Jeannette was pretty sure she’d been holding her breath for five minutes straight. From the quick, slightly frantic run to the car, to the worrisome moment where the engine refused to choke to life, to the cautious easing from the parking lot to the street, she didn’t recall an exhale. Her lungs certainly burned enough that it felt like forever since she’d filled them with oxygen. Even when she at last—very consciously—drew in a breath, there was no relief to be had with it.
She stayed silent as she navigated the familiar streets. And Warren did, too. The only real noise was the light rumble of the aged black hatchback. It wasn’t until they’d finally pulled away from the commercial district that the air seemed to lighten enough that Jeannette felt like it was okay to break the silence. It was necessary, too, since they needed a destination. Driving aimlessly up the Deerfoot Highway wasn’t going to cut it.
“Where should we go?” she asked. “Are we heading for the nearest police station?”
Warren shook his head. “Pretty sure the closest one isn’t open all night. We’re probably better to find a safe place to call the cops, then go from there.”
“We could use my place,” Jeannette offered. “It’s not too far, and at least we wouldn’t have to worry about putting anyone else in direct danger.”
His fingers thoughtfully tapped his thigh, and then he gave his head another shake. “No. Jimmy and his buddy will be able to find it too easily. Might even be the first thing they try to do.”
“How? They don’t even know who I am,” she replied, then immediately answered her own question. “Oh. You think they’ll go back to More Coffee to try and figure it out?”
“It’s what I would do if I were a criminal determined to track someone down.”
Jeannette felt her hands tighten nervously on the steering wheel. She kept her purse—complete with her ID and currently dead cell phone—in her designated staff locker. It was secured by a built-in combination lock, but she somehow doubted it was made to withstand an assault from a B and E professional. And the idea that the two men—the kind who were in the business of digging up bodies and making death threats—might soon know just where she lived... It was scarier than anything she’d experienced so far this evening.
And what about the other people who live in my building?
One face in particular filled her mind just then. Her next-door neighbor was a kindhearted octogenarian, who’d taken Jeannette in before they even lived in the same building, and who now treated her like a surrogate granddaughter. Apple pie. Sunday dinners. She was a one-woman welcoming committee from the second they’d met, and she’d been a loving—and loved—fixture in her life since then. What would Jimmy do to her?
Warren’s hand came out and closed over hers to give it a light squeeze before letting it go again. “Hey. Remember five minutes ago, when you were totally confident that running out into the street was a good idea?”
Jeannette let out a shaky breath. “That was before I started thinking about my neighbor. Or I guess I should say neighbors. As in plural, to be fair. But the woman who lives in the apartment across from mine is eighty-nine years old, Warren. Her name’s Rosie, and the thought of something happening to her...”
“It’ll be okay. We’ll get to a gas station or something and borrow their phone. We’ll get the cops to come right away.”
Jeannette had to force her hands not to turn white-knuckled. “Jimmy and the other guy could be on their way already.”
“So what are you saying?” Warren replied. “You want to go to your place anyway?”
“I’m not saying I want to. I’m saying we have to. If we don’t go, and those two thugs show up there, they might threaten my neighbors.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Jeannie... I sure as hell don’t want to see anyone get hurt. I feel personally responsible for getting you involved in this. That doesn’t change the fact that we’re not exactly in a position to protect anyone.”
He had a point. Except the plan had already solidified in Jeannette’s mind. And she was already following through on it, too. She flicked on her turn signal and took the next exit.
“We’re probably only seven or eight minutes away,” she said as she guided her car onto the off-ramp, then looped it over the small bridge and redirected them back toward the south. “There’s zero chance that the police will get there before us, no matter how quickly we call them. And I’m pretty sure that Jimmy won’t get there that fast, either. If we beat them there, we can call the cops and wait. Head them off, or whatever.”
“And if we don’t beat them there?”
“Then we distract them so that they leave my neighbors out of it.”
“Or we—and your neighbors—wind up in the cross fire.”
Jeannette swung a look his way. “We have to try, Warren.”
He scraped a hand over his thick, salt-and-pepper hair and answered her with grudging acquiescence. “I know. I just don’t like it, Jeannie.”
She exhaled and turned back to the road. Calgary was an enormous city, spacewise. It could take forty-five minutes or more to go from one end to the other, and that wasn’t factoring in traffic. But with the late hour, it would be a much shorter jaunt. And from where they were now, they really didn’t have far to go. Two more exits, one oversize roundabout, and her neighborhood would be in sight. But the final few minutes of the trip seemed to be taking forever, and Jeannette felt the need for a distraction.
“So how come you were at the site so late today, anyway?” she asked. “Was it overtime?”
Surprisingly, Warren laughed. She glanced in his direction again, and even though it was absurd, her heart fluttered at the curve of his lips and the flash of amusement in his eyes. She jerked her attention back to the windshield.
“What’s so funny?” she wanted to know.
“Small talk, here and now,” he replied.
“Hmm. Is there a different set of rules for conversing during life-and-death situations that I don’t know about?”
“Dunno. But if not, then maybe there ought to be,” he said with another chuckle.
Jeannette couldn’t help but smile, too. It was good to have a minute of levity sprinkled into the otherwise frightening situation.
She gave her shoulders a small, tension-reducing roll and added, “Even if there was another set of rules, I’d probably still ask you about the weather. Small talk is kind of our thing, isn’t it?”
“Maybe it is,” he agreed. “Although I’m not sure being stuffed in a ‘small talk’ box is a compliment.”
“How is that an insult?”
“Does it put me in the same category as the ice cream truck guy?”
It was Jeannette’s turn to laugh. “Why? Is there a scale?”
“Definitely,” he said.
“Please tell me how this scale works. I’m dying to know.”
“It basically starts with the ones who don’t even look up when they order, and it goes all the way to the ones who you know well enough to marry.”
The words hung in the air for a second, and Jeannette was sure they’d come out sounding more serious than Warren meant them to. Her face went pink, mostly because she couldn’t help but wonder which side of the imaginary scale he thought he leaned toward. She almost wanted to ask. But then he quickly cleared his throat and spoke up again, going back to the original topic at hand.
“What’s your excuse?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say you were working a night shift. Don’t you usually do the very early mornings so that you can still get to school every day?”
Jeannette nodded. “That’s right. But I kinda got suckered into working for Rowan tonight. Boyfriend issue. Plus, it’s recently come to my attention that in another year or so, I’ll have a truckload of student loans to pay off. Which is really not something I’d have thought I’d be thinking about at thirty-six.” She paused. “Wait. Did you just intentionally dodge my question about what you were doing out so late?”
“I might’ve dodged it,” he replied, “But it wasn’t intentional. I did work an awful lot longer than I like today, but I’d actually already gone home. It was my damn phone that brought me back to the site, remember?.”
“Right. You said that, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Left the damn thing sitting on my desk in the mobile office.”
The statement sent a trickle of unease over Jeannette’s shoulder blades. “Do you think they found it?”
Warren inhaled a very audible breath. “Damn. I hadn’t even considered the possibility. They followed me pretty quickly, but it wouldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds to bust into the office and grab the phone.”
“They could know who you are, just as easily as they could know who I am.”
Another long moment of silence reigned, this one thick. And when Warren broke it, his voice was even heavier than the air.
“I need to tell you something else, Jeannie,” he said. “And I’m guessing this is the best segue I’m going to get.”
Her nerves jumped, but she started to nod anyway. She stopped, though, before she could even dip her head fully a single time. Her focus was quite abruptly lost. Not because her apartment building was now in view—which it was—but because the familiar structure was all dark, save for one window.
It took Warren a good second to recognize that Jeannie was no longer paying attention to what he was saying. Her sudden pallor and alert stillness made him freeze with his hand halfway to his pocket. The beginnings of an explanation for the necklace died on his lips, and he shifted his attention to follow Jeannie’s gaze. Her eyes were pointed at a building just ahead. Even if he didn’t know 100 percent why her face had drained of all color, he did see right away what held her captive. Every apartment window was dim, the residents clearly retired for the night. One set of blinds, though, was open. Through them, an off-white glow emanated.
With his gut churning, Warren opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, but the car bumped the curb just then, making Jeannie jerk her hands on the wheel, and she issued a shaky apology.
“Sorry,” she said.
Warren flicked a look from her to the window, then back to her again. “Don’t be sorry. Does that window belong to you?”
She swallowed. “No. It’s not mine. It’s Rosie’s.”
Every mental alarm that Warren had went off, and the necklace slid away from his mind completely. “Turn around.”
“I can’t.”
“You sure as hell can. There’s a roundabout just ahead. Use it. We’ll head back to the city proper and find an open police station.”
Her hands tightened, and she issued a quick, firm headshake. “I won’t do it.”
“Jeannie.”
“I’m going to drive straight past my building and loop over a couple of blocks, then find a place to park there in case someone’s watching. I’ve got an idea about how to get inside. I don’t care if you don’t want to come. But I’m going in, either way. So if you want to wait in the car or even take the car, it doesn’t matter.”
A frustrated growl built up in his throat, and he did his best to keep it down. “Why risk the chance of confrontation?”
“We don’t know it is a confrontation,” she countered. “Not yet. She could’ve left the light on by accident. Or she could have insomnia.”
“Is that what your instinct is telling you?” he asked. “Is that why you’re not just pulling out your keys and walking up to the front door?”
“No,” she admitted softly.
“So let’s get the hell out of here. Seriously. There has to be someplace nearby that we can borrow a phone. We’ll call Rosie. If she doesn’t answer, we’ll call emergency services.”
“That’s not good enough for me, Warren.”
“I’m not asking you not to help your neighbor at all,” he said. “All I’m suggesting is that we do it from a safe distance.”
“And if it’s too late?” Her voice broke a little as she formed the question, and Warren’s heart ached for her.
He was already sure he wasn’t going to win the argument—and they were passing the building now, too—but he had to make a final push.
“Listen to me,” he said, careful to keep his tone soft. “I don’t think there’s a too late in this situation. If Jimmy has her, he’s not going to harm her. That would mean losing his bargaining chip.”
“You don’t know Rosie,” Jeannie told him. “She would fight, Warren. Hard.”
“Then consider this...” He was practically pleading now, but he didn’t care. “If we go in there, and it is too late, then we can’t do much good. But we could compound the issue. It might be the difference between life and death for us, too.”
For a moment, Jeannie said nothing. She just guided the car around the block in silence. The lack of further protest made Warren hopeful that she was seeing things his way. Except another few seconds later, she clicked on the turn signal, pulled the vehicle over and cut the engine.
She took a very deep breath, then exhaled and spoke without looking at him. “Rosie already is the difference between life and death for me,” she said. “Or as close you can get, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Warren replied.
Her eyes stayed on her hands, which still gripped the wheel tightly. “When I packed up everything—which really wasn’t much at all—and left Edmonton three and half years ago to get a fresh start, I truly didn’t think I would make it. My mom had died and left me with a mountain of debt. The relationship I’d just come out of... Well...that’s a story that needs more than a minute to tell.” She took another breath, this one small and quick, and then she went on. “When I got to Calgary, I literally only had my car and my bag. I applied for housing at seventeen apartments. Not one accepted me. Then I met Rosie in a parking lot. She claimed to have found me by intuition. She always says she’s ‘not quite psychic,’ and that’s why things happen for her the way they do.”
Jeannette smiled as she repeated the oft-used phrased. “She knocked on my car window, insisted on taking me to her apartment, and she badgered the building manager into putting my name at the top of the list for a unit that was opening at the end of the month. She let me stay at her place, and she helped me rediscover purpose.” She finally looked up. “You can’t expect me just to leave here without trying to help her myself.”
There were undisguised tears in her eyes. Under that display of emotion, though, was a gritty determination. It didn’t ease Warren’s concern over Jeannie’s well-being or make him feel any better about the idea of charging into the apartment without a clue as to what was actually going on. It definitely added a new dimension of curiosity, too. Her story, even as hasty and undetailed as it was, only made him want to know more. His mind reeled with questions.
What had made her decide to take a hard, new road in life? Was it the relationship she’d just alluded to? What was that about? Why did the way she’d said it make Warren bristle with a different kind of worry? He felt a compulsion to know the answers. Except he knew there was no time to seek them. He was also 100 percent certain that she really was going to go in with him or without him, and the latter was out of the question.
This whole thing is your fault, anyway, he reminded himself. The least you can do is let her have her way. And maybe make a bit of an effort to help get rid of that heartbreaking look on her face while you’re at it.
“Okay, then,” he relented. “Just promise me that you won’t put yourself in direct danger.”
She wiped her eyes. “I promise.”
He reached over to give her hand a squeeze before unbuckling his seat belt. Then he swung open his door, climbed out and hurried around to her side, where he quickly opened her door, too, and held out his hand.
“Show me this idea of yours,” he said.
Jeannie clasped his fingers and smiled a small, slightly watery smile as he guided her out of the car. “More chivalry?”
Warren shrugged and gestured to the sidewalk ahead. “And in the name of proving it’s still not machismo... I’ll let you lead the way.”
“That’s not chivalry. That’s common sense. I’m the one who knows how to get into my apartment building without being seen.” Her lips curved up a little higher as she began moving along the cement path. “Not that I’m complaining about having my door opened.”
“No?” Warren fell into place beside her, glad that the ornamental trees along the road were full and green, shielding them from anybody possibly spying on them from one of the higher apartment windows.
“No,” she said. “And if we encounter a mud puddle, I’ll definitely expect you to throw down that plaid coat of yours.”
“Happy to oblige. A man in his forties has to have something unique to give.”
“And chivalry’s it? I’m pretty sure you’ve got more to offer than that.”
“Oh, I’m not all bad,” he told her. “But I feel compelled to mention that I have made it through forty-one years of successful bachelorhood.”
“You’ve never been married?” She sounded truly surprised.
“Nope. Never had the true inclination, nor the right set of circumstances.”
As he made the admission, he waited for the familiar, punched-in-the-gut feeling to hit. But it didn’t. There was just the barest twinge, and then it was gone. That didn’t mean he was ready to divulge every detail. Not yet.
How about ever? asked his subconscious.
He dismissed the self-directed question and gave Jeannie an honest—albeit suitably evasive—addendum to his reply.
“To quote you...” he said. “That’s a story that needs more than a minute to tell.”
“Touché.”
“Yep. And speaking of stories... I’m going to go ahead and assume that after this, we might have to find a new thing.”
Jeannie shot a confused look his way. “What?”
“You know. Because of everything you told me about moving here and about Rosie.” Warren deliberately eliminated the relationship disclosure and her mother’s death from his comment; his gut told him that she wanted to discuss those two things less than he wanted to go on at length about his own baggage. “We’ll need a new thing.”
Jeannie’s puzzled look deepened. “I don’t get it.”
“That conversation sounded like an upgrade from small talk.” He fought a smile. “Unless you tell the ice cream guy that same type of stuff. In which case, I stand corrected.”
Her frown cleared. “Actually...it just so happens that you’re the first person I’ve ever told most of that stuff to.”
The statement gave Warren an unusually warm feeling in his chest, and his mind slipped to the light brush of her lips over his cheek. He had to force himself to stop thinking about it.
He cleared his throat and spoke in a light tone. “Well, that’s a relief. I’m glad to be a step above ice cream truck guy.”
Jeannie shook her head. “You have a real thing against that poor man, don’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I happen to admire him,” Warren replied. “He’s an entrepreneur. He runs his own business, and he doesn’t have to answer to anyone except a bunch of treat-hungry kids who probably think he’s a saint. And he was willing to sacrifice some income in order to tend to his family. What’s not to like?”
“Oh. Does that mean I should upgrade his status on the customer hierarchy? Maybe make sure he gets closer to the marrying side of things?”
He started to chuckle, then stopped as he realized that the idea of Jeannie marrying some other random customer bothered him way more than it had a right to.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice completely serious.
Jeannie seemed startled by his tone. She stopped walking abruptly. The look on her face was more than curious. Warren cleared his throat and waited for her to call him out on the one-word request. Truthfully, he wasn’t willing to retract it. He had no interest in pretending he was completely comfortable with imagining her in some made-up relationship. When she spoke, her statement wasn’t the one he’d expected.
“Thank you,” she said.
He felt his forehead wrinkle. “For what?”
“Distracting me with non-small small talk. And for the record, I’m really glad you decided not to let me storm the castle on my own.”
Warren wanted to make a joke, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He couldn’t even accept her gratitude. In fact, hearing her express it just highlighted the fact that the whole situation could’ve been avoided if he’d been thinking more clearly.
“My fault you’re here in the first place,” he reminded her, his voice gruff. “Couldn’t very well leave, could I?”
Jeannie looked at him like there was an argument on the tip of her tongue. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Then she just shook her head and started walking again.