Black Lace Fantasies #2
I parked a block away from Evelyn’s brownstone and walked the rest of the distance with my hood up, head down, hands buried in my jacket pockets. I didn’t think anyone was watching her place, or me, but I couldn’t be certain.
It was the middle of the day, but I was hoping most of the residents would be at work, seeing as it was a Monday, and wouldn’t see me slip inside.
The building was a tasteful brownstone. Four floors with wrought-iron railings and flower boxes that added a pop of color to the facade.
It was well maintained, with a concierge at the entrance and a security camera in the lobby. It wasn’t the same guy Rocco had paid to take a walk the other night.
I waited for him to take a pee break, then slipped inside, keeping my face down and not looking up at the lens.
I headed straight for the stairs. There was no elevator.
Ophelia.
That’s what I’d thought when I’d watched her sleeping the other night.
Like the character in the painting above her bed, she’d been wearing a silver-gray slip, her hair like molten copper spread across the pillow.
Dark eyelashes resting against creamy skin.
She’d looked so peaceful, it had almost been a shame to wake her.
But vengeance didn’t wait.
At the top of the staircase, I paused and listened.
Nothing.
I crossed the hallway to Apartment 3A and unlocked the outer door. It opened into a small private vestibule, barely large enough for a bench, an umbrella stand, and a row of boots. The apartment’s front door stood a few feet beyond it.
The moment I stepped inside, I froze.
What the hell?
The door should have been locked, but it wasn’t. The frame had splintered around the latch, jagged wood jutting into the vestibule. My hand went instinctively to the Glock at my back. Someone had kicked this door in.
Moving quietly, I entered the apartment. There were no sounds from inside, and I was willing to bet whoever had broken in was long gone. Hell, Evelyn had been at the cabin for three days.
I checked every room including the closets, before I relaxed and holstered my weapon but there was no one there.
Then I took a good look around.
At first glance, nothing appeared to be disturbed. My mind went straight to the laptop, but I found that lying on the dining table, lid closed. Her phone was still under the bed, where I’d kicked it. Unnoticed by the intruders, most likely.
I crouched down and picked it up, then placed it on the nightstand. If the cops or anyone else came round, I didn’t want it to look like she’d been taken.
Walking through the rest of the rooms, I saw there were no overturned drawers, no broken glass or upended furniture. The cushions were still in place on the couch, with an indent where she’d been lounging.
With a chill, I realized what this was—and it wasn’t a burglary. Whoever broke into Evelyn’s apartment wasn’t looking for jewelry or cash.
They were looking for her.
I stood in the center of her bedroom, staring at the bed. I could almost see her there. Hair wild, eyes heavy-lidded, breasts nearly falling out of that flimsy excuse of a nightgown. The shock on her face when she’d woken to find me sitting next to her.
Who would come after Evelyn? Other than the Marcellis, of course.
The Russians? Somebody else?
What did it matter? I had what I’d come for. The laptop.
She was nothing more than a means to an end. A liability.
She knew too much to let go.
Yet somehow, she’d lit an ember inside me, a flame I thought I’d extinguished for good. It was so foreign, I couldn’t even put it into words. I just knew I didn’t want it to end. Not yet.
I buried the thought and walked over to the vanity. It was cluttered with her things. A hairbrush, make-up, perfume. I picked up the bottle and sniffed it.
It hit me again. Her scent. Jasmine, vanilla, with something darker underneath, something warm and sensual. It enveloped me like smoke.
Looking around, I spotted a small cabin case in the corner and laid it open on the bed. Then I threw in the perfume.
Checking the drawers, I saw her jewelry was still all there, laid out in a kind of compartmentalized case. It just confirmed what I’d thought earlier.
This wasn’t a robbery.
It struck me that her apartment was very much like her. Elegant, but lived in. Stylish, yet unpretentious. Cool, yet inviting.
There was a book on the nightstand by the bed.
I walked over to it, thinking she might like to read it at the cabin.
It was a worn paperback with a couple embracing on the cover.
The woman wore an old-fashioned turquoise gown slipping off one shoulder, the man was bare-chested and had what looked like a Scottish kilt on.
I smirked. Evelyn Cruz, a romantic. Who would’ve guessed? It went into the case along with the perfume.
I found her underwear drawer and opened it.
Goddamn, the woman had a lot of underwear.
I took out several pairs of panties and bras. There was that scent again, fainter now but unmistakable. Christ, if she tasted as good as she smelled…
A black silk bra and panty set caught my eye. I reached for it, feeling the material between my fingers. It was so soft. I imagined peeling it off her, feeling her wetness, her scent. Tasting her.
I closed my eyes as I went instantly hard. Fuck’s sake. The woman was a witch. She must be, to affect me like this.
Angry, I threw the items into the case. This wasn’t like me. Usually, I was a lot more focused.
I went to the bathroom and collected the toiletries she’d asked for. Toothbrush, deodorant, every single damn bottle of facewash or moisturizer in the cabinet.
Then I went to the closet and took out jeans, leggings, and a couple of T-shirts and sweaters, and threw them into the case. A pair of tennis shoes followed, along with some socks, and then I was done.
All that remained was to look for any evidence that she was the leak.
There was no home office, but I searched through all the drawers and cabinets I could find.
Nothing to do with the gallery or any shipping manifests.
No correspondence or communications with Orlov, Malakov, or anybody else.
Seems like Evelyn Cruz left her work at the office.
Like a ghost, I went back to the bedroom and picked up the suitcase, then left, as quietly as I’d arrived, pulling the broken door closed behind me.