“Hello?” she called loudly. She peered at a dim corridor. “Mr. Herbert?”
She stepped into the darkness and turned her head to search for the light switch. The outside lights in the parking area didn’t extend far into this section of the building. Relief was instant when she found it and she could see the room. Mr. Herbert wasn’t there but the double doors to the hallway leading to what appeared to be offices were wide open.
“Mr. Herbert?” She yelled the man’s name louder.
No response.
“Damn. I don’t like this,” she whispered.
It went against the grain to meet a stranger in an empty building. She wasn’t stupid. Mr. Herbert could be a rapist or a killer. It was her job to meet clients and lead them through empty properties. The commission on this baby though…
That prospect propelled her closer to the dark hallway to hunt for another panel of switches. The lights in the hallway flickered and stayed on when she found it. Her gaze traveled the long length of open office doors on both sides and it seemed to end at the warehouse part of the building, judging by the massive double doors. Where the hell is this guy?
“Mr. Herbert?”
She stepped into the hallway with dread pitting her stomach. One by one she paused in open doorways and searched the empty dark offices with a sweeping glance. The feeling of something being wrong only intensified. She’d have turned tail and fled if she wasn’t desperate to make the sale.
Lauren reached the end of the hallway without finding the guy. She wanted to go home, didn’t want to be there, and that inner voice urged her to return to her car. The lights hadn’t been on which made her wonder why the buyer would willingly wander around in the dark. Who would do that? Isn’t it basic instinct to turn on lights? There was no way she wanted to walk around the eerie building blind.
She stared at the massive metal double doors and her heart raced. Her rent was due, she had a car payment, and less than two grand to her name. She’d be in deep shit if she didn’t make money in the next few weeks. Homeless hadn’t been her goal when she’d put herself through school. The buyer was somewhere—he’d unlocked the door and the sports car had to be his.
What if he had tripped? He could be hurt and the lights might have a timer on them. She glanced up at the lighted beams and knew she’d freak out big-time if she were suddenly left in the dark if they turned off.
“Too many horror movies. This is what you get for watching them.” She reached for one of the door handles, paused, and noticed her hand trembled. “You’ll totally feel like shit if this man had a heart attack and he’s lying in there dying while you’re being a chickenshit.”
The pep talk helped.
Lauren straightened her shoulders and gripped the cold metal handle. It twisted easily and she shoved hard. The door opened to reveal pitch blackness and cooler air. A shiver ran down her spine as she paused there.
“Mr. Herbert?” She lowered her voice to mutter, “Answer me. You better have had a heart attack or something to explain why you’re scaring the shit out of me by not answering. God knows I’m about to have one.”
Her gaze paused on the light switch inside the warehouse section and she moved fast for it. She’d do a quick walk-through to see if the client was there but afterward she’d split.
She had almost reached it when total darkness closed in around her and the door slammed loudly at her back. She gasped and froze. Her eyes widened but she couldn’t see a thing. Goose bumps pricked her skin and she hoped she wouldn’t seriously have a heart attack.
Calm down! She forced herself to take a breath. The doors are probably weighted to close. Turn on the lights! Damn Amanda and her talk of serial killers.
She found the wall with her franticly seeking hands, brushed her fingertips along the smooth surface, and finally touched the switches. She flipped them on and prayed they’d work. A slight hum startled her but the room brightened as the lights flickered a few times rapidly but stayed on. Oh, thank God!
She turned her head to stare at the vast warehouse. It had to be fifty feet in height from the concrete floor to the metal ceiling beams. The previous owner had left big metal containers inside that blocked her view of large sections but she could see parts of the back wall to judge that it had to be a good six hundred feet long and probably five hundred feet wide. Lauren frowned as she looked at the four rusted hunks of junk—shipping containers similar to the ones she’d seen leaving the harbor on cargo ships.
Why didn’t the owner remove them? It looks bad for a sale. She really wasn’t familiar with the property. It was Brent Thort’s listing. She briefly wondered what Brent’s big emergency had been that made him duck out on Mr. Herbert. If the potential buyer asked about those containers she wouldn’t have an answer.
Is the owner going to have them removed under the contract or is the building selling as is with those massive babies? Damn. Lauren gripped her purse, ready to call her boss to ask, if she ever found the elusive buyer.
“Mr. Herbert!” She yelled for all she was worth.
Movement made her gasp. The man who stepped out from behind the container wore all black. Lauren’s heart hammered and she stiffened. Fear didn’t inch up her spine. It jolted lightning-quick from her heels to her brain.
He was dressed wrong to drive the fancy sports car outside. He definitely didn’t look like a Mr. Herbert. He was a big man and reminded her of a mix between a ninja, with the all-black clothing, and a soldier, with the bulky bulletproof vest. Black material encased everything on the man except his tan throat and head. Spiked black hair also gave her the impression that he was military but the dark sunglasses didn’t fit with the look. She couldn’t see his eyes at all.
He slowly stalked toward her, closing the distance while she stood there frozen. It gave her time to take in more details of the stranger. He had wide shoulders and his shirt stretched tightly over thick, bulky biceps. Her fear notched higher. That screamed “ex-convict” to her. She had a neighbor with arms nearly that size and he’d told her lifting weights had been the only thing to alleviate boredom while he’d served nine years for armed robbery.
Lauren swallowed hard. Her neighbor scared the crap out of her but this guy was ten times worse. Her gaze lowered to his black boots and she openly stared at them since her legs still refused to work. Definitely military. Her cousin was in the Marines and she’d seen him polish his boots a few months before while visiting an aunt. The kickass chunky boots were almost exactly the same as the ones she’d seen.
Whoever he was, she bet he wasn’t Mr. Herbert. She knew that but was hopeful to be wrong. She finally backed up and nearly tripped. She fought down a scream of terror. Her gaze had located the two guns holstered to his thighs, a sight she had missed until her brain began to function better.
A soft whimper escaped her parted lips. The man wore black cargo pants that had pockets running up both legs. He not only had guns but a long knife was strapped over one thigh as well. Her terrified gaze landed on his gloved hands. They were open at his sides and it reminded her of something out of an old western as they twitched, almost as if they were about to draw down on someone, gunslinger fashion.
“Are you Mr. Herbert?” She hated the crack she heard in her voice.
The man paused and cocked his head slightly. His mouth twisted into a tight line, giving the appearance of either anger or confusion. She wished he wasn’t wearing the glasses so she could see his eyes. His bone structure was pronounced—strong cheekbones, full lips and a masculine, square chin. She retreated another step while the silence stretched between them.