10

Olivia didn’t know how much longer she could live like this. How many nights could she spend in the spare room, ignoring Matt’s pleas to talk? She had to make a decision. Act like nothing was happening and patiently wait for the affair to be over?

Or confront him and lose everything? She hated to admit it, but she missed him. The first thing she’d wanted to do, after being driven home by that hell-car, was tell him about Equinoxx. The building, the thrones, meeting Nera Blake. And the dreamscape. How could she keep all of it to herself ? How could she not share her day with the one person she trusted most?

Had trusted.

Olivia tossed and turned all night, her thoughts full of Eidolon, the mysterious anomaly, Matt, Sarina. When she heard Matt leave at seven, she got up too, restless. Maybe she’d exercise. She couldn’t remember the last time she exercised. Swimming was out of the question. The pool was right up against the balcony and she couldn’t handle heights. Not any more. Going for a run seemed a bit much, especially considering the sky was gray and there was a slim chance of rain. A nice, quiet yoga session might be the way to go.

She set up the TV in the theatre. A YouTube ad played, featuring a smiling, sixty-year-old man wearing a hat with corks hanging from the brim.

“G’day,” he said. “The name’s Forrest, and I’m here to offer you a newer, greener way of living. At Symbiosis–”

Olivia hit the skip ad button, and the preppy yoga instructor had just started talking about centering the core when her phone buzzed. She paused the video to check the message. It was from an unknown number.

Get out.

A shiver rushed through her. Who would send her something like that?

Oh god…Sarina?

Or maybe it was a prank? A wrong number?

A stalker?

She decided to ignore it when another text buzzed through.

My informant warned me Equinoxx has a contract on your life. Run.

Olivia laughed through the fluttering of her heart. Someone was playing a joke on her. Despite knowing better than to feed the trolls – or the psychopaths – she typed back:

Who is this?

We talked on Saturday.

The caveman. Anger replaced the fear.

How did you get my number?

The apartment elevator dinged before she received an answer, and she rushed out of the theatre, half-expecting the shaggy man to walk in. But it was only the housekeeper bustling through with a bag of groceries. He looked as surprised to see her as she did him.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was told you’re usually sleeping at this time.”

“You aren’t Pat.”

“No, Pat’s sick. I’m Winken. I’m filling in.” He had an American accent and twin silver streaks in his black hair that were so symmetrical they had to be dyed.

And his name was…Winken?

Olivia forced out a heavy breath. Just because she had a new housekeeper with a weird name, didn’t mean he was an assassin.

An assassin.

Ridiculous.

He held up the bag of groceries. “You want your usual scrambled eggs?”

“Sure. Thanks. And coffee.”

“Milk, one sugar.” When he smiled, he flashed two gold teeth. “I have strict instructions.”

She laughed because it was the polite thing to do, but she couldn’t dispel her nerves. “Want me to show you where everything is?”

“I’m at home in a kitchen, Mrs Alexander. You just relax.”

That was supposed to be her plan, but she didn’t feel like doing yoga anymore. She could have a shower and get ready for the day. Or... She glanced at Matt’s office door. The addiction was irresistible. She wanted to see more of those emails. She needed to.

She ducked into the office and closed the door, as if she were doing something dirty. Waiting while the laptop powered up felt like an eternity. She fell into Matt’s chair and watched his email account update. A dozen new work messages, along with one from Sarina, received eight minutes ago. It had a lot of silly gushing and heart emojis. Olivia scrolled down to see what Matt had sent earlier this morning.

She’s still acting weird, it said. I really think she knows. Part of me hopes she does, because every time I’m with her, I think of the next time I can be with you. I love you, my darling. I can’t wait to see you tonight.

Olivia stared at the message for a long, long time. She couldn’t bring herself to close it.

Tonight.

Fucking tonight.

She didn’t realize she was shaking until she heard the chair rattling beneath her. What, exactly, did they have planned for tonight? And what cover story was he going to use this time?

She reached for her phone. Her mind had gone to Kass because Kass was always the first person she called in a crisis. Her phone screen switched on when she picked it up. She’d received messages while she’d been staring at the email. All five were from the shaggy man.

7.41: They’re going to kill you.

7.42: I don’t know exactly what they’re planning, but I know it’s happening soon.

7.45: Are you there?

7.51: Olivia, for god’s sake, at least let me know you got my message.

7.54: I’m nearby. I’m going to check on you.

A chill seized her. She thought again of Winken in her kitchen. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. The caveman was completely delusional.

Why would they kill me for a lousy signature?

She set down her phone and rubbed her temples. She had enough to deal with without this absurd claim.

Her phone buzzed.

If you die, it’s enough of a legal gray area that they have a better chance of securing the rights of everything you mapped.

Are you sure?

YES

And then, several seconds later:

THEY’VE DONE IT BEFORE

She let out a shuddering breath and checked over her shoulder to make sure the office door was still closed.

My usual housekeeper is sick and someone called Winken has replaced her. I don’t know who he is.

There was an agonizing silence before a new message came through.

Have you eaten the food?

Not yet

Come up with an excuse not to eat. Don’t say anything to make him suspicious. I’ll be there in a few minutes.

This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t have a cheating husband and a global corporation trying to kill her. Her life wasn’t drama anymore. It was mimosas and sleep ins and safe, creative classes like pottery or life drawing.

Someone knocked on the office door. A surprised yelp escaped her.

“Sorry,” said Winken. “Your breakfast is ready. Would you like it out on the balcony? It’s humid out there, but it hasn’t started raining.”

The balcony? Oh hell no.

“Leave it on the dining table,” she said. Her voice sounded funny. She couldn’t quite catch her breath. “I’ll be done in a second.

I’m just finishing an email.”

“No problem, Mrs Alexander.”

She stared at Matt’s laptop, wondering whether to email him through his own account. But how ludicrous would it sound? Help, I think the housekeeper’s trying to kill me.

Not only would she come across as paranoid, but he’d know she’d gotten into his account, and they’d have to talk about Sarina. She wasn’t ready to deal with that.

She drummed her fingers nervously, wondering how long she could get away with hiding in here.

Too soon, Winken knocked again. “Your breakfast is getting cold, Mrs Alexander.”

Were housekeepers always this pushy? Paranoia had gripped her now. The office wasn’t secure enough. What she needed was a locked room, and there was only one of them in the apartment. She exhaled slowly, gathering the courage to get up and open the door. Winken was standing in the hallway. Waiting.

Jesus.

“I’m going to have a quick shower.” She gestured to her workout gear, even though she’d barely done two minutes of yoga. “Won’t be long.”

He smiled and nodded. “I’ll pour the coffee.”

It was difficult not to sprint to the en suite. She forced her pace to remain at a relaxed stroll. When she got to the bathroom, she locked the door and turned on the shower without getting in.

“God,” she moaned, sinking onto the toilet seat. The stress was too much. How long would she have to wait for the shaggy man? She dropped her head in her hands. Her empty hands.

Her phone was still in Matt’s office.

She jerked her head up again. “Shit,” she hissed to herself. “Fuck fuck fuck. Oh shit. Oh god.”

What if Winken took it? What if he saw the message before the shaggy man arrived? If he was really, actually here to kill her, he wouldn’t care about subtlety once he realized she knew. He’d just kill her outright.

“Ohhh my god.”

She got up and rested her head against the door. She had to go out again. Soon. Now.

Get it done, Livvie.

Her body refused to follow her commands.

“It’s okay,” she told herself, as she always did during an anxiety attack. “I’m fine. I. Am. Fine.”

Except her anxiety attacks were usually about normal things. In those circumstances, she was able to convince herself she’d be safe as long as she was careful. She was starting to feel lightheaded.

“I’m probably overreacting,” she whispered, eyes squeezed shut. “He knows what I have for breakfast. He knows how I like my coffee. He must’ve talked to Pat. It’s going to be fine. I’m safe. I’m definitely safe.”

Get it done, Livvie!

At last, she slipped out of the en suite and shut the door behind her without making a sound. Winken was in the kitchen, washing up. His back was to her.

She steadied her nerves and crept down the hall, returning to Matt’s office. Her phone was still there. She pounced on it, praying for a new text.

Nothing.

“Shit,” she whispered, perching on the desk.

Where the hell was the shaggy man?

Her thigh must’ve nudged the wireless mouse, because the laptop woke up again. The note-taking app was open, with a pink sticky on the screen. Weird – it hadn’t been there before. She leaned down to read what was written.

I know about Sarina, you bastard. How could you do this to me? I hope the guilt eats you alive. I hope you see my body every time you close your eyes.

Olivia stared blankly at the message. She hadn’t written this, but it looked like it was from her. It was what she’d wanted to email him, sure, except for the part where she hoped he saw her body when he closed his eyes. She wasn’t that vain. And it was a weird way to phrase–

Body.

Body.

It wasn’t a scathing divorce demand.

It was a suicide note.

“Oh my god,” she moaned softly. “Oh my god, oh my god.”

The shaggy man was telling the truth. Equinoxx were going to kill her, and their hit man was in her apartment.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

She fumbled with her phone to send the shaggy man a message for help. Her fingers tripped over the keys.

Stay calm, came his immediate reply. Then, not long after, I’m outside your building. Pull yourself together. Don’t make him suspicious.

She tucked the phone in the waistband of her yoga pants and pressed her sweaty palms to her eyes. Help had come. She was not going to die.

A sharp buzzer echoed through the apartment.

“Delivery for Olivia.”

Perhaps the most beautiful words that had ever been spoken. She held back a sob of relief.

She heard Winken say she was in the shower.

“No, not yet,” she said, walking a little too quickly into the main living area. “I’ve been fussing about, sorry.”

Winken turned to the bedroom, where there was clearly the sound of running water.

“I put bleach in the shower recess earlier,” Olivia said with a smoothness she didn’t know she had. “Just rinsing it out.” She shot him a smile that wobbled a bit. “Back in two shakes.”

She got into the elevator. It seemed to take forever for the doors to close. Even when she was descending, she kept imagining the elevator would stop and head back up.

It was only when the lobby sign dinged that she allowed relief to flood through her. The shaggy man was waiting at the exit. She raced across the lobby and threw herself into his arms. He grunted in surprise.

“He was going to kill me,” she said between dry sobs. “He was going to kill me.”

The shaggy man pried her off him. “Come on,” he said, glancing at the elevator as it closed again and made its ascent. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

Want to read more? Order my techno-thriller at Clan Destine Press’s website if you’re Australian, or Improbable Press’s website if you’re elsewhere.