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  “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “That’s everything.”

  “Turn around.”

  Fuck. Layla was gasping for air, no breath reaching her lungs. They had seized up. Was he going to shoot her in the back? Leave her for dead.

  “Please.”

  “Turn around!” He was leaning toward her, his horrible masked face too close, the image of the evil clown’s smiling face terrifying. He raised his hand as if he might hit her again, so she spun away from him quickly.

  She turned to face the wall and closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of the gun. Trying to prepare herself for the pain of the bullet ripping through her. How badly would it hurt?

  Layla wasn’t sure how many minutes passed before she realized she was alone, the gunman gone.

  Slowly, she glanced over her shoulder. The bell above the door to the shop hadn’t tinkled, so Pennywise must have escaped through the same back door, exiting to the alley.

  The second she confirmed she was alone, her shaking legs gave way and she dropped to her knees on the floor, leaning forward on her hands as she fell apart, sobbing loudly, uncontrollably, her entire body quivering.

  When every last tear was spent, she reached around on the counter above her until she felt her phone. Pulling it down to the floor with her—she wasn’t capable of standing—she called 911.

  She gave the dispatcher her name and address, grateful when the woman continued to talk to her, to comfort her as Layla waited for the police to arrive. She said goodbye to the dispatcher when she heard the sirens and saw the flashing lights of the patrol car parking right outside the coffee shop.

  Layla fought to pull herself to her feet, walking toward the front door to unlock it.

  A police officer entered, gun drawn. “Did you place the call?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Is the assailant still here?”

  Layla shook her head. “I think he left through the back door.”

  Another police car arrived, two more officers entering.

  “Check the back,” the first officer instructed. “Suspect left that way. How long ago did he leave?” he asked Layla.

  She shrugged. She’d lost all track of time. “I—I don’t know.”

  “See if you can catch his trail,” he directed the other two. “What’s your name?” the officer asked.

  “Layla Moretti.” She struggled to say her own name, her mouth was bone-dry, her lips suddenly chapped. Had she cried out every drop of water in her body?

  “Okay, Layla. I’m Officer Garcia. Miguel. Why don’t you come over here and sit down for a second?”

  Layla let the kind officer guide her to one of the tables. She dropped down heavily, resting her elbows on her knees, fighting a wave of nausea as she recalled the gun pointed directly at her.

  “Where are the lights?” Miguel asked.

  “On the wall next to the kitchen door.”

  He walked behind the counter and turned on the lights. She watched him taking in the shop, studying the open cash register, glancing around for other evidence. Then he came back to her, his eyes narrowing when he saw her.

  He pointed to her cheek. “What happened?”

  “He hit me.”

  Miguel looked angry, which was strangely comforting to her. She’d felt so alone and defenseless a few minutes earlier. Now there was someone here who cared that she’d been hurt. Even if he didn’t know her from Adam.

  “Do you need medical assistance? Should I call for an ambulance?”

  She shook her head quickly, touching her cheek. Until Miguel pointed it out, she’d forgotten about the slap. Now she was aware of the pinpricks of pain in her cheek.

  “You said he. It was a man who broke in? Just one?”

  Layla nodded as she licked her lips. It didn’t help.

  Miguel seemed to understand her problem. Walking back to the counter, he reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water.

  “Here. Drink that. It’ll help.” He handed the water to her, then claimed the other chair at the table, pulling a notebook from his pocket.

  Layla drained the entire bottle of water as Miguel waited patiently.

  “Better?”

  She nodded numbly. While the panic was starting to subside, it occurred to her she was suddenly very cold. “It was just one man. He came in from the back door.”

  “Was the door unlocked?”

  “No. I never leave it unlocked.”

  He smiled at her. “Good for you. Was anyone else here?”

  “Just me. The other guy who was scheduled to work got sick and left early.”

  “Can you describe the man?”

  “Pennywise.”

  “What?” Miguel asked.

  “I couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a Pennywise mask.”

  Miguel winced. “Shit. That’s one scary-ass clown.”

  Layla laughed, just a quick, brief bark of mirth, that prompted Miguel to smile.

  “You’re going to be just fine, Layla,” he said.

  Layla’s smile faded as she clasped her freezing-cold hands together, trying to find some warmth. “He had a gun.”

  Miguel put down the pen he was writing with and reached his hand out to her, simply holding it open, palm up. She accepted the unspoken invitation, sliding her shaking one into his. He squeezed her hand, trying to offer her comfort. “You’re safe now, Layla. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  She tried to let those words soak in. “I thought he was going to shoot me. Going to kill me.”

  Miguel’s sympathetic smile and soft eyes calmed her as much as his hand gripping hers, and his next words were spoken firmly, confidently. “We’re going to find the son of a bitch and he’s going to pay for scaring you, for hurting you.”

  They sat there together in silence for a few moments, Miguel giving her time to settle her thoughts, her fears.

  “I swear I’m not usually so…weak.”

  Miguel’s grip on her hand tightened. “You aren’t weak, Layla. I’d be worried about you if you weren’t reacting this way. You just went through a very scary experience. I doubted anyone’s ever pointed a loaded gun at you.”

  She shivered as she shook her head.

  He released her hand and picked up his pen once more. “What did he say to you?”

  “He gave me a bag. Told me to put all the money from the cash register in it.”

  “How much did he get?”

  Layla shrugged. “I hadn’t counted it yet, but maybe three, four hundred dollars. There isn’t usually a lot of cash in the register. Most people use debit cards these days.”

  “Have you called the owner of the shop yet?” he asked.

  “I’m the owner.”

  Miguel nodded. “Did the man say anything else?”

  “He told me to turn around. That’s when I thought he was going to shoot me. I don’t know how long I stood there before I realized he was gone.”

  “Was there anything distinctive about his voice? An accent? A speech impediment?”

  She shook her head. “No. But his voice was muffled by the mask, so… I haven’t given you much to work with, have I?”

  “You’re doing just fine, Layla.”

  Before Miguel could ask any more questions, the other two officers appeared from the back.

  “He broke in using a crowbar.”

  “You didn’t hear anything?” Miguel asked her.

  She shook her head. “No, but I cranked the music up pretty loud the last hour to try to keep myself awake.”

  The other officers walked around the counter, the larger of the two speaking. “The alley runs behind all the houses and businesses on this street, with countless outlets. He could’ve taken one of twenty-five possible routes. We canvassed the area. There’s a shop about four doors down with a security camera in the back. If the guy went that direction, there’s a chance we’ve got some footage of him.”

  Miguel nodded, sighing heavily, and Layla got a sense he wasn�
��t holding out much hope for that. “Can you and Higson secure the back of the shop for the night?”

  “Sure thing.”

  The two officers left them alone again.

  “I’m going to need you to come down to the precinct to give a signed statement, but that can wait until tomorrow. Do you have a car outside?”

  Layla shook her head. “No. My apartment is just a few blocks away. I walk to work.”

  She bit her lip nervously. She hadn’t felt unsafe walking home any night, but now…well, she didn’t like the idea of walking home tonight alone.

  “I’ll take you,” Miguel said. “Make sure you get there safely.”

  “Thanks.” Layla went back to the counter to retrieve her purse. The thief hadn’t even thought to ask about that. She lifted it up. “He didn’t ask for my money.”

  “He wanted to get in and out fast, and apparently he’d gotten enough.”

  “Enough?”

  “He was probably looking for drug money.”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  “You ready?” he asked. “The other officers will make sure the back door is secure enough for the night, until you can get someone here tomorrow to fix it. And I’ll make sure someone does a drive-by every hour or so to check on the place. You might want to think about getting a security system, or at the very least, an alarm on that back door.”

  “I have a friend who can help me with that.”

  Miguel led Layla to his patrol car, opening the passenger door for her before crossing to the driver’s side. She gave him directions to her apartment, the two of them riding in silence. Layla kept sneaking sideways glances at the young cop. If she had to guess, she would say he was probably about her age, though tonight, he seemed decades older than her, an adult to her trembling child.

  He was biracial, with dark eyes and equally dark hair that he wore close-cropped, and he was clean-shaven. He was several inches taller than her and in great physical shape. She could see the muscles in his arms even beneath the stiff polyester of his uniform.

  Layla blinked a few times, then rubbed her eyes. Exhaustion was setting in fast, yet the idea of walking into her dark apartment alone scared the hell out of her.

  When they arrived, she hesitated for just a moment, looking up at the dark windows of her apartment. It was just long enough for Miguel to realize what was wrong. He opened his door, then hers.

  “Come on. I’ll do a quick search of your apartment for you. Make sure there aren’t any monsters hiding under the bed.”

  She laughed. “It’s not the monsters I’m worried about. It’s the evil clowns.”

  “Completely justified fear. Those things scare the shit out of me too.”

  Miguel followed her upstairs, then, true to his word, he walked around her apartment as she turned on every single light in the place, checking each room and even peeking under her bed.

  “All clear.”

  She was grateful for his kindness and feeling much safer now that he’d looked around.

  He gave her his card. “There’s my number if you remember anything else or if you have any questions. Don’t forget to stop by the precinct tomorrow to make a statement and sign it.”

  “I won’t.”

  He turned to leave, but Layla called out his name, stopping him.

  “Miguel?”

  “Yeah?” he said, facing her again.

  She stepped toward him quickly, wrapping her arms around his waist, aware she was still shaking.

  Miguel’s hands landed on her waist for a moment. He was probably shocked by her impromptu hug. Then they slid around her back, embracing her as well.

  “Thank you for everything.” The side of her face was pressed against his brick wall of a chest, covered with Kevlar.

  “You’re welcome.” He held her for a second longer before stepping away. He gave her a friendly, sweet smile. “You’re okay, Layla. You’re going to be just fine.”

  Chapter Five

  Miguel stood outside the coffee shop, watching as Layla wiped up a table. There were two men working behind the counter, cleaning up as well. He doubted she needed that much help in the shop on a Wednesday night, but it was obvious she was still afraid of being alone at closing time.

  He walked in as she was coming to lock the front door. She heard the bell tinkle and said, “I’m sorry. We’re—” She smiled when she saw Miguel, and he tried to ignore what the genuine happiness he saw reflected on her face did to him.

  “Miguel! Hi.”

  Unfortunately, he’d been running down a couple of leads with Higson when she’d stopped by yesterday morning to sign her statement, and he had been bummed to miss seeing her again. He’d been worried about her, concerned about how she was handling the robbery. She’d obviously been very shaken up.

  “Wanted to come by and check on you. Meant to stop in last night at closing time, but got called to break up a domestic dispute and by the time that was dealt with, you’d already locked up and gone home.”

  “That’s so sweet of you.”

  Layla had the prettiest brown eyes Miguel had ever seen. It was the first thing he’d noticed after he’d turned on the lights in the coffee shop and gotten a good look at her. She had soulful eyes that expressed her emotions in such a way, they pulled at his heartstrings. The night of the robbery, they’d been scared, sad. Tonight, they twinkled.

  He lightly brushed her cheek with the back of his finger. “Doesn’t look like it bruised too badly.”

  She shrugged. “Foundation and concealer work magic.”

  Miguel was looking forward to the day they caught this bastard. He was going to make sure to exact a little extra revenge on the man for hitting Layla.

  “So…” she started. “What are you up to?”

  “I just got off duty.”

  “No uniform?”

  “Changed clothes at the precinct. I’m heading home now, but wanted to check on you.”

  “Um. I was wondering if you’d had dinner yet.”

  He shook his head. “No. I worked through it. Got some leftover pizza in my fridge. Planned on reheating that in the microwave.”

  She pointed to the glass counter where just a few sandwiches remained. “I had half a chicken salad around four and I’m starving. Would you want to go out to eat with me? My treat. After all, you were my hero the other night. Showing up to catch the bad guy, checking for clowns under my bed.”

  He chuckled. “That’s my job, Layla.”

  “I’m pretty new in town and my best friend is out of town this week. I just thought…having some company…um, might…but if you’re busy…”

  He grinned at her nervousness. It appeared Layla didn’t usually invite men out for dates. “I’d love to grab dinner with you. But you’re not paying. There’s a great little place with outdoor seating by the waterfront. It’s the perfect fall night—not too hot, not too cold. What do you think?”

  “Sounds nice. I’d love to go there with you.”

  Miguel waited until her employees left, then helped her lock up the coffee shop. They crossed the sidewalk together. He stopped in front of his motorcycle. “Afraid I don’t own a car, but I do have an extra helmet,” he said, gesturing to the Harley. “If you don’t like motorcycles, we can Uber to the restaurant.”

  Layla’s eyes widened. “You have a motorcycle? Oh my God. Bad boy alert.”

  He laughed. “What?”

  “I’ve always wanted to ride on one.”

  “So why haven’t you?” he asked, amused by her enthusiasm.

  “Because all the men in my family are crazy overprotective. If a guy had ever shown up on a Harley, they would have formed an impenetrable wall at the front door after locking me in the cellar.”

  Miguel was pretty sure she was joking, but… “Let’s have a chat about this family of yours over dinner. I’m trying to decide whether to laugh or put you in protective custody.”

  She giggled. “I wish I could tell you which way to go on that, but the jury’s still
out on my insane family.”

  He lifted the extra helmet. “So I take it we’re going to the restaurant on the motorcycle.”

  “You bet your sweet ass.”

  Miguel put on his helmet and climbed on, steadying the bike as Layla threw her leg over, settling on the seat behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. “Wrap your arms around my waist and hold on tight. This is going to be a fun ride.”

  She did as he said, her wicked grin growing wider. “That’s what she said.”

  Miguel barked out a loud laugh as he started the bike and pulled out onto the street, loving the feel of Layla’s arm circling his middle, her hands clasped together. She’d taken him at his word, holding on like her life depended on it, despite climbing on without hesitation. There was something about her that really called to him.

  He was raised in the ’hood—literally—in the Bronx. His dad had been little more than a sperm donor, cutting and running before he was ever born, so it had just been him, his mom, and his uncle. He’d gotten into some trouble when he’d been younger, falling in with the wrong crowd, hanging out with gang members. If it hadn’t been for his tenacious mother and his New York City cop uncle, constantly kicking his ass, he had no doubt he’d probably be in prison right now.

  He pulled into the restaurant parking lot. It was late enough that the dinner rush was over, so the place was quieter than usual. As such, they were able to get a table on the large patio that overlooked the Inner Harbor.

  Layla ordered a glass of wine and he asked for a beer.

  “Any luck on figuring out who was in the Pennywise mask?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. We’re pretty sure the guy who robbed you is the same one who’s held up four other local businesses over the past few weeks. MO is basically the same. Only thing that changes is the mask. So far, in addition to the Pennywise you met, he’s shown up as a white walker, Michael Myers, Trump, and an old woman.”

  “Guy’s got a sick sense of humor. Still think it’s drug related?”

  “That’s just one of many theories at this point. Guy robs a smaller local business, gets a few hundred bucks. It’s enough for a hit or three. Then a few days later, he robs the next place. The businesses have all been within a ten-block radius, so we think he lives in the area and actually scopes out his next target prior to robbing the place.”