“Is everything all right? It looked like that man was chasing you.”
Calliope smiled. “Yes, my friend scared him off.”
The man looked at Tox, an unreadable expression on his face.
“I can see why. You don’t expect that sort of thing in Brooklyn Heights.”
“Are you new to the neighborhood?” Tox asked.
“Lived on Garden Street my whole life. Dan Garfunkel. No relation.” He extended his hand, and Tox took it in a firm grip. “The bakery on my block closed, so I thought I’d give this one a try. I better head home.” He patted her arm. “I have a schnauzer who lets me know if I’m gone too long.” The man glanced at Calliope’s side. “That looks like it needs attention.” The man moved around them and proceeded down the block.
Tox moved around Calliope’s body and lifted the section of her bright pink tank that was soaked with blood. “Jesus, what happened?”
“I slid down a construction chute.”
She expected Tox to shake his head or berate her foolishness, but he nodded and said, “Nice.” He sank down to a catcher’s squat and lifted her top to examine the wound, a two-inch gash along her hip.
“I can patch this up. Doesn’t need stitches.”
“He said Garden Street.” Calliope turned and looked where the man had disappeared around the corner.
“Hmm?”
“He said he had lived on Garden Street his whole life. It’s Garden Place.”
She could see Tox was torn. He wanted to turn and sprint after the man, figure out if he was somehow connected to Calliope’s assault, but he didn’t leave her.
“Come on, let’s go to my place. Suddenly my dilapidated warehouse on a sketchy block in a dangerous neighborhood seems a whole lot safer than where we are.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s get the flash drive,” Tox added. “Can you text Twitch and let her know we’re bringing it by?”
Calliope reached to the strap on her arm that secured her phone when she jogged. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“My phone. It must have fallen out. Probably in that damned chute.”
“And the hits keep on coming.” Tox glanced around at the empty street, suddenly feeling very exposed. “Grab the flash drive, and let’s get out of here.”
Calliope hurried up the steps and let herself in with the key tied to her shoelace. She didn’t arm her security system when she left for her morning runs, but she would when she left with Tox. Coco stayed on the floor behind the couch rather than joining her in the kitchen for a treat and a belly rub. Calliope was too distracted to notice as she hurried to pull the copy of the flash drive she’d made for Twitch from her laptop and grab her bag from the kitchen. As she headed for the door she took a last-minute detour up to her room to rinse off, slap a large bandage on her hip, and grab a change of clothes.
On her way out, she stopped in the upstairs hall. The door to the linen closet was persnickety. You couldn’t just close it or it would slowly open with a creak that made the house seem haunted rather than simply having an improperly hung door. She had to close it, then give it a shove to ensure the latch clicked into the slot. She hadn’t been in the linen closet in days, and yet there the door stood. Wide-open.
The mirror at the end of the hall showed her no one lurked behind it, nevertheless, she quickly raced back down to Tox who was talking on his phone.
“Someone’s been in my house.”
“I’ll call you back,” Tox said, disconnecting his call. He gripped Calliope by the shoulders. “Wait here.”
She followed him up the exterior steps like a shadow. Tox turned to find her attached.
“You’d never make it as a soldier.”
“Sailor not soldier, and don’t you forget it.” She winked, throwing his words back at him.
Tox had never in his life simultaneously wanted to throttle someone and kiss the living daylights out of them. He pushed open the door which was already ajar and was met with silence. He took a couple of steps into the hall and turned to her. “Where’s the dog?”