How fitting thattoday is Independence Day. The Fourth of July—the day I go in search of my freedom because spending my life in an arranged marriage would be a prison sentence.
I’m officially alone as I ride the elevator up to Ricky’s apartment. Not only am I alone but I hardly recognize myself in the mirrored elevator wall with my hair under a ball cap. Wearing baggy jeans low on my hips and an oversized T-shirt, I look like a preteen boy, which was intentional. Very few people were out and about on the way over since it’s a holiday, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I’m committed at this point. I don’t want to be careless and wind up back where I started.
But are you committed enough to break into this apartment?
I stare at the door and wait for someone to answer my knocking. It’s been more than enough time. If someone were inside, they’d have come to the door, right? Right.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and pull out the picks.
Here goes nothing.
The lock has an electronic keypad along with a traditional keyhole like so many door locks these days. We learned last night that as long as the lock has a keyhole, it can be physically picked regardless of the electronic component.
Time to see if my lackluster skills are sufficient to prove that theory correct.
I take out the two picks needed and begin the process. With the straight stick inserted, I use a skinnier stick with a hooked end to feel for the pins inside. I need to get each pin raised and locked in place. Five times I try. Five times I fail and have to start over. My hands are starting to shake. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I’m battling a swell of frustration threatening to overwhelm me. On my sixth attempt, as I quietly plead with the lock to give in, I feel the internal mechanism click over. I freeze in shock.
I’ve unlocked the door and broken into my friend’s apartment.
My chest swells with a deep breath of elation as I push open the door. No one confronts me. The lights are off, and the place is silent. I don’t even hear the beeping of an alarm, which surprises me, but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
I did it!
I’ve secured a safe place to lie low until I can sort out my next move. The relief is so intense that my head spins with dizziness. Or is it disorientation? Ricky has redecorated since I was last here a few months ago. The design is still masculine in its simplicity, and nothing much is on the walls yet. I imagine he’ll have them full of his amazing photography when he has the chance.
I set down my bag and walk into the living room to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the incredible view. This bird’s nest in the sky is my new sanctuary. I don’t know what comes next, but I’m safe for now.
No sooner did the thought cross my mind than an arm clamps around my neck to secure me in a tight headlock.
“You think you can break into my place, you little prick?” growls a deep voice at my back.
I gasp and tug at the corded forearm blocking my airway, only managing to get out a petrified squeal. As if caught off guard, my attacker suddenly loosens his hold.
“Thefuck? You’re not a punk kid, you’re a woman.”
I nod and wheeze, “I’m so sorry. Please, don’t hurt me. I’m a friend of Ricky’s.”
I lift my hands to my sides in surrender and slowly turn around to find a gun pointed at my head. Another onslaught of adrenaline has my one good ear ringing so loudly that I’m nearly deaf.
Agun? I wasn’t sure what would happen if someone was inside the apartment, but I never really imagined a gun being involved. It’s light out. I knocked. This man has a foot of height and probably a hundred pounds on me. Why is he holding me at gunpoint?
My eyes flit from the weapon to the man in front of me. This time, I’m not the only one in shock as recognition registers.
“It’syou,” he hisses in equal parts awe and accusation.
I totally understand because I feel the same.
What are the chances that the man from outside the police station is here in Ricky’s apartment? Did he follow me and slip in behind me somehow? Who on earth is he, and how does he look so damn terrifying yet breathtakingly beautiful at the same time?
“I’m not breaking in,” I assure him quickly.
“You and I must have very different definitions of breaking in.”
“Ricky’s a friend, and I was hoping to crash here while he’s away. I would have asked, but as you probably know, he’s off-grid.”
Dark brown eyes study me with acute precision. “If you mean Richard Auburn, he moved out a month ago. This is my apartment now, and I never leave the door unlocked, which means you. Broke. In.”
Ohshit. Shit, shit, shit.
