Chapter 1 - The Woman in the Blue Dress
June grabbed my shirt with both hands and whispered, “Please don’t let him find me.”
I pulled her small evening purse from beneath her arm and found a silver apartment key inside.
A tiny number had been scratched into the metal tag attached to it.
Apartment 9B.
I lived in 9A.
This was no random ride home.
For several seconds, I simply stared at the key.
June Aldric was barely conscious in my arms.
Her head rested against my shoulder, her long blonde hair damp from the light rain outside the rooftop venue. The pale-blue silk dress she wore looked like it had been chosen for a glamorous night, not for being carried through a hotel lobby by a stranger who had spent the last hour trying to stop her from making terrible decisions.
“June?”
Her eyelids moved.
“That your apartment?”
She gave the smallest nod.
“Nine B?”
Another nod.
I looked toward the revolving doors.
The city beyond them shimmered beneath the rain.
It was after midnight.
Forty minutes earlier, I hadn’t even known her name.
I had attended my friend Garrett’s engagement party because he had cornered me three weeks earlier and said, “Evan, if you skip this one too, I’m telling everyone you died.”
Garrett had known me since college.
He also knew I had spent the previous eighteen months turning down almost every invitation that required conversation with more than four people.
I worked too much.
That was the explanation I gave people.
It was only partly true.
The fuller truth was that after my fiancée, Melanie, walked out two months before our wedding, crowded rooms started feeling like places where everyone could see something missing from me.
Garrett’s engagement party was supposed to be simple.
One drink.
Congratulations.
Leave before midnight.
Instead, at 11:37 p.m., I found a blonde woman sitting alone behind an enormous planter near the rooftop elevators, staring at her phone like it had personally betrayed her.
She was beautiful.
That was impossible not to notice.
But she was also dangerously drunk.
Her right heel was missing.
Her mascara had smudged slightly beneath one eye.
And she had been trying to unlock someone else’s phone.
“That’s mine,” I had said.
She studied the screen.
Then she looked at me.
“I don’t think so.”
“My picture is on the lock screen.”
She squinted at it.
Then at me.
Then back at it.
“Oh.”
She handed it over solemnly.
“You have excellent evidence.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Then she tried to stand.
Her knees buckled.
I caught her before she hit the ground.
That was when the situation stopped being funny.
“Who are you here with?”
“People.”
“Specific people?”
“Disappointing people.”
“Friend’s name?”
She closed her eyes.
“Everyone’s disappointing if you give them enough time.”
That answer told me almost nothing.
I managed to get her name from the event wristband.
JUNE ALDRIC.
I searched the guest list with Garrett’s help.
Nobody admitted knowing her well enough to take responsibility.
One bridesmaid recognized her.
“Friend of Claire’s,” she said. “I think she came with Trevor.”
“Where’s Trevor?”
The bridesmaid made a face.
“Left.”
“With her like this?”
She shrugged.
That was the moment I decided June was not staying there alone.
I ordered water.
She drank some.
I waited nearly forty minutes, hoping she would sober enough to tell me clearly where she lived.
She didn’t.
Eventually she gave me an address.
My address.
I assumed she had confused the numbers until she repeated the street name twice.
Now, in the lobby of my own building, I stared at the little metal tag marked 9B.
I had lived in 9A for four months.
I had seen the woman in 9B maybe ten times.
A striking blonde in her late forties or early fifties.
Always composed.
Always polite.
Sometimes carrying flowers.
Sometimes returning from work dressed in tailored coats.
Once, after the elevator malfunctioned, we had walked up nine flights together and spent twenty minutes laughing about how neither of us was nearly as fit as we pretended.
Her name was Marianne Aldric.
Apparently, the nearly unconscious woman in my arms was Marianne’s daughter.
I carried June into the elevator.
She mumbled something against my chest.
“What?”
“Don’t call her.”
“Your mother?”
She went rigid.
For someone barely awake, the reaction was startling.
“No.”
“June, I need to make sure someone’s there.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Her eyes opened.
Fear cleared away some of the alcohol haze.
“Because she’ll think it happened again.”
I frowned.
“What happened again?”
She didn’t answer.
The elevator opened on nine.
I carried her to 9B.
Inserted the key.
Turned it.
Nothing.
I tried again.
The deadbolt wouldn’t move.
I knocked.
No response.
Called Marianne’s name.
Nothing.
June sagged against me.
I could have called building security.
I could have called an ambulance.
I had already considered the second option twice, but June was conscious enough to answer basic questions, had not vomited, was breathing normally, and had strongly resisted going anywhere near a hospital.
Leaving her in the hallway was impossible.
So I made the decision that would turn the next several weeks of my life upside down.
I carried her next door.
Into my apartment.
I placed her on the couch.
Left the lights low.
Set water nearby.
Found a blanket.
Then I sat in the chair across from her and stayed awake.
Not because I was expecting gratitude.
Not because she was attractive.
Because something about the fear in her eyes had bothered me.
Don’t let him find me.
At 2:14, June woke.
“Where am I?”
“Next door to your apartment.”
She blinked.
“You live here?”
“Nine A.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then gave an exhausted laugh.
“My mother has mentioned you.”
That caught me off guard.
“She has?”
“The nice man next door.”
“I’m nice?”
“She thinks so.”
“High praise.”
June’s expression changed.
“What time is it?”
“Two fourteen.”
Her hand moved toward her purse.
“Where’s my phone?”
I handed it to her.
The screen lit.
Twenty-three missed calls.
The same name appeared again and again.
TREVOR.
June went pale.
She immediately silenced it.
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Ex?”
Her jaw tightened.
“Something like that.”
“You said not to let him find you.”
“I was drunk.”
“That doesn’t mean you imagined being afraid.”
She stared at me.
For the first time all night, I saw something completely sober in her face.
Humiliation.
“I made a mistake tonight.”
“Getting drunk?”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“Believing somebody.”
Then her phone buzzed again.
This time it was a text.
I wasn’t trying to read it.
I couldn’t avoid seeing the preview.
YOU THINK THAT GUY CAN PROTECT YOU?
June’s fingers began shaking.
I stood.
“Does Trevor know where you are?”
“He shouldn’t.”
Another message arrived.
I SAW YOU LEAVE WITH HIM.
“June.”
“I need to go.”
“You can barely walk.”
“I need my apartment.”
“It’s locked from inside.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“The deadbolt wouldn’t open.”
She stared toward my front door.
“My mother.”
“What about her?”
“She was supposed to be away until tomorrow.”
“Maybe she came home early.”
June pushed herself upright.
She immediately swayed.
I caught her shoulder.
“No.”
“I need to check.”
“Morning.”
“Evan—”
It was the first time she had used my name.
I hadn’t remembered telling her.
“Morning,” I repeated. “You need to sleep.”
She closed her eyes.
After another minute, she stopped arguing.
By three, she was asleep again.
I remained in the chair.
At some point near dawn, exhaustion won.
The next thing I heard was my doorbell.
I checked my phone.
7:40 a.m.
I stood, stiff and disoriented, and opened the door.
Marianne Aldric stood there.
Her blonde hair was slightly mussed, as if she had dressed quickly.
She wore a cream robe beneath a long cardigan and held two takeaway coffees.
She started smiling.
“Good morning. I was wondering if—”
Then she saw past me.
Her daughter was asleep on my couch.
Marianne stopped breathing.
At least, that was what it looked like.
Her eyes moved from June.
To June’s shoes.
To June’s purse.
Then to me.
“Marianne.”
“What is my daughter doing in your apartment?”
The question was quiet.
That made it worse.
I raised both hands slightly.
“I found her at Garrett Mason’s engagement party last night. She was extremely intoxicated. She gave me this address. Your door was deadbolted, so I let her sleep here.”
Marianne’s face remained frozen.
“You carried her here?”
“She couldn’t walk safely.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“Did anyone see you?”
I expected suspicion.
Instead, I heard fear.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Party guests. Hotel staff.”
Marianne stepped inside.
She set the coffee cups down.
“June.”
June stirred.
“June, honey.”
Her eyes opened.
“Mom?”
Marianne knelt beside her.
“What happened?”
June slowly remembered where she was.
Then she saw me.
Then the previous night returned.
Her hand flew toward her phone.
“Trevor.”
Marianne went completely still.
“What about Trevor?”
“He saw Evan help me leave.”
The color drained from Marianne’s face.
“You told him where you live?”
“No.”
“He already knew.”
Marianne looked at me.
“What exactly did he send you?”
June unlocked the phone.
She hesitated before handing it over.
Marianne read the messages.
Her lips tightened.
I said, “Should we call the police?”
“No.”
Both women answered simultaneously.
I looked between them.
“That sounded rehearsed.”
June sat up.
Marianne rose.
Neither spoke.
Then June whispered a name.
“Caleb.”
Marianne dropped one of the coffees.
It hit the floor.
The lid came loose.
Coffee spread across the hardwood.
“Why did you say that name?” Marianne asked.
June stared at her mother.
“Trevor knows about him.”
Marianne looked suddenly older.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
As if a door inside her had opened to a room she had spent years avoiding.
“June, how?”
“I don’t know.”
Marianne turned toward me.
“You need to forget everything you heard.”
“Someone threatened her.”
“This is family business.”
“Threats stopped being family business when they started appearing on a phone in my apartment.”
Marianne’s eyes locked onto mine.
There was anger there.
And fear.
And something else.
Recognition that she wasn’t going to make me step aside just by asking.
Before she could answer, three heavy knocks shook my front door.
June froze.
Another knock.
Harder.
Then a man’s voice came from the hallway.
“June.”
Marianne grabbed her daughter’s wrist.
My phone buzzed at the same moment.
Unknown number.
One message.
DON’T OPEN THE DOOR.
May you like
Then the handle moved.
Someone was trying to come inside.
