Daring In The City

“Listen to me, sweetheart,” her mom said. “I know how much you want this, and how hard you’ve worked, but if things don’t turn out like you planned, you know you can always come home. New York can be overwhelming. The goal you’ve set for yourself isn’t as simple as finding a job. Don’t listen to your father and your brother. Coming home doesn’t mean you’re a failure. So please promise me that if it gets to be too much, you’ll come back.”

Tears collected in the corners of her eyes. It would be a failure. She believed that with all her heart. She was going to be the first in her family to actually make it. On her own. She’d do whatever it took, no matter what—after she strangled Wes, of course. She’d make it in New York, all right. “Of course, Mom,” she said, her voice a little rougher than she would’ve liked. “I promise.”

* * *

APRIL STARED UP at the Mercury Building and then at the apartment key in the palm of her hand. Wes had mailed the key to her at the very last minute and she hadn’t thought to question it. How could she have been such a fool? Why would she need a key if he had intended to meet her at the bus station?

After she’d arrived at the Port Authority and saw Wes wasn’t there waiting for her, she hadn’t bothered to call him again. She’d simply slipped on her backpack, collected her heavy rolling suitcase and her enormous nonrolling duffel bag and managed to navigate the subway without bursting into tears.

She double-checked the address to be sure she was at the right place before lugging everything through the building’s darkened entranceway, praying the whole time that the key would actually fit the lock of apartment 4A. The first thing she saw was an out-of-order sign taped to the elevator door.

With a small whimper, she started up the stairs. The next problem—she couldn’t possibly take both bags at the same time. She’d fall and kill herself before she’d tasted a single slice of real New York pizza.

Making sure no one was watching her, she stashed the duffel in a tight shadowed alcove. She figured it would take her five minutes to get everything else upstairs and then she’d race back to get the bag. It was her only option at this point.

What felt like several hours later, she finally made it to the fourth floor.

Thankfully, the key worked. It was actually someone else’s apartment, unoccupied and filled with construction equipment. Soon enough she found the staircase that led to the room Wes had rented.

Her last shred of hope that this was all one great big misunderstanding disappeared when she entered the room.

Of course Wes wasn’t there.

She could tell because the room wasn’t very large and the closet door was open. There were no clothes in it. None. Zero. In fact, the only things in the room were an unmade mattress with a mess of sheets balled up in the middle, a pillow with no case and a microwave on the window ledge sitting next to a coffeemaker.

Sticking out from beneath the sheets was an envelope with her name printed on it in Wes’s handwriting.

Her hand trembled as she slipped out the letter. The black pit of anxiety in her stomach had her feeling nauseated to the point of checking how many steps it was to the bathroom down the hall. At least the toilet seat was up in case she had to make a run for it. She took a deep breath and looked down at the letter.

I’m really sorry. I’ll pay you back every penny. I swear.

The paper floated away as her legs refused to hold her up for another second. She missed the mattress, falling down hard on her knees on the wood floor. It was so much worse than even her nightmare scenarios. He was gone. Actually gone. With her money.

He’d left her in a strange city, in a weird apartment, with a business plan but no partner. He was supposed to handle all the tech. All the research into companies and potential workers. Background checks, safety records. Databases and money exchanges, so they’d bank a piece of every single job they matched. Their business was meant to be like a hotel concierge service complete with guaranteed safety checks.

And he’d disappeared. Ditched her without so much as a warning.

How could he have done this to her? They’d been lovers.

Her head dropped into her hands, and there was no holding back the great racking sobs. Not just because he’d stolen her money, but because she couldn’t...

God, the expectations of her family had been so important to her, ever since she’d excelled in high school. Before that, really. From a young age, her father had called her The Great Branagan Hope to whoever would listen. He’d laughed, but she knew he’d meant it. The nickname was hauled out with every A, every award, every success she’d earned.

And she’d been brought to her knees on her first day of what was supposed to be her greatest venture yet.

The humiliation was as hard to swallow as the betrayal. She was dizzy by the time she got control of her sobbing. But she hadn’t stopped shaking. And it was only then that she remembered she’d left her other bag downstairs.

She took a minute to gain her balance after she stood. When she could walk, she went into the bathroom to wipe her face. Instead of finding a towel, she found toilet paper sitting on the floor. With exactly four sheets left on the roll.

She’d find that son of a bitch, and she’d kill him.

Finally, she started making her way back down the four flights of stairs. It wasn’t until she hit the second floor that she noticed a crowd had gathered on the sidewalk.

Two policemen were standing near the broken elevator, their flashlights shining exactly where she’d left her bag. The distorted sounds of their walkie-talkies made her stomach churn.

Hell. She’d been gone too long. They’d found her unattended bag. In New York City. Great. At least there’d be plenty of toilet paper when she was shipped off to Gitmo.

She flew down the stairs. “Wait, wait. That’s my bag. I couldn’t carry it up with my other giant suitcase and I only meant to leave it for a second but my business partner stranded me and took all my savings. But I swear there’s nothing dangerous inside, and I can tell you every single item in there. Just please don’t send me to jail.”

The two cops stared at her, their hands close to their weapons.

“Honestly,” she said, trying to catch her breath, but since her chest was squeezing her lungs flat, it wasn’t easy. “My name is April Branagan, but the name tag on the duffel is Eloise Wooster. I borrowed it from my aunt. You can call her if you want, and she’ll confirm it. I didn’t want to use my name and address because this is a temporary rental, so if it got lost, it could have been lost forever, and it’s got all my underwear and a lot of my business clothes.

The good-looking cop put up his hand, stopping her. “Look, we have no choice about this. Any unattended bag left under suspicious circumstances requires a protocol—”

“But it’s not suspicious. I swear. I’m standing right here, and if you unzip it even just a tiny bit, I can tell you what you’ll find.”

“This is a residential building,” the shorter cop said. “A lot of people could be at risk.”

She looked at him. Then at Hot Cop. Then at all the people who seemed way more interested in the drama than the danger, and she burst into tears. Big, sloppy sobs she had no control over. This was the worst day of her life, and it was becoming more horrifying by the minute.

“You can’t tell my mom, okay,” she said, crying the words. “I told her I was fine. That I could handle this. She can’t afford bail or a flight from St. Louis, not when Cassie’s just moved back with her kids.”

“Just look in the effin’ bag,” someone from the crowd said.

She wasn’t sure who it was, but it was so nice, it made her cry even harder.

“Yeah, give the girl a break,” someone else, a woman, said.

“You think pretty girls can’t be terrorists?”

She thought she might throw up. As it was, her nose was running and, of course, she didn’t have any tissues with her. “There’s an outside pocket,” she said, snorting disgustingly. “There are tissues in there, and—” She hiccupped.

Hot Cop said something she couldn’t hear to his partner, who pulled up his walkie-talkie, turned away from her and started to speak. She couldn’t hear what he said, either, but she figured he was calling the bomb squad and she’d end up at Rikers Island, just like on Law & Order.

Then Hot Cop bent next to her bag. He unzipped the side pocket and pulled out the little pack of tissues, showing it to his partner, who nodded.

As she was blowing her nose, which took most of the pack, Hottie unzipped the duffel. He held up the flap so she couldn’t see and said, “Tell me what’s in here.”

“A pink bra and panties, and a white bra and thong, and four more panties—yellow, green, white and lilac—and under that is my kimono robe and then my sleep shirt with the bunnies on it, and the red one with the black lace—”

He pulled out each item, holding them up one at a time to show his partner. And the rest of New York, who seemed to be four deep on the sidewalk, cheering. Hooting. Whistling.

That was when she caught all the phones. Was there even one person who wasn’t filming this? With her face looking as if it had gone through a gang initiation and her thong swinging on Hot Stuff’s finger?

She sat down on the bottom step of the stairs. Put her head in her hands. All her energy abandoning her in one exhale.

The shorter cop suddenly loomed in front of her. “I still need to file an incident report,” he said then glanced back. “Vinny, why don’t you clear the area.”

Vinny—mercifully taking leave of her duffel bag—stood, gave her a smile that looked a little too much like a leer and then the other officer started firing questions at her. Which was way, way better than the alternative.

3

LUCA DIDN’T GET back to his new place until just after 8:00 p.m. It had turned blustery, and he rubbed his cold hands together as he entered the Mercury Building.

He’d told his folks about his plans. Of course they’d known he was moving out, but they were as surprised as Tony had been about his decision to put off the internship.

Naturally, they’d argued. When did they not argue? But their reaction was what he’d expected. They, like Tony, weren’t thrilled, mostly because they’d believed he wanted that architecture license more than he did. Still, two years was a long time to commit to a life that he wasn’t certain about.

At the moment, however, his family was the last thing he wanted to think about.

Finally. He had his own place. Tomorrow his bed and wide-screen TV would be delivered, which meant tonight he needed to make sure the path was clear to the stairs. The guys who’d helped him take over the scaffolding and supplies hadn’t been choosy about where things landed.

He saw that the elevator was in service again, but he took the stairs anyway, breathing in the mingled scents of the city and hints of the lives lived down the hallways of each floor. The second and third floors had three apartments each, all occupied. The fourth floor had two exceptional apartments—each of which had two levels.

And now that the annoying Wes was gone, Luca could finally start remodeling—after he got rid of all the guy’s shit. At least he’d vacated early. That was the main reason Luca had pushed up his move-in date.

Walking into his new home gave him goose bumps. Maybe it was stupid, but he’d waited a hell of a long time for this moment. It would have been great to stay over tonight, but not without a bed. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

Freedom. Silence. No surprise neighborhood women showing up at dinner. No more playing arbiter among his mother, his father and his grandmother when they got into arguments about what shows to watch on cable. No more questions about where he went at night, who he was with. Was it a girl? Was he being careful?

His first stop, the Sub-Zero fridge he’d had no business installing this soon. All that was left of the old kitchen was the sink and a section of the Formica countertop. He’d have to be careful or risk scratching the stainless steel, but this way he’d have cold beverages while he was working on the place. He’d put a case of beer in there this morning, and he grabbed one now.

After two gulps, he put in his earbuds and tuned his cell phone radio to ESPN, then got down to business putting the tools where they belonged and separating the wood from the drywall.

Hell, the remodel wasn’t even going to take that long. Three months max, he decided. He still had to knock down the wall between the master bedroom and the guest room upstairs to give him the space he wanted. But he didn’t foresee a problem with that. He figured he could get the place in decent enough shape before his date next week. It didn’t have to be perfect.

He’d met Jillian at Columbia when they’d both been studying architecture. She was currently serving her internship so she was used to the different phases of construction.

Tomorrow, after he got rid of Wes’s crap, he’d make a decision about the wall. And then he’d bring over some clothes and other personal stuff.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since lunch. Removing his earbuds, he placed a call for a large pepperoni to be delivered. Having a slice and drinking a beer felt like a christening of sorts. Getting laid would’ve made the inauguration perfect. He hoped next week panned out. He got itchy just thinking about it.

Ten minutes later he thought he heard the buzzer, but no way the pizza was there that fast. He yanked out his earbuds again, and just as he figured he’d been imagining things, a scream tore into his bubble like a gunshot.

He didn’t even think, just grabbed the crowbar sitting on a pile of rags, his heart racing. It occurred to him that the scream didn’t sound like a help-I’m-being-assaulted scream. Although his only experience as far as that went came from TV or movies.

He moved closer to the door. Another scream, this time louder.

Shit. It was coming from inside his apartment.

Luca glanced up the stairs. Goddamn Wes Holland hadn’t moved out. Or he had, but he’d left a woman behind.

Not taking any chances on what he might find, and cursing himself for doing his friend a favor by letting his buddy move in, he started up the staircase. As he moved stealthily down the hallway he heard her shouting, but he couldn’t make out many of the words. “Fucker” came in the clearest, followed by “bastard” and “shithead.”

The closer he got to the door, the more words he could understand, but none that explained what was actually going on. He also didn’t hear anyone shouting back.

He waited at the edge of the door, finally able to make out all of what she was saying.

“How the hell does promising to pay me back do me any good? Am I supposed to believe you, after this?”

The tears and desperation came through loud and clear.

“That was almost all of my savings. I’ve worked for years for that money, and you know it,” she said. “I hate you so much right now. You’re such a coward, you won’t even pick up. I’m so disappointed. I hope you’re happy, destroying me like this. Were you laughing at me the whole time?”

Luca assumed the woman was talking about Wes and leaving him a voice mail. Had he really run off with her money? For her sake, Luca hoped not, but it wasn’t his problem.

Leaning to his left, he risked peeking inside the room. Luckily, the woman had her back to him. Lucky for him because it was a very nice view: the woman was wearing nothing but underwear.

Very tiny underwear.

Her bikini panties were pale blue, resting high on each cheek, and tucked in between her stunning buttocks just far enough to make him catch his breath. On top, he spotted the straps of her matching bra poking out from underneath a cascade of thick auburn hair.

He wondered what she looked like from the front...

She turned quickly, probably hearing his irregular breathing.

Now her scream was definitely of the help-I’m-being-assaulted variety.

He lowered the crowbar, noticing the two large pieces of luggage behind her. “Hey, hey,” he said softly, raising his left hand. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She waved her cell phone at him as she grabbed the nearest thing at hand—a pillow—and held it up against her seminaked body. “I’ve already hit my panic button. The police will be here any minute.”

“Good,” he said, leaning his weapon against the door frame, trying hard to ignore the fact that she was hot. Certainly way too hot for that douche bag, Wes. “I’m anxious to hear you explain what you’re doing in my apartment.”

“Your apartment? You mean you own the one below?”

He nodded. “It’s all one unit.”

“But I have a key. And five days left on the rental agreement.”

“What agreement?”

“My...” Her pause was notable, mostly for the look of fury that passed across her face. “My ex-jerkface business partner rented this place from the—from you, I guess. But I didn’t think you lived here.”

“Huh. Well, I think you might have been misinformed by Jerkface. And by Jerkface, I’m assuming you mean Wes Holland?”

Her whole demeanor changed from fierce guardedness to utter defeat and she lowered her cell phone. “Wait a minute. How do I know you’re the real owner?”

“Wes moved out. Letting him stay here was a favor, one that he didn’t value very highly. All this crap was supposed to be gone when he left.”

Maneuvering the pillow to cover whatever she could of herself, she grabbed her backpack and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Ha. You’re wrong. This is the rental agreement. Right here.” She held it up and wagged it at him, the same way she’d done with her phone.

The truth was, he’d agreed to let the guy stay, and he had moved out early, but there’d been nothing in writing. “Hey, I’m sorry about your friend, but you can’t stay here. I’m moving in and working on the apartment. The only reason I rented to him at all was because I hadn’t gotten started on the renovation yet. And he never mentioned you.”

“But he left a note,” she said, her voice wobbling. “He was supposed to meet me at the Port Authority. Help me move in. But he hasn’t answered any of my phone calls for two days. And he emptied our joint bank account that was intended for our new business.”

Yep, two days ago—that was when Wes had moved out. Luca felt bad for her, but it still wasn’t his problem. His gut had told him the guy was a prick. Why the hell hadn’t he listened?

“I understand you must be angry,” he said, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you’ll have to leave.”

“What? Now?”

“Well, no.” It was already late, well past dark, and he couldn’t see himself throwing her out. “You can stay tonight, but you’ll have to go tomorrow.”

A couple of very white teeth tugged on her lower lip. “Look, if you could just let me stay for the next five days? By then I’ll have found somewhere else. I’ll have figured out what to do.”

“May I suggest you get on the next Greyhound back to wherever you came from?”

A single tear trickled down her cheek and she quickly turned away. “I can’t. There’s no place for me there. I’ve planned this move for a while. We had everything set up to start our business...” Her voice trailed off, ending in a muffled sob. “Fine, I’ll go,” she whispered. “It can’t be in the morning, though. I need to find a place.”

He turned to leave, but hesitated at the door while he thought about her predicament. Letting her stay a couple days would mean he’d have to put off moving in upstairs, but it wouldn’t put the reno back much. It would just be less convenient for him. But he wasn’t a jerkface, and he doubted this was some sort of con.

Technically, he owed her nothing. Luca had agreed to let Wes have the room, not her. But she was in a hell of a spot. Still, what did he know about her?

He waited for her to face him again, and when she didn’t he asked, “What’s your name?”

“April.”

“Is that your real name?”

That got her to turn around. She pinned him with a glare as she wiped her tears as quickly as she could. “Yes. April Branagan. Check me out. I’m not a criminal.” Her bravado faltered and she let out a soft whimper. “Although your neighbors might think I am.”

“My neighbors?” The hair on the back of his neck stood up. “Why?”

“I didn’t say I was a criminal. Just that they might think so.”

“Why would they think that?” More to the point, why was he bothering to ask? He should be kicking her cute little behind out the front door right now.

“It was a misunderstanding. That’s all. There was no reason to call the cops.”

“Cops? Here?”

“No, not up here. Outside.” She sniffed and dabbed at her cheek. “And only because the elevator was out of order.”

Luca was pretty sure the cops didn’t give a rat’s ass about the elevator, so he waited, staring at her as she stared back. The pillow slipped a few inches. Either she hadn’t noticed or it was a ploy to distract him, which...

Goddamn it.

Her breasts were high and looked firm. He only saw the tops plumping over her pale blue bra. Nothing else was showing. Still, he moved his gaze to safer ground.

If there was such a thing.

He hated to think he’d end up being an idiot because she was hot. Those big dark eyes weren’t even the most remarkable thing about her face. It was the odd combination of her roundish cheeks and delicate chin. Or maybe the contrast between her dark brows and warm, rosy skin...

Whatever, she was gorgeous, and his opinion of Wes Holland went down several more notches. The guy was an idiot.

“Tell me why the cops were here,” he said, holding up a hand when she started to speak. “In one sentence, and make it good if you want to stay.”

She inhaled deeply, and he had to force himself to keep looking at her face. “Because the elevator was out of service and you can see how big my luggage is, I couldn’t carry both bags up the stairs at the same time by myself so I stuffed my duffel bag in the alcove by the elevator then I came up here only to find the note that told me Wes had run off with my money, and because of that it took me longer than I’d expected to go back for my duffel, and by that time there were cops downstairs because the bag was unattended, so I had to convince them that I wasn’t a terrorist even though the tag on the bag was in my aunt’s name, but then they looked inside and found nothing but my clothes so they didn’t arrest me, thank God. And that’s it. That’s why the cops were here.”

It was a good thing she’d stopped to take a breath because her face had started turning pink from speed talking her way through that entire monologue. “All right,” he said, holding back a laugh. “You can stay. Two days. And everything goes with you.”

“Really?”

He nodded, grudgingly. At least he wouldn’t feel like a snake.

“You haven’t told me your name,” she said.

“Luca Paladino.”

Hugging the pillow, she held out her hand, and when he took it, he was reminded quite viscerally of how petite she was. Five-one at the most?

“You know, I’m tearing this whole place up. There’s going to be a lot of noise and I can’t guarantee you’ll have electricity.”

“I’ll deal with it. Thanks.” She looked down and quietly muttered, “Even though the rental agreement was for five more days.”

He took a step back into the room. “Why don’t you let me take a look at that agreement?”

She hesitated, then handed him paper.

The bastard had clearly downloaded a standard rental agreement from the internet and forged Luca’s signature. “Be aware that I’m staying downstairs, so keep the screaming to a minimum,” he said.

Her shoulders drooped, but she kept her back upright, and her reddened eyes met his gaze straight on. She knew how to school her reactions. Interesting. So maybe she was involved in some kind of con. God, he hoped not. He wanted to believe she was exactly who she purported to be: a victim of a relationship gone bad.