I back up and crash into one of the metal kitchen stools. The door handle stops moving.
“Henry. Is that you?” I yell at the door, my words dribble out much weaker than I intended. Cash grabs my arm. I hadn’t even heard him come into the kitchen.
“Zoe, we should get out of here.” He’s pulling me out through the front door and into the elevator. The service stairs are on the opposite end of the floor. Whoever was back there could cross the building and surprise us on another floor. Difficult and unlikely, but possible. The elevator door closes and we start to move down.
“Why would he come in the back? Does he do that?”
I bend over at the waist, trying to catch my breath. My legs feel like Jell-O from the adrenaline. “He never has before. It’s not Henry. Henry’s in Japan by now.”
I stand upright and dial Henry’s number. He picks up after one ring.
“Zoe? What’s the matter?”
I inhale, not expecting him to answer. I sag against the back wall of the elevator as the numbers light up: ten, nine, eight . . . “Henry? Someone is in our apartment. I don’t know who.” My voice comes out like a squeak.
Four . . . three . . . two . . . L . . . “Zoe? Are you okay? I’m in L.A. Should I come home?”
I don’t know what to say. He shouts into the phone, “Can you hear me? I’m coming home, okay?” I can barely hear him over the blood rushing in my ears.
The elevator doors slide open.
CHAPTER 21
The lobby is empty with the exception of Walter, the night doorman.
“Call the police, Walter,” I’m out of breath and spin in one direction, then the other, to find where the service stairs come out. I think of my apartment a week ago, a leveled wreck, all our belongings strewn across the floors and furniture. I think of the car. The whispered threat to Caroline. I realize with a sudden thud that none of this is accidental. It’s all a deliberate attempt to send me a message.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Whittaker?” His brows crease and he reaches a hand out for the telephone. I shake my head.
“I can’t stay here. Someone tried to break into my apartment. Just call them.” I run across the lobby, through the revolving doors, and into the street. The April air is still cool at night, despite the daytime heat wave, and the streets of New York are never quiet. Horns honk. People talk, shout, sing. There is always music. It’s a comfort, this never abating circus.
“Where to?” Cash huffs behind me, as breathless as I am. I jog west on Hubert Street, make a quick right on to Collister. Cash follows me, waiting to hear my grand plan. I have no grand plan. Stay alive, that’s my plan.
My mind is racing, what could anyone possibly want with me at this point? Revenge? The last time they came after me, they wanted to know where Rosie was. They thought I would tell them if they pushed me enough. This felt different, more final, less desperate. There was only one reason anyone would come back for me: revenge, pure and simple. There were only two people who would want that: Jared Pritchett and Mick Flannery.
I stopped in an alley to catch my breath.
“I don’t have a plan,” I say to Cash by way of explanation. “I don’t really have any place to go, but I have to call people. Officer Yates.”
“Let’s go to my apartment. We can call everyone there.”
I think of the floor picnic and the half-empty glasses of wine. What will Penny think when she finds that in the morning? Penny.
“I need to call Penny.” Then I realize that Cash has no idea who Penny is. “Okay, your apartment, let’s go.”