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I stared at the empty space along the wall where I remembered leaving my shoes, and then turned in a slow, puzzled circle as I tried to spot them. My mother used to tell me when I couldn’t find something that “it didn’t just sprout legs and walk away.” But apparently my shoes had done just that.
Marx came out of his room dressed for work and paused in front of the pictures on the hallway wall that were tipped just slightly in the opposite direction this time. He frowned at them and tilted his head.
“Funny how this never happened until a few weeks ago.” He gave me a chiding look as he straightened them, and I widened my eyes in exaggerated innocence. “You’re not as sweet and innocent as you appear, young lady.”
I grinned. “Maybe the wall’s just crooked.”
“Because that’s more probable than a mischievous little houseguest,” he said with obvious sarcasm, but he was smiling when he walked into the kitchen to prepare his breakfast.
I laughed softly and looked under the stools. “Have you seen my sneakers? I can’t find them.”
“Where did you last have them?”
“I put them by the wall next to yours the night we had spaghetti.”
“Mmm hmm. And before that?”
I frowned at the odd question. “They were on my feet.”
“And where were your feet?”
“Um . . .”
“I’ll give you a hint.” He turned to face me and leaned against the counter with his plate of toast. “They were on my couch.”
I parted my lips to say something and then remembered his warning the first night I stayed here: yes, you can wear your shoes, but don’t put them on my couch. If you do, they might just disappear the next time you take them off.
My mouth dropped open. “You stole my shoes.”
He smiled and took a bite of his toast.
I folded my arms and asked, “And how do I get them back?”
“You can have them back when you find them.”
I puckered my bottom lip in a pout.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Don’t give me that cute face. It’s not gonna get you your shoes back.”
A knock on the front door drew our attention, and all levity vanished. Marx set his unfinished toast on the counter and walked to the door. He peered through the peephole and frowned.
When he unbolted the door and opened it, one hand rested on his gun. “Can I help you?” he demanded of the young man standing outside in the hallway.
The man smiled. “Are you Richard Marx?”
“That depends on who’s askin’.”
I gravitated toward him slowly, curious. The young man offered him a sealed envelope and then a clipboard. “Just the delivery guy. Please sign for your package.”
Marx frowned as he accepted the envelope and signed the form. He handed the clipboard back and was already closing the door when the man said, “Have a nice day!”
He opened the envelope slowly after glancing at the return address, which was an unnamed PO box. He peered inside before pulling out the contents. There was a card inside with pink curly script that shouted, “Congratulations, it’s a girl!”
A faint line appeared between his eyebrows as he flipped it open. Inside were the printed words that came with the card: “When she arrives, everything changes. The world grows brighter and every moment is more precious because she’s a part of it.”
Handwritten beneath that was a deliberately cruel message: “Since you can’t have your own kids, it must be nice having Holly around to offset your inadequacies. Have a daddy-daughter dinner on me.”
Marx’s jaw clenched as he pulled two prepaid ticket stubs from inside the card. “Fried chicken dinner,” he grumbled angrily. He shoved them back into the card and threw it on the couch before scrubbing a hand over his face in frustration.
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly.
I looked up into his eyes, sifting through the layers of emotions I saw there. Although he would never admit it, Collin’s words had hurt him. He had always wanted kids, but his wife hadn’t.
What had I even been thinking by accepting his invitation to stay here? I knew how dangerous Collin was, and I was putting him at risk. I waited for him to come to that realization too and ask me to leave.
When he didn’t, I drew in a breath and asked reluctantly, “Should I get my things?” I hadn’t even bothered unpacking my bag; it was still tucked into the closet with everything in it except my journal and family photo.
Marx frowned down at me. “Absolutely not.”
“If I go, maybe—”
“You’re stayin’ right here where I can protect you.”
His tone left no room for argument, and I pressed my lips together. I could’ve pushed, but I didn’t—maybe because I was too terrified to face my foster brother on my own.
I flinched when someone pounded on the door again, and a mental flash of Collin standing in the hall with that antagonistic smirk on his face made me take a step back. Now that he knew I was staying here, I wouldn’t be surprised if he dropped in for a visit.
Marx touched the top of my head with gentle reassurance before looking through the peephole. When his hand didn’t grip his gun, I knew it wasn’t Collin in the hall.
He opened the door, and Jordan’s blond eyebrows crawled upward as he looked between us. “Usually you make me knock two or three times before you open the door. Does this mean I’m growing on you?”
“No,” Marx said flatly.
Jordan shrugged and, assuming his welcome, stepped inside. “Morning, Holly.”
“Hi.”
Jordan cocked his head at my flat response, and his gaze slid from me to Marx questioningly. “Everything okay?”
“Collin sent me a card this mornin’,” Marx explained as he closed and locked the door. “He knows she’s stayin’ with me.”
Jordan’s lips thinned. “What did the card say?”
“Nothin’ that bears mentionin’. Just Collin bein’ an irritation.” Cruel was more like it.
I looked at Marx. “So am I coming to work with you, or . . .”
Marx grabbed his badge off the kitchen counter and clipped it to his belt as he considered it. “I have a lot of runnin’ to do today. My student dealers are from three different schools, so I’m guessin’ some of their extracurricular activities overlap, and my street dealer is in that overlap somewhere. I’m gonna go talk to them again and see what I can work out on the street.”
“By yourself?” I asked with a pang of worry.
He smiled at me. “Yes, by myself. But I’ll be wearin’ a vest if it leads me to a dangerous neighborhood, and I’ll have my radio to call for backup if I need it.” When I parted my lips to speak, he said, “No, you can’t come with me.”
I snapped my mouth shut. How had he known I was going to ask that?
“You’re not a cop,” he pointed out, as if I needed the reminder. “And if you’re on the street with me, I’m gonna be too worried about keepin’ you safe to focus on my job.”
“I kept myself safe on the streets for years.” Mostly. And I had brushed elbows with the darker side of that life on more than one occasion. “I’m not some clueless girl you need to shield from the world.”
Marx sighed. “I know that. But I also know you’ve seen and experienced more than your fair share of darkness in your life, and if it’s possible to keep you from havin’ to experience any more, then I intend to try.”
I knew he had an innate desire to protect people he perceived as weaker or less capable, and I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or touched that he was so determined to keep me safe.
The warmth and affection in his eyes robbed me of any indignation and left me feeling . . . confused and off balance. I wasn’t used to people caring about me, and I had no idea how to respond. I chewed on my bottom lip and looked at the floor.
“She handles people caring about as well as she handles compliments,” Jordan observed.
Marx grunted in amusement. “You mean how she gets all adorably awkward?”
I flushed with embarrassment. “Stop it.”
“Her voice gets this little squeak,” Jordan pointed out.
“My voice does not . . .” I trailed off when the octave of my voice came far too close to a squeak. I pursed my lips, feeling flustered.
“And she doesn’t finish her sentences,” Marx added with a small smile.
I drew in a breath and puffed it out. “I . . . really dislike both of you right now.” I lifted my chin and strode past them into the spare bedroom to grab my boots.
Jordan’s laughter floated after me. I shoved my feet into my ankle boots since I hadn’t had a chance to find my sneakers yet, and wrapped a green scarf around my neck.
When I emerged from the room, Marx and Jordan were engaged in a hushed conversation. As usual, their voices fell away when I appeared, and I felt a rush of irritation.
Everyone was always so cautious about what they said in front of me.
“So you wanna go to a party?” Jordan asked, completely derailing my annoyance.
“What?”
“You know, beer, pizza, loud music.” When I just blinked at him, he grinned. “Joking. Except about the pizza part. There may also be games, movies, and some popcorn.”
My eyebrows came together. “Between the pizza, pasta, brownies, and more pizza, I’m starting to think you guys are conspiring to make me fat.”
Marx nudged the cake pan on the counter toward me and suggested, “Have a brownie.”
I smirked at his less than subtle confirmation of my theory. I picked a corner piece that had come out just a little too crispy but not quite burnt from our brownie baking adventure. I loved the crispy edges.
“Thanks,” I smiled. I offered one to Jordan.
“Brownies for breakfast. Nice.” He took a massive bite and chewed contentedly before swallowing. “Jace and Sam are gonna be there.”
“Just the four of us?”
“Yep.”
I nibbled on my brownie as I considered it. I needed to spend some time with Jace. We hadn’t seen much of each other lately, and watching her on the ice from twenty feet away hardly counted. “Okay.” I set the remainder of my unfinished brownie on the counter and looked up at Marx. “Please be careful out there today.”
“I won’t take any unnecessary chances. I promise. Have fun at your party.”
I wasn’t sure about this “party,” especially since it was taking place during a time of day that Jace was probably still hibernating.
When I knocked on her apartment door, I expected one of two things: dead silence, or a wild-haired zombie in a wheelchair to drag open the door with an exaggerated groan.
To my astonishment, the door flew inward. Jace beamed when she saw me standing in the hall, her wild bed-hair tamed into smooth layers, and her blue eyes shockingly alert.
“Good morning, sunshine!” She grabbed my hand and practically dragged me into her apartment and into a hug.
“Squeezing,” I choked out, and she released my waist with an apologetic grin. I inhaled and patted her shoulders awkwardly before stepping back. “Someone had their coffee this morning. And apparently steroids.”
I was pretty sure she had cracked my spine.
“Sam brought me a French vanilla cappuccino with five shots of espresso,” she said, grinning.
Oh, good grief.
I didn’t notice Sam in the kitchen until he stood up from behind the open refrigerator door and said with what sounded like indifference, “Holly.”
“Sam,” I replied with a tense smile. I slid my hands into the back pockets of my jeans and returned my attention to Jace. “So you’re kind of a spaz, then.”
“Oh, totally,” she agreed, with several dizzying bobs of her head. “I have a few sips left if you want them.”
“That would probably send me into irrational fits of giggling for hours. I think it’s safer for everyone if I pass.”
“I might like to see that,” Jordan admitted. He glanced both ways down the hall before stepping inside and locking the door behind him.
I smiled at him. “The last time that happened, I think it involved feet.”
Jace sucked in a quick breath and said, “Don’t you dare tell that story.”
Jordan grinned. “I would love to hear that story sometime, but Sam and I have snacks to prepare.”
“I can help prepare snacks,” I offered.
“We actually wanna be able to eat them,” Sam said evenly.
Ha-ha. I wasn’t that bad.
“I offered to help too, but for some reason they want us out of the kitchen today,” Jace said, with a puzzled shrug. “I’m a good cook too, but whatever.”
Jace could catch a potato on fire in the microwave, but I decided not to mention that. Jordan strolled into the kitchen and punched Sam in the arm in some form of manly greeting as he grunted, “Hey.”
Sam frowned and punched Jordan back a little harder, sending him stumbling. “Hey.”
Jordan arched an eyebrow at him but didn’t retaliate. “Did you check the grounds before I got here?”
“Yep, we’re good.”
I shrugged off my coat and curled up in the corner of Jace’s couch with a pillow. Happiness filled me when I saw my fat cat, Jordan, gallop out of her bedroom toward the couch. He chirped at me in recognition.
Jace scooped him up and set him on the couch before plopping onto the cushion next to me. “Your cat is a beached whale. I’m putting him on a diet.”
I hugged my chubby kitty and peppered the top of his head with kisses. “He’s just huggable.”
She gave me a look. “His fat rolls have fat rolls. And when he runs across my floor, the people below me think it’s thunder.”
I laughed. That was one benefit of living in a basement. There weren’t any tenants beneath me to complain about the noise.
He wiggled free and stretched out across my feet, purring. It was like a fuzzy foot massage.
Jordan and Sam were chatting in the kitchen as they prepared the snacks. I heard Sam growl, “This morning was the third time I’ve gotten into my car to find that someone switched my radio to the Spanish-Mexican station.”
“Like they physically got in your car and changed the station?” Jordan asked.
“Yeah, and I never see it happen. And just to make sure I understood it wasn’t a glitch, they left this tied to my antenna this morning.” Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny Mexican flag. “One of these days I’m gonna punch Collin in the face and relieve him of his teeth.”
“Get in line,” Jordan grunted.
Jace inhaled a breath to say something, then seemed to lose her nerve, which was unusual for her. She tended to just blurt things out without a filter. She tried again.
“So I know you don’t like to talk about your past, but this Collin guy . . . is he like . . . an ex-boyfriend or something? Is he the reason you don’t date? I mean he’s obviously unhinged, so I completely understand if he put you off dating.”
She looked at me expectantly.
How did I explain Collin to her without sending her into overprotective mode? “It’s . . . complicated.”
“I’m totally okay with the abridged version.”
I shifted in my seat, and my cat gave a rumble of disapproval. “He was my foster brother, and he’s”—a psychotic, sadistic lunatic—“overly interested in me.”
Her face crinkled in what looked like disgust. “As in he has a crush on you?”
“I don’t know that I would call it that.”
“I know you’re not biologically related, but . . . ew. There are just some boundaries you don’t—”
“We’re not talking about serious things, are we?” Jordan asked from the kitchen, and the look in his eyes when he met mine told me he had overheard our conversation. “Because we’re supposed to be having fun.”
“Fine,” Jace said on a theatrical sigh. “But I mean, she’s staying with Marx because of him, so that means he’s dangerous, right?”
Sam walked into the living room and handed her a massive bowl of popcorn and a root beer. “Yes, he’s dangerous,” he said. “That’s why you’re supposed to call me immediately if you even think you see him in the area.”
I gave him a grateful smile. I deeply appreciated that he was looking out for her. He returned my smile before fetching another bowl of popcorn from the kitchen.
He detoured to the window on his way back, pulled the sheer curtains aside with two fingers, and peered down into the front yard of the apartment property.
“Got the cards,” Jordan announced. He walked quickly behind the couch and snitched a handful of popcorn from Jace’s bowl.
She swatted at him, but his reflexes were faster.
He plopped into one of the wooden chairs on the other side of the coffee table. Sam handed me a bowl of popcorn and then sat down beside him.
Jordan shoved a hand into Sam’s personal popcorn bowl and retrieved a fistful of buttery popcorn. “Thanks,” he mumbled before popping it in his mouth.
Sam glowered at him. “Really?” He shoved the bowl at Jordan and then got up and went back into the kitchen. I heard the familiar crinkle of popcorn paper and then the hum of a microwave before he called out, “Holly, do you want a drink?”
“There’s chocolate milk in the fridge and marshmallows in the cupboard,” Jace called back before I could answer.
Sam appeared at the edge of the kitchen with a bemused frown. “What am I supposed to do with the marshmallows?”
“Holly likes marshmallows in her chocolate milk.”
Sam arched an eyebrow at me. “I’m not even gonna comment on how weird that is.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.
He returned a minute later with my drink and his new bowl of popcorn. He shot Jordan a warning glare as he sat down. “Take my popcorn and I’m gonna take a finger.”
“Harsh,” Jordan replied with a smile. He opened the box of cards and shuffled them. He licked his thumb and began to deal them around the table.
“I’m not touching that,” Sam said when the card landed on the table in front of him.
Jordan paused for a beat. “Why not?”
“Because you licked it.”
“I didn’t lick it. I licked my thumb.”
“And then you smeared it all over the card.”
Jordan gave him a funny look. “And?”
“I’m eating,” Sam explained. “I’m not gonna touch a card dripping with your spit and then use the same hand to put popcorn in my mouth.”
“Dripping with my spit,” Jordan repeated. “You mean like this?” He gave another exaggerated, slurping lick of his thumb, plucked a card from the top of the deck, and dropped it in front of Sam.
Ewww. I tried not to wrinkle my nose in disgust. Sam just got up from the table and walked away, muttering under his breath about unsanitary people.
“I take it Sam doesn’t like germs?” I whispered to Jace.
“Nope. We can’t even eat from the same bowl of chips and salsa when we go out for Mexican,” she whispered. “And don’t even get me started on buffets.”
Jordan scooped Sam’s cards back into the deck and redealt, minus the thumb licking. Sam eventually caved and brought a bottle of hand sanitizer over with him so he could join the game. He and Jordan bickered back and forth like brothers the entire time.
Sam slugged Jordan in the arm and nearly knocked him out of his chair for trying to steal another handful of popcorn.
Jordan laughed and then rubbed his arm. “Ow! What do you expect me to do? Take Holly’s popcorn? That’s a violation of the border laws.”
“Go make your own,” Sam suggested. “Or wimp out and beg her to share with you. She’s an irrationally nice person. She might consider it.”
I hugged my bowl of popcorn protectively closer.
“Yeah, I don’t think she’s gonna share with me. Besides, yours is closer.”
Jordan made one last halfhearted attempt to steal Sam’s popcorn, and then seemed to decide it would be less painful to make his own.
The pizza arrived a few hours later. Jordan paid the delivery man and opened the top box as he was kicking the door shut. He pulled out a slice of pepperoni and sausage. The molten hot cheese practically oozed off the crust into his mouth.
“Hot,” he exhaled, blowing out steam. He shoved the pizza boxes at Sam and fumbled for the first cold drink he could find. He took a few deep gulps and then said, “Wow, that was hotter than I expected.” He glanced down at Sam, who was giving him a flat look, and then back at the glass in his hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, was this yours? You want it back?”
“No,” Sam gritted out. “You can keep it. I’ll get another one.”
Jace chewed on a fingernail as she observed their interaction. I tried not to smile, but Sam as a germaphobe was just kind of funny and unexpected.
“I’ll get you another Pepsi,” I offered, and I went to fetch him one. I grabbed a fresh glass and a cold can of pop from the refrigerator, but I paused at the threshold of the kitchen.
Jordan and Jace were laughing about something, and Sam was shaking his head with a small smile on his lips. Seeing their joy warmed me, and knowing I was somehow a part of it . . .
I had spent so much of my life living on the fringes of society, hiding from everyone who might be a threat, that I’d forgotten what it felt like to be included, to have a group of friends to just . . . laugh with.
It made me feel like I mattered.
Sam caught me watching them from the kitchen, and I flushed with embarrassment when he stood and walked over.
“You get lost?” he asked.
I smiled and offered the drink to him. “Nope.”
He took it and cocked his head as he studied me. “In all the time I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this calm. You’re usually jittery.”
I tucked my fingers into the back pockets of my jeans and rocked on my toes. “It helps knowing I have Jace to protect me if anyone creepy shows up.”
His lips quirked in a barely perceptible smile. “Yeah. I heard about the ice rink.”
I knew he had. This entire “party” was designed to help me feel safe after Collin’s visit had ripped open wounds that had barely begun to heal.
“Thank you,” I said. “For helping me feel safe.”
He studied me for a long moment and looked as if he might have something meaningful to say, then shrugged and grunted. “Sure.” He stalked back into the living room, and I followed with a smirk.
Sam was a man of few words.
We spent the rest of the afternoon playing games and watching movies, and as the day progressed, I felt some of the knotted tension in my body begin to ease.
“You ready to head out?” Jordan asked when it was nearly dusk.
“Yep.” I stood and stretched. Jace and I hugged good-bye, and I gave Sam a wave before opening the door to leave. I barely swallowed a scream when I found a man standing just on the other side.
Recognition slowly dawned, and my heart rate slowed. It was my landlord, frozen with his shoulders bunched in surprise and his fist raised to knock.
“Mr. Whittaker?”
“Ms. Cross,” he squeezed out, going a shade paler. “I wasn’t . . . expecting you . . . here.”
I folded my arms and glared at him with suspicion. “You’re not here to make an arrangement with my friend, are you? Because her boyfriend is a cop.”
I hadn’t thought it possible, but he paled even more.
“Holly, I’ll take care of it,” Sam said, brushing past a slightly confused Jordan. “Whittaker,” he said with disdain. He stepped into the hall, forcing my landlord to retreat, and then closed the door.
“Who’s that guy?” Jordan asked, throwing a thumb toward the door.
“The new landlord.” Jace leaned forward on the couch and whispered, “Sam’s been talking to the other tenants, and apparently Mr. Whittaker has been making some indecent propositions with some of the female tenants. Not me, but ones who have like no family and stuff. Sam confronted him, and now the guy’s like all agreeable and stuff. Promising not to cause anymore trouble and whatnot.”
Sam came back in and closed the door behind him, his expression tight.
“What’s going on with this guy and his female tenants?” Jordan demanded, before anyone else could speak.
Sam glanced at me before answering, “There are three young women in this building without family in the area, aside from Holly, and when they couldn’t pay the extra fee Mr. Whittaker threatened to impose for one reason or another, he offered them an alternative to eviction.”
“What kind of alternative?” Jordan asked.
“A sexual arrangement. He also approached Holly.”
“I . . . never said anything about . . . anything like that,” I stammered uneasily.
Jordan’s jaw tightened, and he leaned closer to whisper, “Your lips are twitching.”
I bit down on my lips in frustration.
“I doubt you’re the exception, Holly,” Sam said. “Either Marx interrupted, or you just didn’t tell him that part for fear Mr. Whittaker might mysteriously disappear.”
I glared at him.
“I’ll take that as confirmation.”
Jordan cast me a worried look. “This guy doesn’t have keys to your apartment, does he?”
I shook my head. “Just me.” A fact about which I was immeasurably relieved. No more landlords sneaking in uninvited. “And I don’t think he’s gonna bother me again anyway. Marx listed himself as my next of kin on the information card, and Mr. Whittaker’s afraid of him.”
Sam grunted in amusement. “Not surprising.”
“Why were you talking to Mr. Heebie-Jeebie anyway?” Jace asked, giving a theatrical shudder just to emphasize her point.
“We made an arrangement of our own.”
Curious, I asked, “Does it include a bullet-point list of all the logical reasons he shouldn’t creep on people?”
Sam gave me an unamused look, and I smirked. “No. I agreed not to make his life miserable so long as he doesn’t harass his tenants, and he informs me of any unexpected male visitors or suspicious activity.”
The look he shared with Jordan made my stomach flip over. Unexpected male visitors like Collin?
I tried to keep my voice even and strong, but it came out thin with fear. “He’s here? Collin’s here?” Was that why Mr. Whittaker had stopped by?
“Possibly,” Sam replied. “Whittaker’s supposed to call me if he sees him in the area, but since I was here, he decided to tell me in person.” He turned his attention to Jordan. “I’m gonna do a quick check of the property, and then I’ll escort you and Holly to your car.”
I sank onto the arm of Jace’s couch after Sam left and tried not to let Collin’s potential nearness unravel my nerves. I felt Jace’s arms come around my waist, and she pressed her face against my back.
“It’s gonna be okay, Holly. He can’t get to you here. Not with Sam and Jordan in the way. No guy in his right mind would try that.”
I forced a nod, trying to believe her, but I wasn’t sure the phrase “in his right mind” applied to Collin. When the doorknob turned a few minutes later, I stiffened with apprehension, but it was only Sam.
“We’re clear. Let’s go,” he said.
Jordan gestured for me to go ahead of him, and we walked down the hall single file, with me in the middle. Even though I knew they wouldn’t let Collin touch me, I couldn’t keep my eyes from darting frantically over every visible inch of grass and sidewalk when we stepped outside.
My gaze landed on my apartment, and I felt a pang of longing. I missed my home and the sense of independence that came with living on my own and providing for myself.
Someday I’ll get there again.
As we neared Jordan’s car, I noticed something propped on the hood. It looked like a toy. Jordan slipped around me and walked to the front of his car.
A puzzled line formed between his eyebrows.
He picked up the item and showed it to us. It was a Sheriff Woody doll from Toy Story, and there was a small envelope attached to it.
“It’s addressed to Wyatt,” Jordan said with a grimace.
Sam folded his arms. “He leaves me a Mexican flag, and he leaves you a sheriff doll. The guy lacks creativity.”
Jordan opened the envelope and pulled out a key card with a hotel symbol on it.
My breath caught. “Please tell me that’s not the key card for your hotel room.”
He pursed his lips and flipped the card to show us the room number written in black permanent marker. “That’s my room number. I left the spare key card on the nightstand when I left the room this morning.”
I stared at him. “He was in your hotel room?”
“Maybe. But the keys aren’t labeled with numbers; they’re programmed. So it’s possible he just knows my room number and wrote it on a different card to prove he knows where I’m staying.”
“He’s trying to unnerve you,” Sam said.
“And yet all he’s managed to do is annoy me.”
They both seemed unusually calm considering Collin might have been in Jordan’s hotel room. At the very least, he knew exactly where Jordan was staying.
“What do we do?” I worried, looking between them.
Jordan unlocked the car and opened the passenger door. He tossed the doll and card into the backseat like they were no more important than crumpled burger wrappers, then stood back with his hand on the top of the door. “We take you back to Marx’s place like we planned.”
“But what about—”
“We’ll take care of it,” Sam said, but he offered no further details. “Good night, Holly.”
I looked at Jordan to see if he would be willing to explain exactly how they intended to “take care of it,” but he just smiled and said, “Your nose is turning pink. You should probably hop in and get out of the cold breeze.”
Sighing, I climbed into the car, and he shut the door. He exchanged a few hushed words with Sam before climbing behind the wheel. Marx was just getting home when we arrived.
“You’re still in one piece,” I observed with relief.
He smiled as he unlocked the apartment door. “I told you I’d be fine.” He looked over my head at Jordan, who lingered on the steps. “I’ll call you later about self-defense trainin’. There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”
Jordan’s brow creased with cautious curiosity, but he said, “Sure.”
“You’re gonna be careful, right?” I asked. The possibility that Collin might have been inside his hotel room worried me.
He gave me a reassuring smile. “Sam’s gonna come check the room with me just to make sure everything’s fine, and then I’m gonna grab my stuff and find another place to stay.”
“What happened?” Marx asked.
“Collin knows where I’m staying, and he may have been in my hotel room. He left a key card with my room number written on it, and a gift he no doubt finds poetically hilarious, on my car.”
This taunting game Collin was playing with them was because of me, and I wished I could put an end to it. I was bringing nothing but trouble to their lives.
“Wipe that guilty look off your face, young lady,” Marx said. “This isn’t your fault.”
I shot him a scowl that made the corner of his mouth lift in amusement. He couldn’t tell me what to do with my face.
“The fact that he’s targeting the three of you because of me makes it my fault,” I explained. “He’s my problem, and I should never have—”
“What?” Marx demanded, eyes narrowing. “Stayed?”
I folded my arms and looked away.
“Before we go any further with this conversation,” he continued, “you should know that if you run, I will spend every moment tryin’ to track you down before Collin does.”
My eyes snapped back to him. “That’s called stalking.”
“Cops don’t stalk; they pursue.”
Jordan laughed behind me.
“Well, don’t do that. Don’t . . . pursue. If you spend all your time looking for me, you’ll lose your job, and I don’t want you to lose your job because of me.”
“We’re not gonna have to worry about it, because you’re not runnin’ away.” He crossed his arms in a way that silently declared, “And that’s final.”
I glared at him.
“Just because Collin wants to hurt you, Holly, it doesn’t mean everything he does in the pursuit of that goal is your fault,” Jordan explained. “His decisions are his, and you’re not responsible for them.”
“You know, this whole you two being united against my point of view thing is really frustrating.”
Jordan grinned, revealing his dimples. “Yeah, well, I never thought I’d agree with an old guy so much either.”
Marx glowered at him. “Get out of my hallway.”
“Oh, this is your hallway? Is your name on it?”
“Could you be more juvenile?”
“Probably.” He tossed his car keys up and down in his hand. “But I’ll behave because Holly’s standing here.”
What could that juvenile behavior be if he was reluctant to do it around me?
Jordan gave me a small bow and said, “Have a good night, my lady.” He turned and disappeared down the steps, leaving an odd feeling in his wake: longing for him to stay or maybe just disappointment that he was leaving.
I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t know what to do with either, so I shoved them aside for later contemplation.
I followed Marx into the apartment. “So about my sneakers . . .”
“You mean the pair of sneakers that defiled my couch?” he asked as he secured the door. “I haven’t seen them since they disappeared.”
“Could you at least give me a hint?”
“Sure. They’re not on my couch.”
I sighed, dropped my bag on the couch, and started the hunt for my shoes. I searched the entire living room, kitchen, bathroom, and finally found myself in the spare bedroom.
I turned in a slow circle as I took in the room. Surely he wouldn’t have hidden them in here. I checked the closet, the side table, and I was just crouching down to check beneath the bed when something shattered the bedroom window from the outside.
I screamed and threw up my arms to protect my face as glittering glass rained down on top of me.