"The main pipe is broken." Greg curled his upper lip. "Apparently, the water is filling the basement."
She shuddered. The closest she'd gotten to entering the basement was standing at the top of the stairs. It was more of a crawl space than a usable area. The floor was dirt and served as a place to run piping.
"How long will it take to get it fixed?" she asked.
Wearing a blue shirt with the name of the plumbing company on the back, the man on her right turned and held out his hand. "Name's Stan. Do you know where the main shut-off valve is located?"
"I..." She looked around and then remembered. "It's in the boiler room. I'll show you."
"Once we get the water stopped, we can assess the damage." He followed her out of the locker room.
"Is this something that can be fixed tonight?" She led him down the back hallway and opened the boiler room. "I have fifty people who are here for food and showers."
"I understand." He grimaced outside the door. "But a building this size can make things more difficult. We could run into a problem getting the correct pipe size. It might have to wait until tomorrow." Seeing the disappointment on her face, he continued. "We'll try."
"Thank you." She stepped backward. "If you need anything, let me know."
"Will do." Stan walked down the stairs, turning on his flashlight.
She rubbed her arms, imagining the spiders and mice that lived below. The building had remained vacant for four years until she expressed interest in buying it. Once she came forward, Curt Harrington, one of Spokane's most powerful men, went head-to-head with her in a bidding war.
Harrington played dirty. She received threats leading up to the closing, and he even sent men to intimidate her into abandoning the purchase—which terrified her. No one had ever treated her that way. Yet, she was proud of herself for not giving up.
In the end, the owner hadn't gone with the highest bidder. They accepted her contract because they approved of her idea of turning it into a non-profit homeless shelter. In contrast, Harrington wanted to own another block in the city with no definite plans for improvement.
In the office, she stopped at the sight of a man leaning over, looking in the fridge.
"I'm sorry, but this area is off limits. You'll need to go back to the gym. They're handing out food," she said.
He slowly turned around, straightening to his full height—at least six feet two inches, if not more. His dark gaze landed on her. She stepped back, recognizing him as the man who had opened the emergency door, setting off the alarm and allowing her to gain control of those in the shelter.
"Maybe it's you who needs to leave." He twisted the top off a bottle of water. "Going by what I saw tonight, you can't handle the people you're trying to help."
"Of course I can." She crossed her arms, used to defending her choices. "You need to leave before I call—"
"Who are you going to call?" He stepped forward, backing her up against the wall before he stopped. "Who is going to come save you, hm?"
He tilted his head, causing the hood to slip off and revealing the perfect blend of black hair sprinkled with premature gray that brushed his shoulders. Her heart raced. There were others in the gym. Greg and Vic were nearby. But if she yelled, no one would hear her over the noise echoing in the gym.
He tipped the bottle back. She watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he drank. He exuded an air of arrogance.
He wasn't as old as she initially thought. Perhaps thirty-five or forty. The salt-and-pepper hair gave him a distinguished appearance—stern yet sexy.
He stood out from those in the gym in black jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie. He made her feel insignificant and unable to handle the situation— a feeling that only irritated her after struggling to bring everyone under control in the other room while the plumbing was fixed.
"Please, leave," she said.
"Next time, I won't be around to make sure the others listen to you. Things can get out of hand fast." He planted his hand on the wall behind her, trapping her in the room.
Staring into eyes the color of dark coffee, her legs shook. A scar marred his cheek. She reached out, searching for a weapon, but there was nothing within reach for protection.
"They'll walk all over a little girl like you."
"I'm not a little—"
"Right." He pushed away from the wall, pulled his hood over his head, and tossed the bottle in the garbage. "By the end of the week, you'll get tired of helping them and give up. They'll find themselves back out on the street."
She gasped. "I would never."
