When he pushed through the door, I saw it all—the tension in his jaw, dark circles under his eyes, and how his knuckles whitened around the strap of his messenger bag. He was more rattled than he'd let on over the phone.
"Get in. We need to move."
He slid into the passenger seat without argument.
I scanned the surrounding streets before pulling away from the curb. "Did you see them again? After you got to the coffee shop?"
"No." He gripped his bag in his lap like it contained state secrets. "But I couldn't shake the sense that they were still watching me."
I took an alternate route to his apartment. "We're going back to your place, but not the direct route."
"I figured." His voice was steadier. "Michael, what are we going to do?"
I didn't have an answer that wouldn't scare him even more. I reached across the center console and placed my hand over his, feeling the light tremors running through his fingers. "First, we get you somewhere safe." I squeezed gently.
Alex's apartment building stood six stories tall, wedged between a vintage clothing store and a tea shop that had closed for the day. The brick facade was weathered but maintained, with small balconies jutting from upper units.
I scanned the perimeter with practiced efficiency—marking exits and blind spots. Two cars looked like they didn't belong: a black SUV with government-issue tires parked half a block down and a nondescript beige sedan with rental plates across the street. Both were empty but recently occupied, judging by the condensation on the windows.
"Stay behind me." I guided Alex with my hand as we approached the building's entrance.
The foyer was deserted. An older woman's voice filtered through a partially open door on the ground floor, speaking rapid-fire Russian into a phone. The elevator pinged softly in the quiet space.
"Stairs." I decided not to trust the confined space of the elevator. "Which way?"
Alex nodded toward a door marked with a faded exit sign. We climbed in silence, my body positioned between him and any potential threats from above or below. The stairwell smelled of old cigarettes and industrial cleaner.
At the fifth-floor landing, I paused, listening. Nothing but the building's ambient sounds—water running through pipes, someone's television murmuring behind a door, and the subtle creak of settling wood.
"Wait here."
Alex gripped my arm. "No. Together."
I started to argue, but determination hardened his features. It was his home territory. He wouldn't cower in the stairwell while I cleared it.
"Stay three steps behind me. If I tell you to run, you run. No questions."
He nodded, jaw set in a line of stubborn resolve.
The hallway stretched before us, empty and quiet under buzzing fluorescent lights. There were six doors on each side, Alex's at the far end. We moved quietly, my senses hyperaware of every sound and every shadow.
***
When we reached his door, I positioned myself to the side, motioning for him to stay back. The lock showed more evidence of tampering—fresh scrapes where a pick had been inserted, subtle but damning.
"Did you leave your laptop out?"
"No. It should be in my desk drawer."
I nodded, then gestured for his key. He placed it in my palm, our fingers brushing momentarily. "I'll establish a clean line and clear the space before you follow." My pulse raced as I inserted it into the lock.
The door swung open silently. I entered first, moving with the practiced efficiency drilled into me through years of tactical training. The main room is clear. Kitchen clear. Bathroom and bedroom clear.
No intruder remained, but evidence of their visit was everywhere.
Alex's laptop sat open on the coffee table—not tucked away in his desk. The screen was black, its power light pulsing slowly. Books had been removed from shelves, examined, and replaced, slightly out of alignment. His desk drawers stood partially open, contents rearranged.
Most telling was what they hadn't touched: the valuable antique clock on the mantel, the silver frame holding a photo of Marissa, and the cash in the drawer beside his bed. The calculated restraint delivered a message clearer than any written threat: We could have taken everything but chose to take only your peace of mind.
