Page 65 of Freeing Ruby

“No.” I keep my eyes closed and focus on breathing. I think of Pumpkin, imagine his purring and the soft, warm weight of his body pressed against mine. I think of my paints, the colors, imagining how they mix together creating beautiful hues and shades. I think of my plants. Oh, my God. My plants. “Did the plants get moved, too?”

Miguel pats my thigh. “Yes. Everything was moved over. You’ll feel right at home, I promise.”

The rest of the trip passes in a whirlwind. We drive down into a cool, dark space into what I suspect is an underground parking garage. My shaking intensifies, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. My mother was killed in a parking garage—they’re dark, dank caverns filled with innumerable hiding places. Filled with monsters, like the one who took my mother from me.

The vehicle comes to a stop. Miguel turns off the engine, and then he comes around to my door, opens it, and helps me out.

He pulls me close and wraps his arms around me. “We’re here. We’ll take the elevator up to our floor, walk down the hallway, then enter our apartment. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Our apartment.

I like the sound of that. I know he didn’t mean it that way. This is just a temporary place—temporary for me and for him. Once my stalker is caught, I’m sure I’ll go back to my own apartment, and life will return to the way it was before.

Miguel holds my hand. “Here’s the elevator,” he says. “Step inside.”

He steers me into the opening, and we turn to face the doors, which swoosh shut. The elevator car jolts, and then it begins to ascend swiftly and smoothly.

Eventually, we come to a gliding stop. The doors open, and Miguel leads me out. We turn left and walk down a carpeted hallway. A keyring jingles, then a door opens, and Miguel guides me inside. My eyes are still closed—have been since before we left the hospital.

“We’re here,” he says.

It’s cool inside and smells like lemon-scented cleaner.

The door closes behind us, and I hear him turn the deadbolt.

Just one deadbolt.

“I’ll ask maintenance to install more deadbolts,” he says, sounding casual and very matter-of-fact. “And a chain lock.”

My chest tightens as I nod. He knows me. He gets me.

“You can open your eyes now,” he says quietly, his lips near my ear. His breath ruffles my hair, making me shiver. “You’re safely home.”

My heart is pounding as I prepare to see this place… this apartment that is filled with my things but isn’t my apartment.

I open my eyes and glance around the living room, the kitchen, and the balcony.

And then I burst into tears.

Chapter 24

Miguel

I wasn’t sure what to expect when we arrived at the new apartment, but I certainly didn’t expect this. The sound of Ruby’s sobbing is breaking my heart. I really thought this would work. I thought having her things here would make her feel safe and comforted.

I pull her into my arms and hold her close. She presses her face against my chest, her hot tears soaking my T-shirt. “What is it?” I ask, feeling a bit lost.

I tried so hard to recreate her apartment in this place. I tried to make it as familiar for her as I could to ease the transition. Obviously, I failed. I pull back, cupping her face, and make her look at me. “Please talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Ruby turns and looks at her surroundings… the sofa, the chair, the coffee table, the floor rugs. Her TV hangs on the wall. Her plants hang from hooks in front of the glass balcony doors, and out on the balcony are her potted trees and containers filled with flowers and ferns. Her kitchen table and chairs are visible from where we’re standing. The framed photo of Ruby and her mom hangs on the wall. Everything’s here.

She wipes her cheeks with shaking hands, then gazes up at me. “It’s—” She throws her arms around my neck and hugs me. “It’s perfect, Miguel.”

Relieved that I didn’t mess this up after all, I slip my arms around her waist and hold her close. She’s practically vibrating with emotion. “I wanted you to feel safe. I wanted you to feel at home.”

I stare down into her crystal clear blue eyes—red-rimmed now and tear-filled—and my breath stalls. My heart races, and I can feel my pulse thrumming through my body. She’s looking at me like I just hung the sun and the moon for her. I brush tears off her freckled cheeks. My fingers slide into her hair. And still, she keeps looking at me, expectantly, almost as if—

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