the Zimins. Why wouldn’t she stick around to make sure he’s not here to off me?
“You know I had a fucking gun on him?” I don’t have to see Isolde’s face to know it’s flushed red.
Roma uses the back of his hand to wipe his lips.
“Are you bleeding?” I ask, standing there with my keys still in my hand.
“You went shopping?” He eyes the bags in my hands.
“Um. . .”
I haven’t checked my phone in a few hours. And I did it on purpose.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Isolde grabs the keys from my hand. “Did you do this?”
“I tackled the guy to the ground,” Roma reminds.
“Why?” she asks.
Roma faces me. “Why is there a masked guy trying to kill you?”
“How do we know the masked guy wasn’t after you?” I dumbly reply.
The burnt-out light in the hallway does nothing to hide his frustration.
“Why are you here?” Isolde asks again, training her gun on him.
“Isolde.” I force her to lower it. But before she can become too suspicious, I add, “Not in front of the neighbors.”
She opens the door for me. With a hard look at Roma, she leaves me in the hall, before conducting a perimeter sweep.
She hands me back the keys when she comes to the front door. “I don’t get it. It was locked, but it looks like he did some damage.”
Roma peers around me to look into my apartment. Shoes, and packages that I emptied but never took to the trash chute, fill the floor. And now that I think about it, I haven’t taken the trash out in a while and it’s not exactly like the place is aired out.
“No,” I say and their gazes swing toward me. “This is. . . pretty much how it always is.”
Thank God, Abe isn’t here or I’d get an earful. Isolde and Roma politely don’t comment on my cleaning skills.
“Right, I’m calling Bennie.” Isolde’s already got her phone out.
“Wait, no!” The last thing I need is more people panicking. “It’s fine, seriously. We don’t know. It’s maybe. . .”
“A random masked intruder?” Roma offers. He’s leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed.
“I mean this is a nice building.” It could totally be a run-of-the-mill burglary.
“With a gun?” he asks.
“We startled him.”
“Can’t help but notice you were in the hallway with him,” Isolde points out.
“I wasn’t with him,” Roma argues.
“Harry didn’t mention visitors when we came up.”
