Rachel wrapped her coat tighter around herself and shivered. She hated November, the warm days but frigid nights.
She could move to Florida, but before that thought had completely run its course, Rachel rejected the idea. Her parents lived in Florida, and although technically, she got along just fine with her parents… Well, she thought wryly. Both parties were more agreeable if they stayed a thousand miles apart.
She sighed.
As she rounded the corner on her way to the closest MetroLink station, movement caught her eye. Rachel peeked over her shoulder. A man—his head bent, and hoodie hood up—walked twenty feet behind her. His position seemed suspicious. Too close, yet far enough away to appear innocent.
Was he following her? Should she run to the Metro station where there were more lights and maybe more people? What if he was headed to the same station as herself? She didn’t want to look foolish or overreact if his presence behind her was because of a shared destination. Rachel also didn’t want to be accosted.
In the end, she decided to simply keep a wary eye on him and even dismissed the notion of rooting around her purse for her cell phone which was buried somewhere at the bottom of her cavernous bag. Still, she stayed cognizant of his presence behind her, her ears straining as she listened to his footsteps on the sidewalk.
Rachel knew the second he became a threat, but despite her mental preparation, she still hesitated, costing her precious seconds of action. Before she could turn and defend herself, he grabbed her around the waist and slid the blunt edge of his blade down her cheek until the sharp edge rested on her neck, right under her chin. “I want your cash,” her assailant said.
All the self-defense class advice she’d ever heard ran through her mind in an instant: Your life is worth more than your purse. You have no idea if they have a gun.
The last thought brought up a good point, though. Who used a knife when they mugged someone? Guns were infinitely more practical, right? Rachel couldn’t remember the last time a knife mugging made the evening news.
She shoved the thought away. It didn’t matter. A knife was something she could fight. A knife was personal. A knife gave her an unexpected edge. Attackers didn’t expect women to be able to defeat them.
Grabbing his arm, Rachel hooked her hands under his wrist and pushed, trying to hold the knife away from her neck. When she felt as if she had his arm secured and far enough from her skin, she dropped her weight to her knees and pushed backward. As she did, she spun, bringing his arm down with her, and twisting, which put pressure on his elbow and turn his body away from hers.
It took less time to pin his arm behind him than it had for her to think about doing it. Rachel tossed him away from her and, before he could regain his balance, landed a kick squarely in his ass which launched him into the nearest brick wall.
She didn’t stand around to find out how he fared. She pivoted and sprinted in the other direction back toward her office. Rachel thought she’d seen an establishment open less than a city block behind her. As she ran, she heard the man swear and stumble around. Not knowing if he would follow or not, she upped her speed, hoping she’d find a place to seek refuge before he caught her.
Up ahead the soft glow of yellow light on the sidewalk warned Rachel she was near the storefront she remembered passing earlier. She launched herself at the glass door, clawing at the handle and yanking with all her might. The door didn’t budge. Locked? She cursed and knocked on the glass with her fists. The light was on. The store had to be open!
Come on, she thought desperately. Let there be someone inside! She didn’t think she could run another block in her high heels and Rachel had no idea how far away her attacker happened to be. He could be right behind her this very second, ready to pounce.
“Open up!” she yelled as she pounded on the door one last time. Nothing. She was ready to move on when she saw a shadow at the end of the hallway. A masculine figure walked toward her. His features shrouded by shadow from the backlighting. As soon as he opened the door, she sagged in relief and rushed inside.
“What do you want? What are you doing here?” he barked.
What am I doing here? What am I… Rachel panted, “I... Attacked... This... Closest place... Open… Cops…” She paused, gulping for air, and trying to calm down so she could speak clearly. “This was the first place I found. Thank you for letting me in. He had a knife to my throat. I... I kicked him against the wall and escaped.”
The man’s eyebrows lifted higher with each word she uttered. Eventually, his expression cleared and he took some time to look her up and down carefully. His gaze on her body felt warm and tingly as if he stood too close yet he was a perfectly respectful distance away. Rachel wished she could see him better. She stepped closer.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She shook her head. Her skin buzzed as if she held her hand to one of those Tesla static machines. It made her twitchy and hyper-aware of her surroundings. “I’m all right... I think. Just freaked out.”
The man didn’t seem convinced. “You look pale.”
For some reason, that struck Rachel as funny, and she laughed. At least she hadn’t started crying.
When she saw his perplexed expression, she tried to calm herself, but it didn't work, and she laughed harder.
“It’s not like I get attacked all the time,” she said when she could speak again.
He kept watching her as if trying to decide something. In the end, he gestured for her to follow him. As they walked deeper into the building, Rachel spied blue exercise mats at the end of one hallway to her left. The man turned the other way and they entered a kitchen.
“Sit,” he said, pointing to one of two stools pushed under the outer edge of a c-shaped, high counter. He moved to the inner part of it and grabbed a glass from one of the overhead cupboards mounted to the cinderblock wall. He then walked to the fridge and took out a chilled pitcher of water.
“What is this place?” Rachel asked as she pushed herself up on the stool. The kitchen looked sleek with its stainless-steel appliances, large, extra-deep sink, and marble counter. She twirled her finger along the golden veining. Was she in some sort of fancy employee break room? Had to be. What other explanation was there? “Do you work here?” she asked, not looking up.
The man put the now full water glass of water in front of her. “Drink slowly and tell me what happened. In detail.”
That was… odd. But surprisingly sweet. Though Rachel supposed, she’d ask the same sort of question if a panicked woman ran into her work demanding help and sanctuary.
She brought her gaze to his. “What’s your name?” Rachel asked.
The man leaned against the counter and shook his head. “Not important. Please tell me what happened.”
Warning bells rang in her ears—or was it some sort of trauma-induced tinnitus?—regardless, Rachel was concerned. Who didn’t give some sort of name when asked? She fidgeted with her water. She’d needed a safe place, but did she need it enough to tell this stranger the details of her ordeal? A stranger who wasn’t a police officer?
Rachel abandoned her water for her bag. “I think I should call the police,” she said as she dug around inside. Her fingers shook as she fished for her phone. Giving up, she upended the bag and dumped the contents on the counter and began shuffling the contents.
Warm, calloused, olive toned, fingers wrapped around her wrist, halting her movements and Rachel looked up. The most incredible dark brown eyes stared back at her. She blinked. Holy shit, those eyes were captivating. So was the scar which split his left eyebrow and dipped down into his eyelid a bit. He’s lucky he didn’t lose that eye, she thought, wondering how he’d received the injury.
“Adam,” he said.
That voice! Rachel nearly swooned. She hadn’t noticed it before, probably because of her nerves, but he had a faint accent which spoke of warm Mediterranean nights and hot lazy days in the sun, relaxing on a beach. Rachel nodded, appeased. “I’m Rachel.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled, and Rachel’s heart tried to explode. Damn! Adam was gorgeous already, but that smile… Well, he must have all the ladies lining up to get a taste of his favors. “Now, Rachel. Please, tell me what happened.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” she hedged, returning to her water.
“Rachel, talk to me. It’s important.”
Important, yes. But to him? She sighed, then nodded. She had to tell somebody. “I was on my way to the Metro station when I realized I was being followed—”
“What did your follower look like?” Adam interrupted.
She frowned. “Young guy—early twenties probably—white skin. He had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head, so I didn’t see the color of his hair. Plus, it was dark. Uh,” she stalled. “Tall. He was tall. Like around six feet.” She shook her head. “It all happened so fast. He came at me with a knife so...” She waved her hand dismissively. “I know what they say about the dangers of fighting back, but I had to defend myself. I couldn't let him win.”
Adam seemed to relax as she described her attacker but cocked an eyebrow when she mentioned the knife. “A knife?”
“Yes, a nasty spring-loaded thing.” She shuddered involuntarily but was relieved to find her voice didn’t shake the same way her hands did. “I should probably call the cops,” she repeated, glancing at her mess on the counter.
Ah, there was her phone. When she reached for it, Adam stopped her with a question. “Tell me what else happened first.”
Yeah, okay, she mentally agreed, dropping her hands back to her lap. She toyed with her coat’s zipper. Up and down. Up and down. The rasp calmed her frayed nerves. So did talking about the attack with Adam. At the very least, it would make telling the story to the police easier. The chaotic version of events currently rattling around in her skull would solidify as her thoughts ordered in the retelling. The police officer tasked with taking her statement would probably thank Adam for having to listen to her rambling. “He grabbed me around the waist. I... I don’t think he expected me to defend myself. I managed to take him by surprise and throw him off me.”
“Throw him off you? How?”
“I used an aikido move.”
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