Dead Pretty

he was spending so much time in the library. Probably doing research for his next book.
“Wow. A real-life author.”
I see a slight blush on the tops of his cheekbones. I find myself thinking it’s adorable, and then I want to slap myself.
And I also might work in a library, but I have never actually met an author. Well, not that I know of. It’s not like I actively try to get to know people. Avoiding people is my specialty. And yet, here I am, chatting with Jack.
“I’m assuming you’re published?”
He nods.
“Would I have heard of you?”
Something dark flashes through his eyes. “Probably not.” He lets out a laugh that sounds self-deprecating and out of odds with the expression I just saw in his eyes.
“Hey, I work in a library. I’ve read a lot of authors. What genre do you write?”
“Crime.”
And a chill cuts into the warmth that he unknowingly placed in my chest.
I sit back in my seat, hands curling around my coffee cup. “Crime books aren’t my thing. But I might have seen your name while I was filing books away. What’s your pen name?”
“Jack Canti.”
Jack Canti. Can a name be sexy? Yes. Yes, it can.
“Jack Canti,” I echo my thoughts. “So, is Jack Canti your real name or a pseudo name?”
I know that authors who have pseudo names will sometimes use them in real life with people they don’t know.
“Real,” he answers slowly.
“Then, nope, I haven’t heard of you.”
I smile, and he laughs.
I find myself loving the sound of it. I like being the one who made him laugh.
“But I am definitely going to look you up when I get back to the library.”
“You’re on your lunch break right now?” he asks me.
“Yep. And I should be heading back,” I say, glancing at the clock on the wall. I’ve hardly even touched the bagel. I pick it up and quickly finish it off before swigging down the rest of my coffee. “Sorry to rush off,” I tell him.
“No problem.”
He’s watching me with those intense eyes and smiling at me, and it makes me feel flustered again.
“And thanks again for the coffee and bagel,” I tell him, getting out of my seat.
He answers by way of a shrug.
“So, I guess I’ll see you …” I say, letting the words hang.
I’m hesitating. Stalling leaving. And I don’t know why.
Maybe it’s because you don’t know when you’ll see Jack next, whispers my subconscious.
Nope. I might find the guy hot, but I’m not hanging out, waiting to hear when I will see him next.
I don’t do people. I don’t do friends.
Yet isn’t that what Jack is to me now … a friend?
Ugh.
I really need to get out of here. Now.
“So, yeah … bye.”
“See you tomorrow, Audrey,” he says, his words catching my back, turning me around again.
“Tomorrow?” I question.
A smile lifts his eyes. “At the library.” He says this like I should have already known the answer.
And I hate that my heart is doing a happy dance in my chest right now.
So, I conceal my feelings and act casual and shrug. “Sure. See you tomorrow.”
And I turn and walk out of the coffee shop, unable to keep the smile off my face, thanking God that Jack can’t see it.

“Thanks.” I pay the cab driver, exiting the car.
Palming the building’s security fob and my apartment keys in one hand, my rape alarm in the other, I walk quickly toward the entrance to my apartment building, hearing the cab drive away behind me.
I don’t usually like to take cabs. Getting in a car with someone I don’t know is not exactly my favorite thing to do.
But it was either that or walk home in the dark.
I ended up working late, covering for a member of the staff who had called in sick today and monitoring a book club that met tonight at the library. So, I said that I would stay while they were there and locked up after they left.
Hence the cab ride home.
And at least a cab driver is registered. So, if I were killed, there would be a good chance of catching him.
If I walked home and got grabbed, severely less chance of catching the killer.
I know; I’d end up dead in both of those scenarios, which wouldn’t be good for me, obviously. But I’ve escaped death at the hands of a psychopath before. I don’t think I can do it twice. Don’t get me wrong; I would put up one hell of a fight, but I don’t see myself being so lucky twice.
Which is why I’m not keen on ending up in a situation like that ever again.
I didn’t fight back when Tobias had me … and I hate that so much. I hate that I was frozen there with terror and did nothing to try and save my own life.
I was tied up, so it wasn’t like I could have done much. But I did nothing.
I didn’t even try.
The only reason I lived was because he let me.
But I won’t make that mistake again. That, I know for sure.
I swipe the fob, letting myself into the building, hearing the door click shut behind me.
The well-lit entry hall is devoid of people.
Not that I usually see many people when I come home at my normal hour. But it’s daylight then, and it doesn’t seem as eerie as it does right now.
Goose bumps skitter up my arms, moving me forward. I jog up the stairs, my bag bumping against my hip, until I reach my floor.
I fast-walk to my apartment, unlock the door, and let myself inside. It’s pitch-black in here. My heart is banging in my chest. I hate the dark. Shutting the door closed, I flick on the light switch. It comes on, followed by a pop, and I’m plunged straight back into darkness.
Shit.
The lightbulb has blown.
I scramble to get my phone out of my bag, somehow dropping my rape alarm and keys at the same time.
“Fuck.”
My hand curls around my cell, and I yank