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beat down on the Boulder city roads.
    The four-story apartment complex I lived in housed mostly middle-aged working - class tenants. Very few had kids, so the place was usually quiet. Sedate. Mel had always said it reminded her of one of those retirement apartment buildings. She kind of had a point.
    Parking my car in its designated spot, I headed into the open hallway, taking the first metal staircase. Proud that I wasn’t looking over my shoulder every five seconds like a paranoid freak, I rounded the fourth floor and made a mental note that when I moved I was so getting an apartment on the first floor.
    Carrying groceries in was a real bitch.
    It helped to focus on those kind of mundane bitches as I started down the long, narrow hallway. Possibly the only way to maintain some sort of resemblance of normalcy was by thinking about insignificant things. That way, it didn’t feel like my life was crumbling apart like a pastry.
    Stopping in front of the apartment door, I tipped my head as I put the key in the lock, causing my hair to slide forward into my face. I pushed it back, tucking the mass of tangled waves over my shoulder as I lifted my head, letting out a sigh.
    Things would be okay. They had—
    A sharp shiver shot across my shoulders. It was a feeling so strong that I couldn’t ignore it. It was menacing, heavy and dark. Choking. I was being watched again . As my door inched open, I looked over my shoulder, down the hall.
    There he stood, the man— oh my God! —the man from the parking garage. Not Hunter. The other one.
    The man’s sandy - colored hair appeared lighter in the hallway. He looked harmless standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis, his polo shirt pressed and tucked into his pants. He was a walking—er, standing—and breathing ad for Sears’ menswear. The man caught my eye and smiled tightly.
    A cold breath of fear trickled down my throat.
    Moving quickly, I pushed the door the rest of the way open and locked it behind me as I reached into my purse, digging around for my cell phone. I needed to call the police and I needed to get the hell out of here. My fingers flew over the keypad—
    A hand clamped down on my shoulder, spinning me around. I shrieked as my bag slipped from my arm, hitting the carpeted floor.
    I was face to face with the man from the hallway. My brain couldn’t process anything for a second because it was impossible that he was in my apartment. I’d seen him at the end of the hall. No one could move that fast. No one human.
    He’s not human .
    The man’s arm snaked out, knocking the cell phone out of my hand. It hit the nearby wall with enough force that it punched a hole into the plaster and shattered.
    “Sorry,” the man said. “Can’t have you calling the police.”
    Panic poured into me as I backed up, hitting the tiny bar/island of my kitchen counter. “What…what do you want?”
    The same strange, tight smile never faded from his face. “I think that’s obvious by now.”
    It was. Every part of me recognized that this was a life - or - death situation. It didn’t matter how this man had gotten into my apartment so quickly, only that he was here to kill. And I knew why—because of Mel , and because of what I’d seen in the garage.
    My muscles locked up as adrenaline pumped through my veins. Instinct took over. Hell no, I wasn’t going to die in this crappy apartment. Screw. That.
    I reached behind me blindly, fingers hitting the edge of a four-slot toaster. Not the best weapon, but it would have to do. I tore it from the wall and launched it at the assailant. Not a girlie throw, either. I played softball all through high school and even coached a rec league a few years in college.
    That kind of throw would do some damage.
    Except the toaster…it didn’t hit the man. It…it stopped in midair, frozen there as if someone pushed pause on time.
    My breath punched out of my lungs. “Holy shit.”
    “Throwing isn’t nice.” He waved his hand