by Chrys Fey
“But I locked it.” It had become habit for her to lock the door. Even if Donovan had already locked it. After the ominous phone call, she wasn’t taking any chances.
Donovan checked the doorjamb. “Wood is intact. No scratches or dents. It wasn’t jimmied.”
“If the wind opened it, there’d be damage, too,” she said. She hadn’t heard the door bang open, striking the wall. If it had, plaster would be speckling the floor. How could a locked door open if it wasn’t forced open?
Her eyes widened. “The spare key.”
Donovan stepped over the threshold and felt inside the light fixture perched next to the door. His hand came back empty. “It’s not there.” He closed the door. “I don’t know who would be out in this storm—”
“I locked it.” Her voice was firm, urgent. She needed him to hear her, to understand; this wasn’t a coincidence.
“Okay.” He cupped her shoulder. His hand moved down her arm, and he squeezed her fingers. “When the storm is over, I’ll call Thorn. His team can check for prints.”
She nodded, liking the sound of that, but she couldn’t push aside the thought that someone had broken in. Surely, she wasn’t overreacting. Her gaze lowered to the floor where her flashlight was pointed at her feet. A spot darkened the carpet inches from her toes. She squatted and ran her hand over the area. “It’s wet.”
“Of course it is,” Donovan said. “It’s raining, and the door was open.”
She ignored that and continued to touch the carpet. A few inches from the first wet spot was another. Both were in the shape of ovals. About eleven inches long. “Footprints.” Her one word had Donovan crouching beside her. They found two more wet prints leading away from the door.
She looked up and whispered, “I think someone is in the apartment with us.”
Donovan rose stiffly to his feet. He tiptoed to the living room, past the pool table, and lifted a metal baseball bat from the rack on the wall. He went back to the kitchen where Beth waited. “Stay here,” he said in a low voice.
She caught his arm when he went to leave. “That’s not happening. I’m going with you.”
“Beth, if there’s someone in here, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt either. If you go by yourself, you could get attacked. I could be too late to help.” She slid open one of the kitchen drawers and wrapped her fingers around the handle of a knife. “We’ll have each other’s backs.”
Donovan eyed the knife. “Just don’t stab me with that thing.”
She glared at him. “Really?” She lifted her other hand and motioned for him to take the lead.
They went into the living room, keeping their backs to the wall as they checked the corners and hiding places with their flashlights. Taking cautious steps down the hall, they angled their backs to the wall. They came to the linen closet that stored random supplies and doodads. Donovan turned off his flashlight and slipped it into his pocket. He indicated for her to raise her light. She pointed the beam at the crack. Donovan gently laid his hand on the handle. He nodded once and then yanked it open. Her light jostled as she prepared to see a man hiding in the small space, but her light only showed a vacuum and packed shelves.
Her heart pounded against her chest as they went further down the hall. Creaks and groans sounded from the storm beating against the apartment. At the end of the hall were the two bedrooms and the bathroom. The doors were open, and the blaze of lightning spilled out into the hall.
Donovan opened the closet housing the washer and dryer. Nothing. They came upon the bathroom. Donovan swung inside, and Beth was a step behind him. He pointed at the shower curtain. She nodded. His hand slowly rose. His fingers pinched the curtain. In a single motion, he whisked it aside. The hooks screeched along the length of the rod.
No one was there.
They backed into the hallway, checking behind them before continuing to the spare bedroom. She didn’t know how someone could’ve gotten that far without one of them noticing, but she wouldn’t feel comfortable unless they checked. And if someone had hidden in one of the closets while they were busy, he easily could’ve snuck to the back when they were at the front door. She wouldn’t put anything past a trespasser.
Donovan stepped into the spare bedroom and turned to the right. She came in behind him and faced the left. Their flashlights roamed around the equipment and towers of boxes. On the other side of the room, their beams blended into one. The spare bedroom was clear.
Together, they proceeded to their bedroom. The thought of a trespasser hiding in the room where they made love sickened Beth. At the threshold, lightning soaked their room through the blinds of the second window. Beth didn’t see a dark figure lurking in a corner, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t in there. They crept through the room. Beside the bed, Beth pointed to the floor. With her fingers tight around the knife, she lowered onto her hands and knees. She pointed the flashlight at the space beneath the bed and bent forward, expecting to come face-to-face with the culprit. Her other hand was ready to slash out, to cut the intruder, but no one was there to receive the wound. She straightened and shook her head.
They had one more place to check. Their closet. Beth put her hand on the handle, and Donovan positioned himself in front of the door. His bat was poised, ready. When he gave her a nod, she tugged the door open, jumped to the side, and lit the space with her flashlight. Donovan stepped in and pushed aside clothes but only found the wall.
Sighing, Beth lowered her flashlight.
Donovan came to her. “Maybe he stepped in and stepped back out.”
“But what would someone have to gain from that? What’s the point?”
He shrugged. “I have no—” He stopped.
Beth heard a sliding motion. A second later it was followed by a crash of multiple objects hitting each other.
“Son of a bitch,” Donovan shouted.
Donovan launched into action. He ran out of their bedroom and down the hall. Beth was on his heels. Before they reached the end of the hallway, Beth saw the front door was open again and swaying in the breeze. Upon entering the living room, she looked to the right. The sliding glass door was now open, too. And Donovan’s cue sticks, next to the pool table, had been knocked to the floor.
They didn’t stop running but darted right out the door. The hall led to a staircase to the front of the building and a staircase to the back. Donovan bolted down the stairs to the parking lot, so Beth went to the left. Her feet pounded on the steps as she descended. The moment her feet touched the ground, she shot into the storm. Rain splashed her face. Wind tugged on her limbs. She looked from side to side. To the right was a long stretch of apartments, and no one was making an escape that way. To the left were just two apartments that led to the end of the building. If the intruder had gone that way, he could head to the front or jump the wall to the establishment next door. If he was heading to the parking lot, Donovan would cut him off, and she’d come up from behind. It was the quickest route of escape, so Beth charged in that direction. Her feet landed in puddles. The impact had dirty water shooting out like fireworks.
Lightning lit the sky. Thunder rolled, but her heartbeat was louder. Her feet skidded around the corner. The alley was empty, but she sprinted toward the front of the building anyway. A moment later, a figure appeared at the other end. Donovan. She slowed to a jog.
Donovan halted in front of her. “I didn’t see anyone.”
“Neither did I,” she panted. She stepped up to the low wall, put her hands on the top, and hoisted herself up to peek on the other side. “No one,” she told Donovan. But she didn’t doubt that someone had been there. Whoever had been in their apartment could be hiding behind, or even inside, one of the Dumpsters behind that building. The fact that he had been on their patio angered her. When she had come into the living room and saw the door was open, she didn’t so much as glance at the sliding glass door. If she had, would she have caught a glimpse of the corner of a coat or the hee
l of a boot as he moved out of sight?
She dropped back to the ground. Rain poured down her face and arms. Her clothes were soaked through.
“We need to get back inside. The last thing we need is to get struck by lightning.” He wiggled his metal bat and pointed to her knife.
They hurried back to their building. Something cold struck Beth on the arm. She put a hand to it. Her skin stung. As they ran for cover, hail continued to fall. The pieces of ice chased them up the stairs.
Once in their apartment, they stood on the carpet, dripping. Donovan carefully nudged the door shut with his foot, took her hand, and led her into the kitchen. He extracted the knife from her fingers and set it in the sink. Then he wrapped his arms around her. They exchanged a wet embrace.
“I’ll call Thorn now, but he won’t be able to come out until it’s safe.” He picked up his cell phone from the kitchen counter and tapped the screen. As he spoke to Thorn, their friend and a detective, he held Beth’s hand. She appreciated the gesture. Although she was a self-defense instructor, she wasn’t immune to fear. She was as human as everyone else.
The only thing they could do now was wait for the storm to die down. They changed into dry clothes and sat on the couch. Neither of them could relax, though. A layer of ice was piling up on their patio, pelting the glass door. Whatever evidence the intruder left was most likely gone. Would they ever know who broke in and why?
An hour later, the storm finally dissipated. An hour after that, their power came back. They walked through their apartment, checking their valuables, but found nothing missing.
Thorn arrived soon after with a crime scene unit. They looked for evidence, snapped pictures, and pulled fingerprints off both doors. Thorn asked them what had happened and took detailed notes.
“Is there anything missing?”
“Not from what we could see,” Donovan said.
“Well, if you notice anything is gone, call me.”
“We will,” Beth said. “Thanks, Thorn.”
“You bet.” He was the last one to leave. Outside their door, he paused. “Oh, and Goldwyn, don’t hide your spare key in the light fixture anymore.”
Beth hid her smirk.
“And since the key was never found, you should talk to the manager about getting your locks changed. You need to protect my girl.” Thorn winked at Beth.
“I think you got the adjective mixed up there,” Donovan said.
“Either way, get a new lock.” He saluted them as he left.
Donovan shook his head as he shut and locked the door. “He’s asking for it.”
Hoping to appear playful, Beth whacked him on the arm with her clammy hand.
“He does it on purpose because you’re so easy to bait.” Needing his touch, she pulled his mouth to hers. “But Thorn isn’t Donovan Goldwyn.”
He smacked her lightly on the butt. “Thank God for that.”
She laughed, and then cringed at the forced sound. Trying to mask her fear wasn’t working. She hated to be vulnerable, but she’d need something stronger to calm her nerves. “Do you want a beer? Or better yet, a shot of whiskey?” She headed into the kitchen.
“Whiskey. Double.”
“Coming right up.” From the top of the refrigerator, she took down a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. Her hands shook. When she lowered back onto her heels, she came eye level to an empty rectangle on the refrigerator door. The picture of the two of them was gone. She set the bottle and glasses on the counter and checked the tile for their picture. She got down on her knees to look beneath the cabinets and under the fridge. It wasn’t there.
Dusting off her hands, she eyed the space where the photo had been for the last six months. The two magnets that used to hold down opposite corners of the picture were still stuck to the door. If the wind had caught the photo and whipped it off, the magnets would’ve gone flying, too. And the photo hadn’t slipped off either; the magnets were now side-by-side and a little higher than usual, as if someone had moved them.
She swallowed as she pieced together the night’s events.
The rock.
The intruder broke their window to distract them long enough to gain entrance into their apartment. Maybe he was after something more than a photo but found himself trapped when he realized Beth was coming back into the living room. He then slipped onto the patio to avoid being seen.
But who would steal a photo of them? That wasn’t something a criminal would do. And it certainly didn’t sound like the motive of the men who’d claimed she should watch her back. If it had been them, she and Donovan would be dead right now.
Taking a picture matched the motive of a stalker, but neither of them had a stalker…or so she thought. The idea of another faceless bad guy out to get them made Beth’s heart race.
“Donovan, I know what the intruder took.”
****
Thorn returned. He snapped pictures of their fridge. With protected hands, he put the two magnets into a bag so investigators could dust them for prints. When he left for the second time, Beth handed Donovan his shot of whiskey. Neither of them said a word as they downed the contents of their glasses.
Beth glanced around their apartment, at the layer of white powder caking the doorways, the cue sticks still on the ground, and the cold candles with puddles of wax around their bases. Everything bore the mark of a crime that happened as fast as lightning. For the rest of the night, she’d be scrubbing every inch of the apartment and rechecking every dark spot.
How would she ever be able to forget that an intruder had broken into their apartment and hid just feet from them? And what was the sicko going to do with their photo? The thought of that made her stomach turn. Hoping to banish those images, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wanted to think of something else. Even for just a moment.
“I think I’ve decided,” she said and leaned against the counter. “I know where I want to go for our honeymoon.”
Donovan stepped up to her and put his hands on her hips. “And where’s that?”
“Oahu.” She smiled. “We could surf all we want.”
Donovan shared her smile. “Hawaii has the best waves in the world.”
TSUNAMI CRIMES will be published by The Wild Rose Press January 20th, 2017.
Did you enjoy LIGHTNING CRIMES?
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A word about the author…
Chrys Fey is the author of the Disaster Crimes Series, as well as these releases from The Wild Rose Press: 30 Seconds Before, 30 Seconds, Ghost of Death, and Witch of Death. She is an administrator for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group and heads their monthly newsletter. She’s also an editor for Dancing Lemur Press.
When Fey was six years old, she realized she wanted to be a writer by watching her mother pursue publication. At the age of twelve, she started writing her first novel, which flourished into a series she later rewrote at seventeen.
Fey lives in Florida and is always on the lookout for hurricanes. She has four adopted cats who keep her entertained with their antics, and three nephews who keep her entertained with their antics.
You can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, and through her blog, Write with Fey. She loves to get to know her readers!
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Hurricane Crimes
by Chrys Fey
http://amzn.com/B00GVK921G
After her car breaks down, Beth Kennedy is forced to stay in Florida, the target of Hurricane Sabrina. She stocks up supplies, boards up windows, and hunkers down to wait out the storm, but her plan unravels when she witnesses a car accident. Risking her life, she braves the winds to save the driver. Jus
t when she believes they are safe, she finds out the man she saved could possibly be more dangerous than the severe weather.
Donovan Goldwyn only wanted to hide from the police, but the hurricane shoved his car into a tree. Now he's trapped with a beautiful woman while the evidence that can prove his innocence to a brutal crime is out there for anyone to find.
As Hurricane Sabrina wreaks havoc, Beth has no other choice but to trust Donovan to stay alive. But will she survive, or will she become another hurricane crime?
Seismic Crimes
by Chrys Fey
http://amzn.com/B01CRJSPIU
An Internal Affairs Investigator was murdered and his brother, Donovan Goldwyn, was framed. Now Donovan is desperate to prove his innocence. And the one person who can do that is the woman who saved him from a deadly hurricane—Beth Kennedy. From the moment their fates intertwined, passion consumed him. He wants her in his arms. More, he wants her by his side in his darkest moments.
Beth Kennedy may not know everything about Donovan, but she can’t deny what she feels for him. It’s her love for him that pushes her to do whatever she has to do to help him get justice, including putting herself in a criminal’s crosshairs.
When a tip reveals the killer's location, they travel to California, but then an earthquake of catastrophic proportions separates them. As aftershocks roll the land, Beth and Donovan have to endure dangerous conditions while trying to find their way back to one another. Will they reunite and find the killer, or will they lose everything?
