ANNA

 

After what seems like forever running, it's refreshing to be able to take a break. I lock my eyes with Zane in front of me. And he's looking at me in a way that makes me believe he wants to devour me.

I would be okay with that.

But right now I just need to rest and clear my head. I drop a hand to hold steady at my waist as I turn and take stock of the room. It's bigger than my apartment. There is a full-scale kitchen, a small dining area with a table big enough for six, and a living room with a large flat screen TV. On the right wall, there are three doors.

If I didn't know any better, I would say someone has been living here. While the room itself is clean and tidy, there are a few things out of place. Namely, there are dishes in the sink. I step over into the kitchen to get a better look. There is water inside two bowls that sit in the sink. I step to the refrigerator next and peel open the door. I’m hit with a quick burst of cold air and revel in the way it breezes against my hot skin.

My eyes bulge with excitement.

A six-pack of beer and a bottle of whiskey.

With my hand held sturdy at the top of the refrigerator door, I crane my head over my shoulder with a smile and question Zane, “Beer or whiskey?”

“Who says I want either?” He crosses his arms over each other and steps forward. "I'm on the job."

"Well, this job might kill you." I shrug and reach for a bottle of beer to set it on the counter. "You need to relax, take a breather." I reach back into the refrigerator and grab the bottle of whiskey before grabbing a rum glass from the cabinet to my left.

Zane steps to the counter and palms the bottle of beer in his hand. I cast him a knowing grin while I search through the freezer for some ice. It dampens my mood just a little bit to know that I will be drinking whiskey without ice. But I'm a big girl, and this won't be the first time or the last I've ever drank whiskey without the rocks.

I fill the glass to the brim and then jump backwards so that my ass lands on the counter with my legs swaying, kicking against the cabinet doors beneath me. Zane pops the cap off the top of the bottle, using the ledge of the counter as a makeshift bottle opener. Beer fizzles out the top of the bottle before he tilts it to his mouth and takes a long gulp.

For some reason, maybe because I’m weird, I watch his throat tense as the beer slides down his throat. He drops his head and sets the bottle on the counter and lets out a quiet burp.

"That's cute."

"Sorry about that," he says lowly, embarrassed even. "How is the whiskey?"

I look down at the glass of whiskey. So far, it's remained untouched. My mouth is literally watering to taste it, but for some reason I can't bring myself to do it. I think it's because I know it will lower my inhibitions and right now, I need to be alert.

“Come on," he says, elbowing me playfully. “You're the one who said I needed to take a breather." He shrugs with a grin. "So go on, take a breather."

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Zane?”

I finally take a short sip of whiskey. The alcohol burns against the back of my throat, and I more than welcome the feeling. I shift my gaze back to Zane. "Trying to take advantage of me?”

“Seriously?" He frowns. "I'd like to think you know me better than that."

"I do." I drop from the counter and land on my feet, placing the glass of whiskey onto the granite surface. “I know that more than anyone.” I step towards him and place a hand softly against his muscular chest. I tilt my head upwards and stare into those deep, dark, stormy emerald eyes. A half-hitched grin wrinkles across my lips. "I was only joking.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured.” He scratches nervously at the back of his head and chews into his lip. “This is a nice setup.” His eyes search the room as if he's taking it in for the first time.

I take the opportunity to look around the room once more, and I can't believe that a panic room is this big. I can't believe that a panic room is this nice, to be honest. The only experience I have with these rooms is from that Jodie Foster movie. And that thing was relatively small, certainly nowhere near as gargantuan as this space.

If these things are as safe as I've heard, then we should be able to hide out here long enough for the men downstairs to give up. That's probably asking too much, though. These people are too dead set on whatever it is that they have going on. I don't see a scenario where they simply give up. That realization sinks in, causing my stomach to drop deep into my gut.

Just then, it's like a light bulb goes off in my head. My eyes search frantically around the room, looking for a phone. But to my eyes, there is no landline in the room. And even if we could get the cell phone unlocked that Zane stole from the man in the elevator, I imagine with the steel walls, that there would be no reception.

I glance at the digital monitor beside the door and race forward to check it out. Flashing on the screen, it says, System Alarmed.

I slide my finger across the screen causing the warning to go away. The screen lights up with four different squares. They are listed as Alarm, Music, Connect, and Security.

It seems odd to me that there is a dedicated space on the main menu to play music. I mean, is that even something people think about when they are forced to use a panic room? But then again, this isn't just any other panic room. It's basically a full-scale luxurious apartment and, to be honest, I could probably live here.

I press the Connect button, hoping to be able to access a phone so I can dial out. A warning flashes on the screen, Communication Systems Down.

“Shit,” I sigh heavily. “We’re going to die in here.”

One of Zane’s palms falls upon my shoulder, caressing me softly and comforting me. I lean back into his touch because he makes me feel safe even when I feel like my world is about to end. Even when I feel like I'm not going to survive the day. There's something about the way he touches me and the way he looks at me. Something about the way he can just make me feel safe in any given circumstance.

He reaches over my shoulder and presses the Security button.

A grid-like menu of surveillance cameras pops up on the screen. Each of them is focused on a different part of the building. To the left, there is a menu so that we can sort through the individual cameras. Zane steps past me and began searching through the menu. He selects the 27th floor and then selects the button for conference room 27A, which is the room that we found the panic room in.

I take a measured step back. On the display is four men with semi-automatic rifles searching through the room. One of the men is Mitch and he steps towards the wall with the secret door. He brushes his hand against the wall causing the secret door to slide out of the way. With a smile, he cocks his head over his shoulder and gestures for his men to follow him.

"What are we going to do?" I question nervously to Zane.

He exhales harshly and shakes his head. “I don't know."

I reach to him and guide my hand down his back. “Let's just hope that they can't get inside. I mean, isn't that the whole point of these rooms?"

He takes two steps backwards and his eyes switch between watching the monitors and watching the door ahead of us. I can practically hear the pounding of his heart against his chest as Mitch approaches the outside door.

There is no sound on the security systems, which is a little baffling to me. I would think that would be a key feature. What kind of security system doesn't have sound, especially in the modern age? I swallow a gulp and wait with bated breath as Mitch begins knocking on the door. The steel between us and him is too thick so I can't hear him knocking, I can only see it.

On the screen, he takes a step back and smiles up at the camera. He knows about this room. I begin to wonder if maybe this isn't his apartment of sorts. My eyes switch back to look at the dishes in the sink, and my earlier line of thinking that maybe someone had recently stayed here is now seeming more possible.

On the screen, Mitch and his cronies drop down to the floor as if they are going to wait outside until we come out. But that's not going to happen. Not while they are still there.

It's become a standoff, and I'm just hoping that Zane and I possess enough stamina to win this war of attrition.

# # #

An hour has passed since Mitch first showed up outside the door. Zane and I are situated on the comfortable red leather couch. It's been a mostly quiet hour and I can see the wheels turning in his head. He draws his thumb to his mouth and chews on his fingernail.

My stomach growls even though I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to tolerate food right now without puking it up. My nerves are on fire and it's almost like I could vomit from the nausea. I push my tongue against the inside of my cheek and contemplate my options.

Earlier, I took inventory of the food and drinks in the refrigerator. There is only beer, whiskey, and cola as far as drinks go. And as for food, there are only a few cans of beans and some waffles in the freezer. If Mitch really does live in the space, or at least visits it occasionally, then he must not have much of an appetite.

I can't sit still much longer.

My mind is racing while my body is still, creating an uneasy feeling in my soul. I need to move, so I climb to my feet and begin pacing back and forth along the length of the room. I comb one hand through my hair as I try to think of a way out of this. The only thing I can think of is to try negotiating with Mitch, but I know that would be a hard sell and the only way to negotiate with him would be to open the door since we can't talk to each other. Neither Zane nor I are willing to take that risk.

“You're distracting me,” Zane says from the couch. I stop and stare him down. “I can't think when you're doing that.”

"And I can't think when I'm sitting down." I let out a loud groan and push both hands through the top of my hair and then hold my hands firm against my temples. "We can't stay in here forever."

“I know that.” His eyes trail to me. “We can't stay in here forever. And he can't stay out there forever."

"There has to be something we can do."

He shakes his head furiously, groans and then jumps to his feet. His boots slam against the hardwood floor. For the first time he's showing visible signs that he is annoyed and frustrated. I feel the same exact thing as him, maybe I feel even more strongly than him. After all, I'm not used to these situations. He has survived these kinds of situations before. He's lived through similar danger. This is his job and I'm beyond out of my league.

He bows his head almost sheepishly and the slightest hint of a smile passes over his lips.

"What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing," he says under his breath and chews into his lip. "I was just thinking about something.”

“And what is that?”

“That it's quiet in here.” He furrows one brow, but I don't get what he's trying to say. I know it's quiet in here because I'm in here with him. It's not something he needs to say.

I roll my eyes, slightly annoyed.

He steps to the monitor and swipes his fingers across the screen. The security footage of Mitch outside the door disappears into the bottom right corner of the screen. He flips his finger against the screen again and begins scrolling through the music selections, which doesn't seem to be that vast.

From this distance, I can't see what his selection is. But when the music starts blaring from the speakers built into the wall, I know the song instantly. It's a long forgotten love song from the 80’s with soothing jazz undertones.

He twists around slowly and when his eyes lock with mine, I can no longer pretend.