As I approach, I notice the couples are carrying grocery bags.
“Thank you for your donation,” a woman in a brown cardigan says.
I near the entrance, and she eyes me suspiciously. ThenI see the sign. There is no service tonight. It’s a charity auction. Surely, someone here will help me.
“Can you help me?” I ask the woman in the cardigan.
Before I get any more words out, she grabs me by my good arm and pulls me away from the crowd.
“I think you’re confused,” she says. “The church helps the homeless on Tuesday nights. You’ll have to come back then. Tonight, my company is having a private event.” She then forcibly pushes me out the door.
“I’m not homeless!” I shout.
But she doesn’t listen and turns back and goes inside. I glance down at my clothes. My tank top is ripped, and there is dried blood on my shirt. The front of my pants is covered in green grass stains and dirt from when I climbed out of the window. My face still hurts from being smacked, and I suspect I’m bruised, too.
I walk toward the parking lot and notice some people going in a side door. I follow and enter a long hallway. Everyone is going to the left, so I go to the right. The hallway turns, and then there are several offices. The doors are open, the lights are off, and no one is in there. I spot a phone. I enter the office, close and lock the door, and turn on the light.
I want to call Hunter, but I don’t have his number memorized. I should call his office, but I don’t have that number. I wiggle the mouse next to the computer. What are the odds it isn’t password protected and I can get online? The monitor comes on, asking for a password. Dammit!
I open the top drawer, and right there is a lone piece of paper. It says “password—mychurch.”
There is no way it could be this easy. I try it, and it works. I look up the number for Reed Hawthorne Security and call it.
It’s after five, and I’m worried it’s going to voicemail. As it rings, I notice the office is bare except for some mail on the desk. Maybe that’s why the password was so easy to find. No one actually works in this room.
“Hello, you have reached Reed Hawthorne Security. Please leave a message.”
I have to hope they check their messages frequently. I leave as detailed of a message as I can. I find a piece of mail and rattle off the address and the name of the church. Then I hang up and crawl under the desk.
I hear tires crunching on the gravel outside. It’s the back of the building and not where everyone is parking. Hopefully, it’s just another late arrival.
I lean against the wall. That’s when I spot a window above the door. Quickly, I turn off the light so it doesn’t draw attention to this room.
It’s a small office with a desk and a filing cabinet. It’s an interior room, so there are no windows to the outside, only the window facing the hallway above the door.
There is no closet or any place I could hide if someone were to come in here. I did lock the door, but that would only slow someone down, not stop them.
A few minutes later, footsteps come down the hallway. There is no way Hunter could be here already, so it must be someone related to the church.
“I really don’t think she came in,” a woman says. It sounds like the woman who pushed me out of the church.
“I appreciate you looking for me,” Marco says.
No, Marco can’t be here. How could he have figured out I’m here?
I shut my eyes. Because it’s the only place in town that’s open. Dammit. I should have hidden in someone’s yard.
“Everything looks as it should. When she left, she crossed the parking lot in that direction,” the woman says.
“Well, thank you. If you see her again, can you keep her here?”
“Will do.”
The footsteps retreat.
CHAPTER 26
Axel
