Chapter 4 Arrow #2
“Fuck,” I sigh, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.” I jab a finger toward the sidewalk. “This is a goddamn security nightmare.”
I step close to her and lower my voice.
“Do you realize that this is literally a glowing neon sign pointing to where you live and sleep?” I turn and whip around, gesturing toward the street, the parking structure, all of it.
“This place is as easy to access as the goddamn supermarket and easier to navigate than a preschool. A bad guy wouldn’t have to try very hard to do a lot of damage here. ”
She looks like she’s either going to curse me out or start crying, but she surprises me by placing a hand on my arm and squeezing. “You’re right,” she says in a choked voice.
Her skin on mine is warm, and even though she’s only gripping my forearm… Fuck. She’s soft. Strong. It takes everything in me to keep my eyes from her long, toned legs as she rocks close to me.
“I’m so grateful you’re doing this,” she says.
“None of this stuff is anything I would ever notice. Not until now. You’re totally right.
But now, it’s too late.” She looks down at her hand and releases my arm.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, but something in her voice makes my cock take notice.
I think she’s apologizing for touching me, not what she said.
But I’m not sorry. Not even a little.
I’m not normally attracted to clients, but then again, I’ve never had a client like Annie before. Hot, horny housewives are easy to keep at arm’s length. But this assignment is going to test my professional boundaries in a way that makes me very fucking happy I only signed on for ten hours of work.
Ten hours of blue balls is more than any man should have to take. And the very last thing this woman needs is to feel any kind of vibe off me.
I’m safe.
Here to protect her. Not to get close to her. No matter that the way she’s looking at me melts my guts into a puddle.
“Should we keep going?” I ask.
She nods, but she pulls her eyes from mine a little too slowly.
I’m cursing the heat of the afternoon and the heat from her that I feel in every inch of my body.
I rub my eyes under my sunglasses and follow her along the sidewalk to a nondescript building.
A small sign out front announces it as the Laura Woodward Residence Center.
I glare at the building, only somewhat relieved to find a warning posted on the front door.
Notice: This property is protected by electronic surveillance.
The sticker affixed to the upper corner of the glass door is so faded by the sun, it’s hardly readable. But the icon of the video camera is unmistakable. I’m praying the sign isn’t for show. There’s got to be an eye in the sky someplace actually recording the premises.
I nod without pointing to the sign. “Where’s the camera?”
She widens her eyes. “What do you mean?”
I lift my brows and look up at the sign. “Security surveillance. There’s got to be one somewhere.”
“A camera? I don’t know,” she says, pushing the sunglasses onto her forehead. “I’ve never noticed. Honestly, I’ve never even looked at that sign before now.” She looks discouraged and tugs the sunglasses from her face. “How the hell have I never noticed this stuff before?”
“Most people don’t,” I reassure her.
My stomach knots, but I’m not surprised. Half these signs are old. Left up because just the idea that there are security cameras is often enough of a deterrent to make the bad guys think twice.
I’ve had plenty of clients keep signs in their windows long after the security system broke, went down, or simply stopped being paid for.
A sign does not mean there is surveillance. I can only hope a private school like this would do better, but my expectations are pretty fucking low at this point.
“Come on,” I say, totally not surprised when I’m able to open the front door. No locks. No passcode. No keycards. Fucking great. “Tell me about this grudge.”
I hold the exterior door open for Annie and keep my eyes as far away from her ass as I’m humanly able to manage as she walks past me.
“My dad’s girlfriend,” she explains. “Dad was seeing Cathy for a year or so. It was pretty casual at first, but I don’t really know what happened.
Dad said she started getting serious. Wanted to move in together, but I guess he wasn’t ready for that, or so he said at the time.
” Annie’s flip-flops echo against the tile floor as she leads me toward an elevator.
“Don’t get me wrong. Cathy and I got along fine.
I wasn’t a huge fan of hers, but there was no tension.
No problems to speak of. Dad seemed happy enough to have someone, but it wasn’t this, like, love story.
You know? I mean, if my dad had really wanted her to move in, I would have supported it. ”
“Would you really?” I press, watching as she pushes the button for the elevator. “First comes living together, and then, not long after, most women would expect a ring.”
She frowns slightly. “I mean…yeah. I think that’s what Cathy wanted. After she and Dad broke up, she sent me a kind of shitty text.”
I perk up at that. “What did she say?”
Annie presses the number seven. There are eight floors in this building. I make a note to ride up to the top before I leave to check out roof access and anything else that might help me do my job.
“The text was weird,” she admits, settling her back against the wall of the elevator. She looks me up and down, her eyes thoughtful. “She said, I hope you get what you want, Annie. He’s all yours now.”
“That sounds ominous,” I mutter. “Not to mention fucking weird. She meant your dad?”
She shrugs, and the elevator dings to announce we’re at the seventh floor. “I guess. Maybe my dad used me as an excuse to break it off? I don’t know. He’s been going through a lot the last year, and every time I brought it up, he was too tired to deal.”
Once we’re off the elevator, I scan the hallway.
The elevator is at the end of the hallway that leads right to student rooms. I can see decorated doors, some open with students walking or talking across the hall, and a few people out in the halls.
The place is decidedly tame for a dorm full of artists.
“Classes are in session right now,” Annie says, pointing to an old-fashioned clock on the wall. “There are usually more people around than this. Undergrads are on floors one through six, but seven and eight are grad students, so it’s normally a lot more boring up here.”
“Great,” I say, meaning it. More people around meant fewer chances that a stranger could come and go unnoticed. That is, if Annie’s letter-writer is, in fact, a stranger. If it’s someone who belongs here, who blends in, that just makes the whole situation that much harder to assess.
“So,” I say as we walk down the hall toward her room. “What’s the guest policy in the dorms? Is anyone going to check my identification? Will anyone even know I’m here?”
Annie shakes her head. “There is a policy of no non-students staying overnight,” she says.
She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “But I can tell you that’s really not enforced.
The exterior doors are locked at ten. After that, there is a security guard posted out front.
We have to take food deliveries out there, and no guests are allowed in.
Other buildings have keycard access after they close, but I guess they had too many incidents with drunk kids losing their keycards. ”
I’m about to say I’m relieved there is a security guard someplace on this so-called campus, but Annie has stopped in front of a door and is jiggling her key in the lock.
“That’s weird,” she says softly.
“What?” I demand, stepping close to her. “What is it?”
“I turned the key, and I think I just locked the door. Like it was maybe unlocked.”
“Do you remember locking it? Do you ever leave the door unlocked?” I ask. Annie’s door is nondescript. Just a basic metal plate with the room number etched into it. No colorful decorations or her name signifying who lives there. I’m relieved for that much, at least.
“I always lock it, but I did lose my keys for a while this morning.” She turns to face me, her eyes wide. “Shit, Josh…”
Her hand is on the knob, and she’s turning it, looking back at me as though I can stop whatever scary thing might be ahead.
“Annie, wait,” I say, but it’s too late. She pushes the door open, and we see what’s happened to her room at exactly the same time.
“Oh my God…” She stops in her tracks just as I start to move forward. Her backpack hits me in the chest, and she spins on a heel. “I’m sorry,” she blurts, but I don’t move.
The next thing I know, her face is buried in my chest.