The
doorbell rang, jerking Seth back to the present. Shutting his laptop, he made
his way to the front door, grumbling about another interruption. As he turned
the deadbolt, he wondered why no one had buzzed him from the security desk
downstairs, but that didn’t pop into his head until he opened the door and
stared into the now familiar face of Owen Lightfoot.
He
was wearing a Jimmy John’s hat and vest and holding up one of their bags.
“Lunch?” he offered cheerily.
Reflexively,
Seth said, “Wrong apartment.”
“Is
that the way to greet an old friend?”
“You’re
no friend of mine.”
“Well,
at least we agree on something.”
“You
need to go.” Seth attempted to close the door, but Owen was quicker than a
weasel and just as intent on his target. Blocking the door with what looked
like a size-sixteen boot, he shoved his way past Seth, muttering, “Out of my
way, blondie.”
“What
do you want?” Seth asked. To his own ears, he sounded fearless, but his heart
was banging against his chest and a part of him wanted to shout for help. But
he knew that terror was an accelerant for bullies, and Owen was a prime example
of that vile breed. Furthermore, he had no idea if the surveillance team was
even in place. Perhaps he had to rethink his opinion of Owen’s IQ. This was the
second time he’d managed to squeak through a purportedly secure building. Bryce
would be livid!