Rising

  Sara flailed and gulped in seawater. The glow from the surface faded to black as the sea enveloped her. It couldn’t be. She’d escaped this nightmare years ago. But here she was, and here she would die, at the bottom of the ocean.

  She sucked in a lungful of air and bolted upright in bed. A cool sweat slicked her hair against her head and dripped down her face as she continued to inhale quick gasps.

  No matter how many times she’d had the same old nightmare, it always scared the life out of her. She ran her fingers through her damp hair. Her body continued to shake. Looking down, she realized she wore yesterday’s clothes.

  What had happened last night? She remembered her horrid first date, but she couldn’t recall how she had gotten home. Maybe she’d passed out from an overdose of idiocy dealt out by Ron.

  It was possible.

  Something twisted in her gut and she felt some lingering remnants of fear. She pushed them away. She couldn’t deal with forgotten memories right now—especially unpleasant ones. She just couldn’t. Besides, she had other things to worry about, like the $27.00 that wouldn’t last the week. She had work to do.

  Three hours later, she’d completed several new web pages. Ron briefly passed through her mind. Something told her there would be no second date with him. Thank heavens.

  Wheeling over to the refrigerator, Sara grabbed a bottle of water and an apple. As she lifted the apple to her mouth, a knock at the door startled her. The apple slipped from her fingers, bounced once, and then rolled under the kitchen table.

  Oh great. That was her last apple. She had to go the grocery store today.

  Sara wheeled over to the door and leaned toward the peephole Mr. Brown had lowered for her. Good thing he did, she would never answer her door otherwise. Not that she had many visitors—well, except for Gretchen. But her best friend was at school today and Sara wasn’t expecting anyone. A girl could never be too careful.

  Peeping through the hole, Sara scowled, confused at the inky black on the other side. Was someone covering the lens?

  She should just pretend not to be home.

  “Miss. Taylor, this is Mr. Dimitriou,” a deep, muffled voice said. “I’m the new owner of the apartment building. I just wanted to introduce myself to each of my tenants.”

  New owner? Mr. Brown sold the building? Maybe she should open the door. She didn’t want to offend her new landlord. He might raise her rent or evict her. Of course, if he came in here and murdered her, who cared how much her rent was?

  She carefully analyzed the situation. His voice sounded normal—no slurring, stuttering, laughing. His accent though. She couldn’t place it. Of course, she was no linguist, but she could make out the usual—Tongan, Samoan, Australian, Japanese…

  She tried the peephole again. The stranger moved and she finally got a look at him.

  Oh good heavens, he looked like “The Assassin”. She remembered he went by Shane Adams now. What would a movie star/pro-wrestler be doing buying a dilapidated apartment building?

  Yeah, right. He wouldn’t. This man stood massive—very tall, broad in the shoulders, and narrow at the waist. His shirt pulled snug over his chiseled muscles. He wore wide, gold bands around his biceps, like something you’d see on a Roman soldier, except the Romans wore them on their wrists. How odd.

  “Miss. Taylor, I heard you in there. If you aren’t comfortable opening to me, I could bring a police officer—just to let you know I am who I say. I don’t want you to think I’m threatening you in anyway. I know it must be frightening to have a big stranger knock on the door when you live alone.”

  His voice shook with nervousness.

  He didn’t sound like a murderer. Besides, given the sheer size of the man, if he wanted to kill her, he could kick her flimsy door in.

  Sara sighed and looked heavenward. “Okay, if I die, I die,” she said quietly as she lowered her gaze back on the door. She cracked it open and looked out.

  She had to wheel back quickly when Mr. Dimitriou reached out and pushed open her door. He stepped in and shut the door behind him. “Hello.” He spoke low, his voice as cold as his icy smile. It drove a chill down her spine, raising goose bumps on her back. Letting him in wasn’t just a grave mistake, it was lethal. The word sliced through her mind.

  Sara looked up into his slate black eyes. This wasn’t Shane Adams, although there were similarities in his coloring and muscular build. His size was surreal. He towered above her like a giant. Despite his size, his face was boyish and strikingly handsome, much more handsome than the actor she’d mistaken him for. His black hair was short, but long enough to curl around the edges. He looked young for an apartment owner—mid-twenties, maybe.

  His undeniable good looks didn’t make him any less terrifying. He smiled, showing a nice row of white teeth. For a split second, an image of shark’s teeth flashed through her mind.

  He looked at her expectantly. Was she supposed to say something? She was too frightened to speak at the moment.

  She’d only blinked but, in that split second, she suddenly found his face inches from hers. “You have blue eyes,” he said. It came out sounding like an accusation.

  Sara jumped. Then she realized what he’d said. This man was dangerous and insane. She struggled to speak, too shaken up to find her voice. She soon gave up and simply nodded.

  Where in the world had she put her purse? She would feel so much better with a can of pepper spray in her hand.

  His eyes bored into hers. He looked her up and down in a very careful, very thorough inspection as confusion crinkled his brow. The scent coming off him was mildly distracting—warm, musky, like an ocean breeze. Very appealing, unlike his grimace.

  His eyes opened wide in shock as he rattled off expletives in whatever language he spoke.

  This man belonged in a straightjacket and locked in a padded room.

  He paused as if he didn’t know what to say. Sara sat very still, in spite of the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She wanted to move, but being confined to a wheelchair, she certainly couldn’t move fast enough to escape this hulking man.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but blue eyes are basically nonexistent where I come from. I’m still surprised when I see them.”

  Their eyes locked and his expression warmed. Soon she felt pretty warm herself. He really was a sight to behold—tall, ripped, with olive skin. The kind of man who could make a woman swoon with just a glance and a smile.

  Sara had never before been overly concerned with how she looked, but, at the moment, she was very self-conscience. She wore a simple, fitted, baby blue t-shirt. She’d put on some makeup this morning (thank heavens), and her black hair draped down her back. His warm gaze melted into an intense heat. She found herself overcome with the intensity in his gaze, and didn’t know which was stronger, her fear or excitement.

  Excitement. Definitely excitement, she decided.

  He stiffened, cleared his throat, and shook his head. He muttered a foreign word—she had a feeling it was a swear word.

  What was she thinking? She shook herself from her own crazy thoughts. One minute she was terrified for her life and the next she was getting hot over the man who might be her murderer. That just wasn’t right, regardless of how insanely hot he was.

  He stood silent for several moments as she waited for him to speak. He cleared his throat. “Look,” he said, “I need to inform you that now that I own the building, there will be a few changes around here.

  “First of all, I’ve decided I’ll be giving notice of eviction to several tenants.”

  What was he saying? Tenants? Eviction? Could he be her landlord after all? Then his words sank in and her heart dropped. This didn’t sound good for her.

  “Will I be one of them? Are you evicting me?”

  “Oh, no, no.” His face softened as he shook his head. “You’ll stay. I just don’t like the negative element that exists in this building. I have a very good nose for crime and a zero tolerance.”
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  He looked around her apartment, as if to inspect it. She felt a quick surge of pride. She kept her apartment immaculate. He’d approve. There was no way he couldn’t. But when he turned back toward her, she had to re-evaluate her opinion. He obviously didn’t approve of it. He shook his head and glanced her way. If he were her mother, she’d swear his next words would be, “What am I going to do with you?”

  He paused for a moment. “I’ll be sending workers in to replace your front door and windows, add more secure locks, and install a security system in your apartment.”

  Sara’s jaw dropped. “Um, isn’t that awfully expensive? I mean, are you sure you want to go to the trouble? You won’t be raising my rent, will you?” Her thoughts jumbled as questions tumbled from her lips. She couldn’t afford the apartment as it was. There was no way she could afford more. And she’d live in a tent before she’d go back to her mother.

  “No, not at all,” he answered. She assumed he was answering her last question.

  He smoothly strolled over to the table—so smoothly he practically glided. Maybe his mother had made him practice walking with a book on his head. She almost smiled as she pictured him doing just that.

  He bent down, picked her apple up off the floor, and handed it to her. “Thank you,” she said, surprised.

  “Isn’t it difficult for you to prepare your meals in this kitchen?” he asked, placing his hand on the counter.

  That question surprised her even more than the apple. “Yes, but I’m used to it. I’ve never known different.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “No. My mother didn’t think it worth the lower resale value. Besides, I could manage.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if your counters were lower?”

  “I guess it would.” She shrugged. “But you can’t think to make such a drastic and expensive change for me.”

  “I’ll have them switched out by next week.”

  “But sir, wouldn’t that make this apartment difficult to rent in the future?”

  “Miss Taylor, I own this building and I’ll do as I wish. I’d appreciate it if you would stop instructing me.”

  Was she doing that? Okay, maybe a little. “I’m sorry Mr.…” Oh shoot. She’d forgotten his name. It was his fault for having such an unusual name.

  “Dimitriou,” he said. “Now, you will stop worrying about me raising your rent or evicting you. I will make changes as I see fit and you will remain here as long as you desire, paying the same amount of rent you have been paying all along. Is that clear?”

  Boy, what a change from when he’d first stepped through her door. She’d thought she was staring death in the eye. He was still a force to be reckoned with, but now he seemed to be looking out for her. She didn’t know what to think about that. Mr. Dimitriou didn’t even know her. What were his motives? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t about to trust him. Still, she answered him with a clear, “Yes, sir.”