She now read onhis chest the name Freddie. She wrinkled her nose. It wasn’t a particularlyFrench name. “Did the landlord send you?” she asked. She kept the door open,wide enough so it wasn’t rude, but she still stood in the way, one hand bracedagainst the frame in a sort of protective posture, preparing to shut it if shesensed anything awry.
But the man wassmiling now. He made eye contact, held it, and said, “Yes, just routine. I’msupposed to check on the pipes. I hear there’s been a leak.”
She frowned andbegan to shake her head, but then hesitated. “Not aware I am that of,” shesaid, slowly. “I did—no, sorry, did not—hmm, yes, did not ask foranything.” She struggled to find the words in French, but managed to eventuallycomplete the sentence to her satisfaction.
The young man gazedat her in an expression of confusion. He had a very pleasant face with nearlyfeminine features. His cheeks dimpled when he smiled, and the slope of his nosewas smooth and cherubic. He displayed kind eyes with the suggestion of crow’sfeet at the corners; perhaps he wasn’t as young as he first looked.
“I do believeit was the downstairs complaining about a leak coming from your bathroom,” hesaid in slow French. Obviously he detected her accent, and was trying tocommunicate as best he could. He spoke the language perfectly, but with a bitof a regional dialect—like the difference between a Texan and a Californian.His words came in a musical, disarming sort of way.
Slowly, Shiloahpushed the door open a bit more. He made no aggressive moves, his hands now athis waist, his toolbox still resting on the banister.
“Someonedownstairs said there’s a leak?” she asked.
He wincedapologetically and nodded. “Through the ceiling; there’s mold. I can come backlater. I’ll go talk to the landlord if you want.”
She paused, thenquickly shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary.” The last thing sheneeded was to cause trouble on her first week as a tenant. After all thetrouble she’d gone through for months arguing with her mother about the move,she couldn’t stomach the thought of being evicted.
She steppedaside, smiling at the dimple-faced man. The crow’s feet in the corners of hisyoung eyes bunched up as he returned the expression. Yes, she thought toherself, perhaps he wasn’t as young as he first seemed.
He had long hairpulled back in a ponytail beneath his hat, and he stepped past, nodding at heras he maneuvered into the apartment. He really was quite handsome.
The man hitchedhis belt, hefting the toolbox, and pointed toward the hall. “Bathroom?” heasked.
“Yes. Just thatway.”
He tipped hishat politely. “You’re sure this is okay?” he asked. “I’m happy to speak withthe landlord. I can come by later. Maybe when you’re not here if you’d prefer.”
Shiloah thoughtabout it for a moment. She knew what her mother would say. But she also knewwhat her friends would think of her. Coming to live in another country wasanything but the action of someone who made decisions out of fear. She set herfeet and jutted her chin, summoning courage in her chest. “No, I’m fine. Thankyou for coming. The bathroom is the first on the right. It should be clean. I’veonly just arrived.”
“Oh?” he asked,raising his eyebrows at her. “To Paris? I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,but you speak with a bit of an accent.”
She shook herhead. “No, that’s not offensive at all. I just moved from the United States;Illinois. A few days ago.”
The man gave alittle chuckle. “Oh, in that case, a special welcome to you. Say, if you’d likeI could tell you some of the best places to visit in Paris. It’s a wonderfulcity, this.”
Shiloah foundherself relaxing, and she moved over and shut the door behind her. Shehesitated, but decided not to lock it. Then she gestured toward the bathroomagain, and he moved on, whistling quietly beneath his breath.
She regarded himfor minute from the doorway as he set down his toolbox and opened the cabinetbeneath the sink; he began adjusting some of the plastic couplings. Not onlywas he handsome, but he was built especially well too. She found her eyeslingering, moving up and down; then, just as quickly, she felt her cheeks warm,and she quickly decided to move away. “I’ll be in my room. Let me know if youneed anything.”
He didn’t sayanything and returned to whistling beneath his breath while he worked. It was avery pretty song.
Returning to herroom, Shiloah sat down at her desk chair listening to the quiet clatter and tapof metal tools against porcelain. The sound of whistling seemed to echo inrhythm with the tools. For the next few minutes, she listened quietly, but thenglanced down at her phone as another buzz caught her attention.
It was a newmessage from the moderator of the expat community. Shiloah frowned. It saidsomething about being careful. There was a killer in Paris targeting Americanwomen.
Shiloah pausedfor a moment. The sounds from the bathroom continued, still ushered out by aquiet whistling. She felt a cold shiver as she reread the message. Thekiller is targeting Americans. She swallowed, and then moved from herbedroom.
“Excuse me,” shesaid, hesitantly. “Perhaps it might be better if you do talk to the landlord.Maybe you could come back tomorrow. I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother,but I just want to make sure…”
She trailed offas she approached the bathroom door. The quiet tapping of the tools and thewhistling had a soothing effect, but as she entered the doorway of thebathroom, her comments faltered in her throat.
The bathroom wasempty. She could still hear the whistling, and the toolbox sat open on thefloor. It didn’t have any tools in it, though. In fact, as she stared into thecase, she realized it wasn’t a toolbox at all. Her eyes narrowed as she peereddown, and she couldn’t quite understand what she was seeing.
“What in the…”she began, and then her eyes flitted to the sink. There, resting on theporcelain counter, was a small recording device. The sounds of whistling andtapping continued to emit from the small, black speakers.
“Freddie?” Shebegan to turn, the slow
