Follow Me(74)

? ? ?

AFTER THE DISPATCHER assured me help was on the way, I called Max. My fingers gripped the phone tightly as I waited for him to answer, already anticipating his soft, calm voice telling me that he would be there soon, that everything was going to be all right.

Hi, you’ve reached Max Metcalf. I’m not available right now. Please leave a message.

I pulled my phone away from my ear and stared at it in disbelief. Max had never not answered when I called. Once he’d even answered while on the treadmill. Where was he now, when I really needed him?

Where are you? I texted him.

As soon as I saw the texting dots appear, I dialed his number again.

“There you are,” I said when he finally answered.

“Yeah. What’s up?”

In a rush, I said, “Someone is in my apartment. Or they were, I don’t know.”

“What?” he asked, suddenly animated. “Audrey, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, just rattled. I was walking up the path when I saw my creepy neighbor coming out of the alley, and then after he left I noticed my gate and front door were open. I don’t know if Ryan was in there or it was someone else, but I don’t care. I’m so, so over this shit. I’m never, ever coming back to this godforsaken apartment again.”

“Of course not. Have you called the police?”

I sniffled an affirmative.

“Okay, good. I’m coming over.” He paused. “You want me to come over, right?”

“Yes,” I sobbed. “God, yes, Max. Please come. I need you.”

? ? ?

NO ONE WAS inside the apartment. Someone certainly had been, though. Every cabinet and drawer in the kitchen had been opened and its minimal contents strewn across the floor. My boxes were upended, the cardboard torn. My closet had been rifled through, my clothing pulled from the hangers and piled on the floor, my carefully organized shoes ripped from their boxes and thrown around the room. Everything that could have been disturbed was, right down to a roll of paper towels, which was unwound and stretched around the room like a demented streamer.

For all the destruction, nothing seemed to be missing. The vintage Chanel flap bag I’d painstakingly sourced from eBay sat untouched on my bed where I had left it after taking some outfit shots the last time I’d been home; the pearl necklace Ryan had once pocketed was under my overturned jewelry box.

After the officers had taken their report and left, I surveyed the wreckage of my belongings. If I weren’t standing right in the middle of it, staring at the slashed and gutted remains of my beanbag chair, I wouldn’t have believed it had really happened. Why would someone terrorize me this way? What did they want?

“Someone must be really mad at you,” Max said quietly beside me.

“But why?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat. “I don’t get it. What have I done? I’m a good person, Max. At least I try to be.”

“Hey,” he said, kissing me on the forehead. “You are a good person. You didn’t do anything to deserve this, okay?” He paused and looked around. “Unless . . . unless you can think of someone who might think you did.”

“No, not really. I’ve had some problems with my neighbor, but he would have robbed me. There was an issue with a colleague at work, but that’s behind us and, anyway, I can’t imagine he would tear my home apart. There’s this creep who hangs around the museum, but . . .” I trailed off as I realized something. “Jesus, Max, this must be the same person who was in here that night. To think they had so much violence in them and they were standing there, watching me sleep . . .” I choked back tears, unable to continue.

“Come on,” Max said, wrapping a protective arm around my shoulder and drawing me in close. “Let’s go back to my place. We can talk about this there.”

“Yes, thanks,” I said, collapsing against him. “I think it’s time I get serious about finding a new apartment.”

“Agreed,” he said, bending down to kiss me gently on the top of my head. “But, Audrey, you can stay with me for as long as you want. You’ll be safe at my apartment, I promise. Whoever this creep is, he won’t find you there.”





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT





HIM


An excess of adrenaline was still surging through my veins, leaving me amped and on edge. I couldn’t concentrate on anything; all I could do was think back to the moment I’d stepped inside Audrey’s apartment that afternoon. I’d let myself in with the key I’d sweet-talked from the landlady weeks ago, and stopped to appreciate the warm sunlight streaming through her windows. The small unit looked cozy and inviting, even with the mess of moving boxes Audrey had let overtake the space. Every single time I came by her place, I expected to see at least some of them unpacked, but she had yet to make a dent. She really was such a slob. It was impossible to know that about her from her carefully composed online presence, but I had realized she would live in filth if left to her own devices.

Just another example of how she needed me.

I lifted a sticky wineglass from the floor beside her beanbag chair and hesitated. I imagined the shock and horror she would experience; I almost put down that dirty glass and left. I didn’t want to traumatize her. But I had to make a point.

You’re doing this because you love her, I reminded myself as I flung the goblet against the wall. It shattered in an explosion of cheap glass. I grabbed a fashion magazine splayed open on the floor and ripped its cover, tore its glossy pages into confetti. I felt a thrill as I threw them in the air. I was panting, my heart felt outsized.