I shoved the book inside my suit jacket.

He nodded his head in approval. At least, I thought it was a nod. Then his eyes glazed over and flickered closed.

“No.” I grabbed his jacket. “No. Don’t you dare. Abraham. Wake up. Oh God. Don’t-”

His head slumped to the side.

“No! No, please-”

“Let him go.”

“Yikes!” I snatched my hands away. Abraham sagged to the floor. I stared at my hands. They were covered in blood. I screamed again.

“That’s enough. Stand up and move away from him.”

I whipped my head around. The frowning man from upstairs stood at the door holding a gun pointed directly at me.

And yeah, he was still frowning.

I stared, unable to move. The lights were too bright. Shards of color twirled like kaleidoscopes at the edges of my vision. Frowning Man waved the gun as if to catch my attention, but he was getting blurry.

I felt myself sway. And everything faded to black.

Calloused hands pushed my hair back from my forehead.

“Women,” a male voice muttered in scorn.

I groaned.

“Wake up, now.” The voice was clipped, British, impatient. It had to be the frowning man. Who else? From his tone I imagined he wasn’t exactly beaming at me.

He patted my cheek. “Come on, snap out of it.” He smelled like heaven. Manly and warm with a hint of green forest and a touch of leather and-

He slapped my cheek a little too vigorously. “I know you’re awake. Come on now. That’s it. Come about.”

Come about?

“I’m not a boat,” I grumbled, and shifted away from him. There were cushions beneath me. A couch. How’d I get on a couch?

“Good, you’re awake.” He gave me another smack for good measure and I managed to reach up and grab his hand.

With one eye opened, I glared at him. “Stop hitting me.”

“Ah. You’re feeling better.”

“No thanks to you.” I pushed my way up to a sitting position. “Where am I?”