Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Ruby

I’m a coward for running off the way I did. But it was just too much when he held my hand. My body lit up like a Christmas tree—shivers and tingles radiated up my arm and throughout my body.

Once I’m sitting at my worktable, I clip the reference photo for my new commission—a long-haired calico cat named Marcy—and stare at the blank canvas. I brush a basecoat onto the little four-inch square canvas before I dip my flat brush into an off-white paint that’s going to be the background. But instead of putting paint to the canvas, I end up staring out the window at the trees across the parking lot.

The weather started off really nice this morning, but now I see storm clouds rolling in from the west. I hope it rains. I love summer showers, especially when there’s lightning—as long as we don’t lose electricity. Bad weather makes me appreciate my apartment. At least in here I am safe and dry.

I gaze down at the ring on my right hand. My hand still tingles from when Miguel held it in his. I can’t believe I told him about my yearning for a family of my own. I’ve never told anyone that. I’ve never even spoken those words aloud. What in the world possessed me to tell him of all people?

He has that effect on me. I feel safe telling him things because I know he won’t use them against me. It’s just not in his nature. I’ve only known him for forty-eight hours, and yet I feel like I know him. That I can trust him.

I think this is what it’s like to have a friend.

Pumpkin jumps up onto my work table and swishes his tail around with such enthusiasm he almost knocks my water jar over. “Whoa, buddy!” I steady the jar in time to prevent a disaster.

“All right, concentrate,” I tell myself. “Get back to work and quit mooning over—just focus, Ruby!”

But no matter how hard I try, part of my mind is fixated on the guy in the other room. I keep wondering what he’s doing—he’s probably on his laptop or his phone, or maybe reading. I can’t help thinking how lucky any woman would be to have someone like him in her life.

I dip my brush into the off-white paint and start dabbing it on the canvas.

Sometime later, when my stomach starts growling, I leave my studio and head for the kitchen. Miguel’s sitting at the dining table, doing something on his laptop.

“Time for lunch,” I say. “How about turkey and cheese sandwiches?”

He closes the lid on his laptop and stands. “Sounds good. What can I do?”

“How about setting the table?” I ask.

We eat our sandwiches with chips and fresh strawberries.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck here with me,” I say. “If you want to go run some errands, you can. I have the security system now, so I’ll be fine.”

“Actually, I’m enjoying the downtime. It’s a nice change of pace. Usually, I’m on the run nonstop with clients.”

After lunch, we do the dishes together, and then I disappear back into my studio to work.

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly, and we make burgers for dinner.

That evening, we relax in the living room and read—me on the sofa and Miguel in the armchair. It’s nice having someone to sit quietly with.

Suddenly it occurs to me that I don’t know very much about him. “How long have you worked for McIntyre Security?”

“About ten years now. After high school, I got a two-year degree in criminal justice. I was planning to go into law enforcement, but a mutual friend introduced me to Shane McIntyre, my boss. He offered me a job, I accepted, and the rest is history.”

“And you like your job. That’s good. Not everyone can say that.”

“I love it.” His expression lights up. “I’ve met some great people, and I’ve made some really wonderful friends. I think you’d like them.”

With a groan, Miguel puts his book aside and stands to stretch his arms and back. His T-shirt molds to his torso, accentuating his biceps and his flat abdomen. His shirt rides up a bit, and I get a peek at his lean waistline. I’m finding it hard to keep my eyes on my book.

He points to the rug. “Do you mind if I do some exercises? I’m getting stiff from inactivity.”

“Go right ahead.”

He drops down onto the floor and starts doing push-ups. I give up trying to read and watch his muscles tightening and flexing. Mentally, I count, but I give up sometime after fifty-nine. Good grief. I couldn’t even do five push-ups to save my life.

When he finishes with the push-ups, he shifts position, bracing his feet underneath the sofa, and quickly powers through sit-ups. When he finally stops, he stands and says, “I wish I’d brought some weights. I’ll have to call my buddy Jason and ask him to bring them to me.” He nods toward the bathroom. “Do you mind if I go grab a quick shower?”

“Not at all.”

Miguel grabs his duffle bag and disappears into the bathroom, and a minute later I hear the shower running. I try not to think about the fact that he’s naked in there, with hot water streaming down his body.

Suddenly, I’m distracted by a faint scratching sound coming from somewhere close. At first, I think it might be Pumpkin using his scratching pad, but then I realize it’s coming from outside the apartment.

Immediately, my pulse starts racing. I put my book down and walk quietly to the door so I can peer out the peephole, but I don’t see anything. That doesn’t mean much since visibility through the hole is so limited. Pumpkin joins me, sniffing along the door jamb.

The scratching intensifies, slow and insidious, sending a shudder through me. I picture long, sharp nails clawing my door. Miguel’s still in the shower, though, as I can hear the water running. I consider going in there to tell him what’s happening, but I don’t want to invade his privacy.

Crap. It’s just my luck that something happens when Miguel’s otherwise occupied.

The scratching stops abruptly, and I listen intently. I peer out the peephole again, but I see nothing.

Without warning, there’s a sharp thud on my door and the scratching resumes frantically. Pumpkin races off down the hallway and disappears into my bedroom. I turn my attention back to the sounds coming from outside my apartment. I picture roadkill coming to life and clawing at my door. I suppose it’s possible if it’s not quite dead yet. I shudder in horror as my imagination gets the better of me.

“Stop it!” I yell in frustration. I beat my fist against the door in an effort to scare it away. “Just stop!”

When I hear someone pounding back on the other side of the door, I stumble backward with a sharp cry and fall on my butt.

The shower shuts off abruptly. “Ruby?” A moment later, Miguel rushes into the living room in nothing but a bath towel wrapped around his waist. Water beads on his bare skin, and his hair is dripping wet.

“What is it?” he asks. He glances down at me. “Are you okay?” He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet.

“Someone was scratching on the door,” I say breathlessly. “I pounded on the door and told him to stop, and then he started pounding.”

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.

I’m starting to feel foolish, fearing I called him in here for nothing. “I swear I heard it,” I whisper.

He raises his hand. “Wait.”

And we wait some more.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

“There!” I cry. “That’s it. That’s him.”

Miguel rushes out of my bedroom.

I race after him. “What are you doing?”

He pulls on a black T-shirt and shoves his feet into a pair of white sneakers. I watch in shock when he pulls a holstered black handgun out of his duffle bag and straps it to his chest.

He unlocks the door. “Lock up behind me.”

Panic threatens to overwhelm me as he steps out into the hallway. I grab his forearm and try to pull him back inside. “You can’t go out there!”

He glances down at me. “Ruby, this is why I’m here—to verify your claims. And this is how I do it—I catch him in the act.”

“Please don’t go out there. It’s the middle of the night. It’s dark outside. Let’s just call the police and let them handle it.”

“By the time the cops get here, he’ll be long gone.” His expression softens. “Ruby, this is my job. I know what I’m doing.”

I tighten my grip on his forearm. “If something happens to you—”

He frowns. “Honey, I have to go.” And then he gently pries my fingers free and walks away.

Immediately, I shut and lock the door. Then I run back to my bedroom and peer out my window. The parking lot is mostly dark, lit only by two light poles. I scan the lot, looking for movement, but I don’t see anything until Miguel emerges from the building’s rear exit almost directly beneath my window. I watch as he makes his way into the sea of cars, searching.

He’s not going to find anything—I just know it.

After searching the lot, he comes back into the building. A few minutes later, there’s a quiet knock on my door. “Ruby, it’s me, Miguel.”

I let him in. He locks the door before he crosses the room, removes his chest holster, and returns it to his duffle bag. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t see anyone. I must have just missed him.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt. I can’t deal with anyone else getting hurt because of me.”

He gently takes hold of my hands. “Ruby, what happened to your mother was a horrible tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault.”

Without warning, my eyes flood with tears. “It was.”

Miguel sighs. “Sweetheart, no.”

When he pulls me into his arms, I stiffen. I’m not used to being held like this. He loosens his hold, but he doesn’t release me. His hand strokes the back of my head, like he’s gentling a frightened animal. Gradually, I allow myself to relax.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs. “It was a random act of violence. You couldn’t have known that would happen or prevented it.” He releases me and holds me at arm’s length so he can look me in the eyes. “You need to let go of this guilt.”

I pull free and use my sleeves to dry my cheeks. “Lots of people have told me it wasn’t my fault—therapists, teachers, Edward—but that doesn’t change the facts. We were out shopping for me.”

“That still doesn’t make it your fault. Do you think your mother would want you to go through life blaming yourself for her death? Would she want that?”

My chest tightens. “No.”

“Don’t you think it’s time to let this go?”

Tears burn my eyes. “It’s not that easy.”

“I know.”

I’m stunned by a mix of compassion and sorrow in his gaze.

I stare up at him. “You heard the pebbles hit my window tonight, right?” I know he did, but I need to hear him say it. I need confirmation that I’m not the only one hearing these things.

He nods. “I did.”

“So you believe me?”

“Yes, I do.”

Relief floods me. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Ruby. This is why I’m here. Now I just need to catch the bastard.” He glances at the clock on the wall. It’s nearly midnight. “Do you think you can sleep?”

“I’ll try.”

Miguel walks me to my bedroom and watches from the doorway as I climb back into bed. “Call if you hear anything else—or if you need me.” And then he heads back to his own bed.

Pumpkin comes out from beneath the bed and joins me, trilling as he curls up beside me.

I scratch behind his ears. “He believes me, Pumpkin.”

I drift off to sleep feeling safer and more secure than I have in a long time.