Could he even find me? The streetlights cast a harsh orange glow to everything, but the shadows were deep, and I was well hidden.
I needed help. I was in my pajamas, barefoot with a man after me. I had to assume the police were coming. I looked down at the phone in my shaking hand. How had I not dropped it? As I escaped, I must have disconnected from 9-1-1. My fingers shook as I unlocked my phone once again and fumbled to press and swipe to get it to work.
With a shaking hand, I put my phone to my ear. Answer. Answer!
“Emory.”
I almost fainted in relief at the sound of Gray’s voice. While I was desperate for the police, I needed Gray.
“Gray,” I whispered, my breath coming out in silent pants.
“What’s wrong?” His voice went from soft to hard in a second.
“There’s… in my house,” I gasped, unable to catch my breath, looking around. All I could see was the grill and bumper of the car in front of me, the steps of the house to the right and the empty street on the other side. I listened for heavy footsteps. “Kitchen. He—”
“There’s someone in your house?”
“Yes!” I hissed, then pressed my lips together. My nostrils flared as I tried to calm my breathing.
Gray called to someone, said something, but I was too panicked to follow. “Emory, are you in the house now?”
I shook my head, my hair getting in my face then realized he couldn’t see me. “No. I ran down the street,” I whispered. “I’m hiding between cars. I called 9-1-1 but didn’t get a chance to talk.”
“Don’t move.” I heard car doors slam, and I flinched, but it was through the phone. “Baby, we’re on the way. Reed called the police, too. Just listen to my voice. Okay?”
I didn’t know who the hell Reed was, but I didn’t care. Gray was coming. “Okay, but… hurry.”
14
GRAY
The second dinner with the PR rep went well, as much as a dinner meeting can go. Reed in a suit was hard to wrangle; he was more comfortable in MMA shorts and a T-shirt than a tie. I didn’t blame him since I never wore one. I was too old for that shit. I wore a snap shirt and jeans, and I didn’t give a fuck if anyone cared. But Reed? He was the fighter. He wore the tie for shit like this.
With a full stomach from the fancy meal, he couldn’t train, so we watched fight videos and talked strategy. The upcoming competition would be in a ring, but training was more than just practice fighting. I’d been relaxed on the sofa, my feet on the coffee table, remote in hand, when Emory called. The rush of pleasure at the sight of her name on the screen still surprised me.
I hadn’t expected to hear from her, knowing she was probably asleep after her third long day at work. I’d wanted to meet her at the ER when she was done, take her out to eat, but I’d had to do dinner with the sponsors of the fight.
This was new to me, the excitement I had when I was with her, near her, or even thinking of her. I hoped she might be in bed and wanting to tell me what she was wearing. I smiled as I took the call, but it slipped the instant I heard her voice.
Just one word, my name, and her fear was obvious. Jesus, there was a man in her house. Emory didn’t have any skills, any way to defend herself. When I'd given her the tour of the gym downstairs and we’d stood in the ring together, she hadn't even known how to form proper fists. I'd had to show her how to hold them up in front of her. I was in my apartment, and she was across town, hiding between parked cars from a fucking criminal.
I jumped to my feet as if cattle prodded and snapped my fingers at Reed, who immediately perked up from his spot.
“Someone’s in Emory’s house. Came in through the back door.”
Rounding the couch, I gave Reed her address for the police. I bolted for the emergency stairwell. Fuck the slow elevator. Taking the steps two and three at a time, I continued to reassure her while Reed got on the horn with 9-1-1. In the parking lot, I tossed my keys to Reed. There was no way I could drive as I kept talking with Emory. By