Page 25 of Freeing Ruby

Miguel walks to the door and peers through the peephole. “Did you see anything?”

“No.”

“Damn it! I need cameras in the hallway.”

I find myself staring as water from his wet hair drips onto his broad shoulders before running down his muscled chest. Good grief. I didn’t know a man could look like that.

Miguel releases the first deadbolt. “Ruby, go to your room and lock the door.”

My voice rises to a half-hysterical pitch. “You’re opening the door?”

“Yes. Go.”

I step back well out of the way, but I don’t leave the room. I’m not leaving him to deal with this alone.

Miguel unlocks the door and opens it, but there’s no one there. He steps out half-naked and scans the hallway in both directions before coming back inside and locking the door. “Whoever he is, he’s long gone. Next time, call me as soon as you hear something, okay?”

I nod, thinking once again I have nothing to show for my claims, nothing but empty words. “I will.”

* * *

That night, my mind races as I lie in bed, reliving that awful scratching sound coming from outside my apartment door. It was creepy and nerve-wracking. In the dark of night, I keep picturing horrible creatures with long claws. I think maybe I’m losing it.

It’s windy tonight, and every time my window rattles, I flinch.

Pumpkin gets up and comes closer so he can lay his head on my shoulder.

“Do you want to snuggle, sweet boy?” I ask as I stroke his back.

Ping.

I freeze, and my pulse kicks into high gear. I can’t tell if I really heard that or if I imagined it. When Pumpkin jumps off the bed and scurries underneath, I know it’s not my imagination.

Ping.

Another pebble hits my window. It’s him.

Ping.

And another. Oh, my God, it’s really happening.

Ping.

Ping.

I jump out of bed and race to the living room where I find Miguel lying on the sofa, reading. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweats, and his feet and chest are bare. Oh, wow. All that smooth, warm brown skin.

He lays his book down. “Ruby? What’s wrong?”

I point to my bedroom. “He’s throwing pebbles at my window.”

Miguel shoots to his feet. Immediately, my gaze fixes on the thin line of dark hair that bisects his lower abdomen, eventually disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

I follow him to my bedroom. He heads straight for the window and stops to listen.

My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

One minute passes, then another, and there’s nothing but silence.

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