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as I said it.  I hadn’t pressed him about the
backpack.  I should have insisted he tell me the details about the club.  I
knew he’d been acting unAxton-like in the diner, but I’d let it slide. 
    A blast of wind whipped my
hair skyward.  “Wow, it’s getting cold out here.”  I rubbed my hands along my
arms.
    “I’m sorry, you’re right.  Can
I walk you to your car?”
    “Yeah, thanks.”  We walked
toward the street in front of the campus.  “Hey, Axton went to a club the other
night.  Do you know anything about that?”
    “No.” 
    “Did you notice him acting
weird yesterday?  Nervous?”
    “No.” 
    I went through my
spiel—backpack, mystery man, yada yada.  Maybe I should record this little
speech because repeating it was getting old.
    “I can’t get into his
computer,” I said.  “Do you think you could?”
    “Yeah, probably.”  He ran a
hand through his hair.  “But are you sure he didn’t just leave for a few days?”
    While Ax had taken off a
time or two in the past, he’d always called to let me know where he was and
when he was coming home, and he’d always taken his backpack.  “I’m sure.  Do
you want to meet up tomorrow and take a crack at Axton’s computer?”
    “Like for dinner, or
something?”  He smiled.  “I know this Italian place, they make an authentic
osso buco—”
     “How about I bring it by
after I get off work?”
    Steve’s smile lost a few
watts.  “Sure.  You know where the IT office is, right?”
    “Basement of Blake Hall. 
I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    As I drove home, I kept
checking my rearview mirror to make sure no one followed me.  Yep, definitely
becoming paranoid.
    Feeling drained and more
concerned about Axton by the minute, I slogged up the stairs to my apartment,
sifting the keys in my hand to find the right one.  But before I could slide it
into the lock, a mountain of a man opened my front door.  He loomed above me,
his dark hair slicked back from his face.  His crooked nose had been broken in
at least three places and a long jagged scar ran close to his left eye.
    He said nothing, but a deep voice
from inside my apartment said, “Come in, Rosalyn.”

Chapter 7
     
     
     
    It was the voice. 
The one belonging to the mystery man from the woods.   
    I gulped and stood there,
too scared to move forward, too shocked to turn around and run.  The man at the
door snatched my arm and pulled me into the apartment, slamming the door behind
me.  He plucked the keys from my hand and tossed them on the bistro table. 
    I sidled to the left, with
my back against the wall.  I kept him in my peripheral view while I studied the
man standing in the middle of my apartment.  He was the exact opposite of Scarface. 
His blue-black hair was combed away from his perfect face.  His gold eyes—not
golden-brown, just gold—glittered in the faint glow of my yard sale flamingo lamp. 
With light honeyed skin stretched over strong cheekbones, he was beautiful—like
fallen angel beautiful.  He wore a dark suit and overcoat.  He scared me a lot
more than the other guy.  It was obvious he was in charge and Scarface was just
there for back up.
    I didn’t know what he wanted
or if he planned on hurting me, but I made up my mind then and there that I
wouldn’t go down without a fight.  And I wouldn’t let him see how afraid I was
either.  But between you and me, I think I wet my pants just a little.
    “Hello, Rosalyn.  Oh wait,
you like to be called Rose.  Please, have a seat.”  He gestured to the futon.
     “Thanks, but I think I’ll
stand, you know, since it’s my apartment and all.” 
    I felt a massive paw on my
shoulder.  “Sit,” Scarface said.  His voice sounded like crunching gravel.
    I twisted out of his grasp
and my backpack slid to the floor.  I side-stepped away from him, bumping my
hip into the closet doorknob.  Since I was scared shitless, the pain barely
registered.
    The boss waved two fingers
and