The Stranger Behind My Orgasm novel Chapter 119

Chapter 119: BREAKING IN

Abigail

Three things to know before breaking into a murderer’s house.

Yeah, I had no idea what those three things were, it just sounded like a really good book title.

The elevator in Gavin’s building smelled like mold and that would because of the happy molds growing in one corner of the walls. My skin almost turned inside out with disgust. How were people living in this biohazard of a building?

The metal door groaned like some Frankenstein beast as it opened on the fourth floor.

I might as well be in a horror movie at this rate. I gingerly stepped out of the elevator, swallowing the lump of fear clogging my throat.

The corridor was dim, with only one overhead light and that bulb was flickering. The tiles in the hallway were broken and smashed in several places.

Water stains mapped the ceiling in ugly brown rings and someone’s bicycle was chained to their door.

Unit 4C was at the end.

I pulled the device that would help bypass the lock on the door out, tapped the button like Annette had shown me, and held it against the electronic reader on Gavin’s door. The device hummed quietly and the reader blinked green.

I reached for the handle.

"What exactly are you doing?"

I spun around, eyes wide in shock.

An elderly woman stood two doors away in a brown and white checkered housecoat. Her door was open a few inches, her small sunken eyes looked as sharp as pins behind those thick glasses.

She was small, barely up to my shoulders if I were to stand beside her but I knew she could whoop my ass any day like Meemaw.

I straightened, pocketing the device quickly and gave her a wobbly smile. "Hi ma’am,"

"Don’t ’hi ma’am’ me." She pushed the door open wider. "I asked what you’re doing at that man’s door. I’m the one who asked for maintenance, not him."

I glanced down at my dress. How had she mistaken me for someone from maintenance?

She pushed the door fully open and stepped into the corridor in some bawdy green slippers, pointing at me with one finger.

"Do you have any idea how long I’ve been calling that useless landlord? Three weeks. I’ve been calling about the pipe under my sink, the light in my bathroom and the draught coming through the window and nobody has come."

"I’m sorry about that," I mumbled, feeling rather awful that she got to live in a run down place like this.

"Oh, don’t give me that," She stomped her feet childishly. "Now you show up and you go to his door first?" She gestured at 4C, scoffing in annoyance.

"That weird man’s door? He doesn’t even put his rubbish out properly."

Oh gosh, could I keep her? She was adorable.

Too bad I had like eight minutes before I got into some serious shit.

"I completely understand your frustration," I smiled warmly, taking one small step toward Gavin’s door. "And I am so sorry it’s taken this long,"

"Three weeks."

"Three weeks, damn, that’s completely unacceptable,"

"It’s worse kid. The pipe makes a sound like a dying cat at three in the morning." She folded her arms. "I haven’t slept properly since Tuesday."

Mother of all disgusting things!

After searching the entire place for some five long minutes, I moved back to the living room. On the wall above the television, in the middle of all the grime, chaos and disgusting smell was a painting.

A freaking painting. It looked completely out of place in this apartment the way a diamond would be out of place in a gutter.

It had to be for hiding something.

I crossed it and lifted it off the wall. Behind it, cut into the plaster of the wall, was a hole. The size of a shoebox, maybe, and inside the hole was a phone.

I knew it before I picked it up. It had a dark blue case with a crack across the bottom left corner

Raymond Cole’s phone.

My hands trembled as I picked it up. It was switched off. That was why Annette couldn’t track the number. I pressed the power button down, the screen lit up with the startup sequence and then the lock screen showed up.

Well ", crap. I didn’t know the password. Trying the password would waste time. I couldn’t take the phone to Annette and return in time before the man arrived from wherever he went.

I turned the phone over and pried the back case off carefully. The tracker was the size of a coat button. I pressed it against the inside of the case, directly behind the battery, and snapped the cover back into place.

Just then my phone rang, flashing Annette’s name on the screen. I picked it up immediately.

"Hello, is he-"

"Abigail!"

The call cut dead and my stomach dropped.

Shit.