Chapter 12
12
M ACKENZIE
Earlier
Luckily, the superintendent is home.
After stumbling through a stupid story about why I've locked myself out––I stepped out to check on my neighbor’s cat because I’d heard her meowing on the floor––the super gives me a distrustful look and helps me get back into my apartment.
A sigh drifts out of my chest as I lock the door behind me and move my gaze around the room.
I’m suddenly resentful. There’s no need to be obsessed with this man.He’s upstairs. So what?
I push off the door and stride to the kitchen.
I keep myself busy, drinking coffee and eating a sandwich before taking a shower.
A few good minutes pass as I blow dry my hair and put on new clothes as if getting ready to go outside or have some guests, which almost never happens.
I don’t know what my plan is, or if there is a plan, but Ibrush my hair, put on some mascara and a dab of lipgloss, and try to forget about Callan.
The TV is on mute, and no matter how often I change the channel, I can’t find anything to hold my attention.
Eventually, I give up pretending that I’m not focused on what’s happening upstairs.
I don’t even know what’s worse.
The thought that Callan is upstairs with Carmen, the noise booming in her apartment, or the jerks zipping up the stairs like there’s a fire somewhere.
Normally, this thing should be in my report. But since he’s here, there’s nothing to report to him.
Sighing with frustration, I put my headphones on and listen to music while absently watching TV.
Despite my efforts, the music can’t cancel out the noise upstairs. The vibrations sweeping through the walls make me yank my headphones off and tilt my eyes to the ceiling.
I’d go out if it weren’t so late.
The other problem is that I’m not close to anything that’s open at this hour.
The restaurants and my favorite bookstore are a good twenty-minute walk away from here. Besides, it’s late to get out and wander on the streets.
A soft knock on my door makes me turn to stone.
My place is silent, the upstairs apartment beaming with voices and the irritating noise of shuffling steps.
I shift my eyes to the door.
A firm knock follows.
I zip up, my heart pulsing in my throat.
“Who is it?” I bellow out, trying to muster some courage.
This can’t be good.
The only thing I can think of is that one of Carmen’s guests got lost and pulled up in front of my apartment by mistake.
But that’s the thing.My place is quiet, and the first knock on the door was silent, too.
So, I doubt it’s one of her people.
I move to the door before rising on my toes and unlocking the door at the same time, guided by instinct more than a rational thought.
The door pushes toward me, and I fall backward when Callan’s musky scent drapes over me, and his arm curls around me to catch me.
He pushes inside and closes the door just as erratic footfalls echo outside.
“What’s going––”
His hand glides over my mouth while he silently shushes me. Just as quietly, he locks the door.
I can’t hear the lock clicking, and I’m right in front of him, let alone the people outside.
His coat is draped over the arm holding me steady against his chest.
The feeling of being wrapped in the warmth of his body gets to my head, making me conjure images of us in different circumstances.
Not appropriate. And not safe.
On a different note, I can’t say I haven’t noticed that he has left the party earlier than planned, maybe in a rush and not on good terms with the hostess or whoever patrols the floor outside.
Quietly, I watch a smile flood his eyes as he lifts his hand to me and runs his fingers down my cheek, brushing a strand of soft, flower-scented hair away.
His focus is somewhat on the men outside.He seems darkly amused, yet tense, but not frightened.
Just entertained.
The footsteps make a U-turn and rush to the exit, sliding past my door when a voice booms outside.
“He’s not here.”
He flicks his head toward the door, listening attentively.
He’s not here?
As in Callan?
Two men exchange words in front of my door before moving swiftly to the stairwell.
My eyebrows are still lifted when Callan turns his eyes to me, peels his arm away from my waist, and straightens.
Calmly, he drapes his coat over his shoulders like he’s about to leave.
“What was that?” I murmur.
His eyes push down.
“Are you going out or something?” he tosses back at me, ignoring my question.
I take a step back as if the space surrounding me could give me some protection.
“I was thinking to do that… Yeah,” I say evenly, anticipating a reaction.
“Where were you planning to go?” he asks, the remnants of a smile glowing between his lashes.
I shrug.
“Out.”
“At this hour?”
He checks the time on his watch while I move my eyes to the clock on the wall.
“Yeah. Why not?”
He laughs, amused.
He knows I’m playing with him, but he gives me a pass. Amazingly, he doesn’t give a fuck about the men outside, who, by the way, keep searching the building like they own it.
“Where were you going?” he asks, tilting his chin down and studying me with playful eyes.
I take my time to produce an answer while his eyes rove over my face and hair.
He seems impressed, although it's not like I've put much effort into it. But he likes what he sees.
The question is… Um… What is he doing?
Is he flirting with me? Distracting me? Using me?
All of the above?
Is he on the run?
Obviously.
He is hiding from those men.
But why would he choose my apartment?
Well, it’s easier to knock on the door and enter a place that is not yours than dangle from the balcony, I suppose.
That only worked once.
I get it.
“I didn’t have a plan,” I say. “But Christmas is around the corner. And since everybody’s partying, I thought I’d go out and have some time by myself.”
Our eyes meet.
“Are you alone in New York?” he asks after contemplating something for a moment.
Someone has turned off the music upstairs, and the crowd is no longer loud.
Intermingled voices travel down the stairs.
The guests finally leave.
And the men looking for him?
I don’t know what they’re up to.
The good part is that things seem to settle.
“As in living alone?” I say, buying some time.
“As in, do you have any family? Parents, siblings?” he asks straightly, and my attention sharpens on him.
He seems invested in a truthful response, and I’m far from being comfortable enough to give him one.
I rarely––okay, never––talk about this stuff.
For one, it’s nobody’s business.
And then, it’s dangerous to tell him the story of my life under these unfortunate circumstances.
He’s a man.And I don’t know him.
He clearly is involved in some nasty stuff.
He might have money and be sexy as hell, but I’m no dummy.
If there was one thing I learned when I started to take care of myself as a teen, it was that no one was my friend.
Especially someone like him.
“You are alone…” he answers his own question, surprised and slightly pensive.
Why is he so concerned about me?
He’s not responsible for the hand life has dealt me.
We are not connected in any way.
Is there chemistry between us?
Yes, it is.
Maybe.
I don’t know.
I know how he makes me feel. How my body responds to his touch. How my brain malfunctions every time he runs interference with his presence or his absence.
Or his words.
I know all that.
And I see that he’s aware of that.
At the same time, he’s unpredictable like a box of firecrackers.
He was quite nasty when I met him.Cranky and demanding.
And he wasn’t that much nicer when I found him at that woman.
Beverly, who is… Yeah, who the fuck is she?
“How about I take you out?” he says quietly, and my attention snaps back to him.
Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
I lift up my hand in haste.
“I don’t want anyone’s pity. Please… Especially yours. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and more than content with my company.”
“Who said anything about that?” he retorts, undeterred. “I just want to take you out.”
I search his eyes, not believing an iota of what he’s saying.
He’s taking me out.
Yeah, right.
“Why would you want to do that for me? You just came from your female friend. And I suspect those men––for whatever reason––were looking for you. You are only here with me because you need a place to hide. You weren’t looking for me. You were looking for the girl you’re paying to gather information for you… Information I honestly don’t need to know much about.”
I gesture dismissively, about to roll my eyes, when he clasps my wrist and pulls me closer.
His warm breath rolls over my lips as he tilts his face down, his eyes sending blades of agony into my soul.
His breath smells like honey and mint, making me think of kisses and never-ending hugs.
“The entire time I was upstairs, I was thinking about you,” he says so seriously that the weight embedded in his words turns into a wrecking ball aiming straight at my soul.
If he lets go of my wrist, I might crumble in front of him.
I hold his stare boldly, itching to argue with him and question his words so he can keep talking to prove me wrong.
I love his words more than I care to admit.
And I feed on them in spite of how little I know about him. They ring true to me and appear to be spoken from the heart.
Wrestling with myself, I keep my mouth shut to enjoy the effect of his spoken words on me a little longer.
“Do you believe me?” he asks as if unsure of my reaction, and my confidence soars.
If someone like him can’t be sure of someone like me, the world has turned on its head.
Believing him is admitting defeat and giving in to the idea of him, but I owe him the truth as I’m not a good liar.
“Yes… I think I do.”
A smile flashes across his lips.
“You think you do ?”
He almost laughs at me like he has set me up.
With one shift in my thoughts, I wipe my awe from my face.
“Of course I didn’t believe you. Who would say that to me? Besides, no one would believe you.”
I start to pull away from him when he tightens his grip around my wrist and holds me in place, his smile gone.
“I wasn’t fucking with you, Mackenzie.”
A shiver of fear sweeps down my spine.
I don’t need to look twice at this man to know he’s dangerous, and seeing him grapple with dread makes him even more menacing.
He swiftly realizes the effect he has on me has become unpleasant, so he softens his grip and straightens to leave me some room to breathe.
But I’m instantly drawn back to him.
“Wait,” I say, my hand on his chest, my fingers fanning over it like a blooming flower. “I didn’t want to sound silly or superficial.”
His features relax, and his arm de–tenses around my waist.
“I take your words seriously,” I say. “It’s just that they put a lot of pressure on me.”
“No pressure intended,” he says in a curt, dry voice, and I feel emboldened to close the gap between us.
We almost touch when I drag my hand up his neck.
“You want to know the truth?”
I look at the beautiful man in front of me in awe. He is carved in strength and pride.
His eyes glint in response.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you tonight,” I say. “No matter what I did, I just couldn’t pull you out of my head. That’s why I wanted to go out. I wanted to be outside, strolling down the icy sidewalk instead of sitting here in my home and listening to the loud party upstairs.”
He listens attentively, his eyes not breaking away from mine as if every word leaving my lips gets scanned for insincerity.
His fingers find their way to my face before trailing to my hair.
He plays with a strand, pondering something when a smile filters through his eyes.
“The party is kind of over,” he says, not in the slightest concerned with being someone’s target.
“Are you in danger?” I ask, hot from his touch.
The corners of his lips tilt into a soft grin.
“I’m always in danger, but never as much as I am when I’m with you.”
“Oh… You didn’t just say that,” I say, laughing. “You’re such a player.”
“I’m all about the truth and nothing but the truth,” he says in a deep, raspy voice before looking away. “Now put something on, and let’s go out. Christmas is almost here.”
I stall for a few seconds.
“It is, isn’t it?”
Slowly, he drapes his coat over his shoulders.
“Where are we going?” I ask, unsure whether I should wear a winter jacket or a coat like him.
“Wherever you want.”
I pull away from him.
“Are we walking, driving? What are we doing?” I ask, excited at the prospect of getting out.
“Both,” he says before pulling his phone out and making a call.
I locate my coat and put it on, my focus on him.
“Is the road clear?” he asks the person at the other end of the line without any kind of introduction.
His expression is blank when he gets his response, so I can’t tell whether it’s good or bad.
He only ends the call, places his phone in his pocket, and shifts his attention to me.
“Let’s go,” he says.
“Everything is good?” I ask, my eyes not leaving his while I pat my way around the counter and collect my phone, keys, and wallet.
“You have nothing to worry about,” he says confidently, and a cloak of reassurance falls over me.