She had always been a little too flirty with him. Used to getting her own way, she bartered with her body as if it were currency, but this time she really crossed the line. She really didn’t understand that no meant no. He had needed to resort to physical restraint to stop her from embarrassing herself more than she already had by dropping her dressing gown and trying to seduce him as he did a security sweep of the room.
He was glad it was over. While Bay Legends was Hollywood’s idea of perfection, he had his own idea, and she was waiting for him behind this door.
He froze as the door swung inward, the small gift bag slipping from his hand as he saw the empty apartment. The first thought, through his surprise, was that Ivy had simply had a really good clean, but the smell of bleach and cleaning fluids overwrote the subtle fragrances of her scent that were always present.
His eyes scanned the empty room. Her slanket—that’s to say her blanket with sleeves—was missing from the back of her sofa, and her favourite mug, that lived perpetually by the kettle, also gone.
He walked around the room, the polish on the floor causing his socks to slide ungracefully, as he searched for any sign of her, but there was nothing, not a bar of soap or a photograph to be seen. The entire place was spotless, and her complete and total absence caused his heart to lurch. Grabbing his phone, he checked her message again, a frown creasing his brow.
I hope we can meet Tuesday afternoon.
Nothing about moving, nothing about a time, or a different place. Just that one simple line. Placing his phone to his ear, he listened as he was put straight through to voicemail. A growl of frustration rumbled through his chest as he ended the call. He hated talking to machines. He’d try her again in a minute. Maybe she had a poor signal or something.
“She moved out this morning.” Mrs Williams must have heard him from next door because the sweet old lady was standing at the threshold, her thin arms folded across her tiny frame. She always wore a hand-knitted cardigan, protecting her old bones and liver-spotted skin from the chill she always seemed to feel.
This fragile woman had been Ivy’s friend since her husband had died two years ago. One night, after Ivy had heard her crying through the walls, she went over with a freshly cooked meal and spent the evening in her company, talking for hours and watching old game shows. “I’m going to miss that girl. I could never thank her enough for all she did for me.”
Mrs Williams didn’t just mean the meals and company. Over the last two years, Ivy had encouraged her to go out and engage with people again. Thanks to her, she went from lonely widow to a woman who missed her husband but continued to live instead of withering away.
“Did she leave a forwarding address?”
“Did you two have a row?” Her wrinkled eyes normally told a story of a happy life filled with laughter and happiness, but now, as they narrowed towards him accusingly, her pale brown eyes held a level of scolding and disappointment only possible for a disgruntled grandma.
“No, quite the opposite. I was meant to meet her this afternoon but—” He gestured inside the apartment meaningfully.
“She didn’t leave an address with me, although she promised to write. She didn’t talk much about it, to be honest. Said she’d got an interview for a new job. Why she had to pack up and leave, I don’t know. You can try Carlos, he may have something.”
“Thanks, Mrs Williams.” He offered her a smile, pulling the door to Ivy’s apartment closed with a sigh before heading to the staircase, trying her phone again and again until he reached the ground floor office. “Hey, Carlos, I’m dropping in the key for 21B. Did Ivy leave a forwarding address for her mail?”
“She did.” Miles knew the building manager well from his years of visiting. His kindly demeanour and easy smile went against all the images he had ever conjured of the tight-fisted, tenant-scamming managers he thought ruled the city. This man had been nothing short of amazing. Not one of his tenants had ever had cause to complain, and any issues were usually resolved the same day.
“Can I have it?”
“You know I can’t do that, Mister Taylor. But you know what, I could do with a strapping lad like you tightening some screws on my old cupboard. I’d do it myself, but I’ve loaned my step to one of the tenants and I can’t quite reach, me being five foot nothing and all. But a tall lad like you should have no issue.”
Miles felt a screwdriver being placed in his hand as he was hustled inside the office towards the back wall. Carlos kicked aside a small step with his much loved sneakers, not so subtly concealing it beneath the desk. “That’s the one, now, I’ve got some data to input for the tenant who checked out earlier. I’ve a tendency to read aloud, so don’t mind me if you hear anything you shouldn’t. You just work on that, pay me no mind.” He smiled brightly as Miles nodded.
The slightly misaligned, red-wood cupboard opened with a squeak that had him instantly retrieving one of the cans of WD40 from inside before he started manipulating the hinges to ensure the door would hang properly. A little pressure here, a slight lift there, and, perfect. All the while he listened as Carlos typed away on his computer for a few seconds, before reading out an address Miles instantly recognised as Becca’s address. “Well, that’s about done it. How’s that cupboard coming along?”
“Good as new.” Miles grinned, opening the cupboard and closing it again, rechecking the door alignment. Carlos looked at him with a smile, examining the work before nodding in approval.
“Not bad, Mister Taylor, if you ever need a job I could always use an extra set of hands.”
“I don’t think that’ll be too much of a concern soon. I hear you’re upgrading to condos.” Miles wiped his hands on the wet-wipe Carlos offered, removing the dust and oil residue from his fingers before tossing it in the small metal trash can.
“The owner put the plans forward a few years back. I don’t think he’s going to do anything about it, though. Although to be fair, everything is handled through an agency. They don’t exactly keep the general dog’s body in the loop. So long as I keep things running, they have no need to clue me in on their plans. Thanks for doing that for me, Mister Taylor. Be sure to Ivy we’re going to miss having our English rose around here.”
“Well, I know she was sad to be leaving. Anyway, here’s my key, Becca is away so she won’t be able to drop hers by until she’s back, will that be a problem?” Miles twisted the keyring free. A strange sensation washing over him as he thought about all the memories being left behind in those walls as he placed the key on the desk.
“Nah, we get the locks changed anyhow. I already released her security deposit. Not many tenants make such an effort to leave the place so spotless, I was kind of surprised. It was probably neater than when she moved in.”
“Right, well, I should catch up to her. I wanted to surprise her with a gift, but looks like I was the one blindsided.” He pushed a hand through his unkempt hair, trying to wear a smile while his stomach churned. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones, and if the army had taught him one thing it was that his bones never lied.
Thirty minutes later, he was at the door to Becca’s apartment. Given that she owned it, Becca had added her own creative flair to the door, adding small six by six inch wooden tiles which contained burnt images of some of the beautiful places she had visited. Each time she went somewhere new, another picture would be added. She said it so she’d always walk through the door feeling inspired.
He had to admit, the effect was amazing. These wooden tiles fit perfectly into her specially crafted door and were held in place by a grid. It was a work of art that reminded him of those sliding puzzles, and the fact the pieces could be moved in order to retrieve the blank tiles, which were for the adventures she’d yet to have, did little to dispel this thought. It was so uniquely fascinating that he almost felt bad knocking. Almost.
He knew Becca had left Ivy with a key so she could look in on the place when she was away on her inspiration hunts. It made sense she would be her
e. He knocked again, sliding one of the pictures down into the space, altering the layout of the door while he waited. Apparently this was how Becca always knew he had called by when she was out.
The longer he waited, the more obvious it became that either Ivy wasn’t here, or she wasn’t answering the door. He pressed his ear to the wood, listening intently. Silence. But he wasn’t convinced he’d hear movement from inside anyway. Fortunately, there was another way to check. Since Becca’s apartment block was upmarket guests had to sign in and out.
Returning to the foyer, he grabbed the pen to sign out, flicking through the extensive log until he came across Ivy’s name. Both her entry and exit time had been logged, barely fifteen minutes apart. Under the scrutiny of the security guard he scanned the rest of the pages, double checking she hadn’t returned before turning his attention to the broad man who was trying his best to look intimidating.
After a long conversation, where he needed to lean on his position in his father’s personal security firm, he confirmed someone matching Ivy’s description had indeed visited, but only stayed long enough to drop a few boxes off before leaving.
He pumped the guard for details but, aside from remembering the overburdened, polite English woman he’d pressed the elevator button for, he recalled nothing else that would be of help.
Miles didn’t understand why she would drop some things off here and leave. While she fit in with his friends, she didn’t really have anyone she spent a great deal of time with outside of himself and Becca, at least none that he knew of. If she wasn’t staying with either of them, where the hell was she?
Sin, where are you? He fired another text message to her phone after calling, damn voicemail. Where the hell could she be? He glanced down at the small gift bag that contained a new stationary set along with a new pen and inks. Ivy loved hand writing everything, and pens, she had so many pens, no matter where they went she always came back with one. And since he travelled frequently, he’d always been sure to pick something special for her too.
How had it taken him so long to realise they had been a couple in all the ways that really mattered? He loved her. Just thinking the words made his heart swell as if it was proud of him for realising the truth. There would never be anyone else, only her. Now if he could just find her, he’d kept her waiting long enough to hear the words his heart had known long before his brain caught up.
When he’d finally made Miss Legends understand he was taken, and whatever she wanted would never happen, she’d insisted on buying a gift for his girlfriend in the way of an apology for overstepping. So, along with the stationary was another special gift, a chiffon scarf. He liked the thought of Ivy being his girlfriend almost as much as the warmth he got at the thought of her as his wife. One step at a time, he reminded himself.
All last night and today his mind had been filled with images of wrapping the scarf around her neck and pulling her close and stealing that kiss. They’d talk—if she needed to—about his intentions, because once she agreed to be his he knew he’d never let her go. Mostly, he hoped to sweep her away beyond the need for words and simply demonstrate the things he had yet to voice. That he loved her, needed her, and she was his. His sun rose and fell with her smile. She had become his world, his centre, and he’d been a fool to waste so much time when she could have been in his arms. But to do that, first he had to find her.
Mrs Williams had said something about a job interview. Maybe she was running late, but why hadn’t she told him she’d moved out, why invite him over when the place would be empty?
He shoved his phone into his pocket, trying to smooth down his hair as he exited the building and caught sight of himself in the window. He’d passed his hand through it far too many times for it to hold its style.
He’d call her again later.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he waved down a cab. Something about this didn’t feel right, not at all.
CHAPTER SIX
The seventy-three degrees Fahrenheit the pilot reported on landing was far higher than the forty-three she’d left behind in Manhattan. It made her wonder why on Earth the email had told her to bring warmer layers.
The aeroplane was humming with noise. The excited sound of chatter filled the small space as the other passengers all raced to grab their baggage at once and fight their way towards the exit as quickly as possible.
Why was it people never realised there was no need to rush? They’d all be in the same queues, waiting for the luggage, waiting for the transport. It didn’t matter if you were first off or last off.
As the crowd died down, she slipped from her seat, looping her handbag across her shoulder and running her fingers through its contents, checking her passport and papers, again, before grabbing her bag from the overhead and making her way toward the exit.
Slipping her kindle into the large pocket of her leggings, that she swore had been made just to fit her favourite Paperwhite, she kept her head down, following the signs for the baggage collection point. As usual, everyone was tightly packed, crushed shoulder to shoulder, standing on tiptoes, squeezing and twisting all to see if the baggage carousel was going to bestow its blessings upon them and allow them to escape the hustle and bustle to start their holiday.
Time ticked on, and the same blue case went past again, followed by a red, a green, an umbrella, and then a lull. Back to blue until a woman came hurrying behind her in heels that created a loud chorus on the tiled floors, shouting that it was her case, as if it would somehow stop the track from moving.
Her protesting children stumbled before her as she hurried them along with flapping arms. Reaching out, Ivy pulled the bag from the conveyor belt for the flustered looking woman, whose wild brown hair had all but pulled free of her messy bun. She flashed a smile filled with relief and gratitude before she was on her way again, trying to comfort the youngest, who rubbed her eyes and cried, clinging to her soft blanket.
Just the lone umbrella was circling now. Not a sun parasol, just a plain, black brolly, and she wondered who would think to check such a thing as luggage. It was nothing special, just canvass, with a hooked plastic handle. She kept looking at it, waiting for some minor detail to present itself that would make its presence make sense, but she saw nothing but the four-dollar umbrella until the track stopped turning and she realised she was standing there alone, waiting for a second wave of luggage that would never come.
The digital display on the terminal flickered and changed, announcing the next flight that would soon be rushing here. Tilting her head back towards the lighting she groaned. Seriously?
An hour later she was working her way towards the small charter flight, her skin prickling with warmth from more than just the heat. The missing luggage claim receipt was tucked safely inside her passport in her bag, since she wouldn’t be needing either again. She adjusted the shoulder strap, blowing the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail from her face.
They had assured her it was likely just a mix-up and they would contact her to arrange for her wayward case to be forwarded to her hotel as soon as it was located.
The further she was from Manhattan, the easier it became to lose herself in the book. She tucked her transfer pass inside the folded kindle case, leaving the extra one she’d got for Miles in her bag. The lounge was busy, but even with her heart pounding she managed a momentary escape as she delved back into the world of fantasy.
It was only when her flight was called, and she was forced to come up from air, typically at the point the heroes had made a heart-wrenching and terrifying discovery, she felt the familiar mantle of panic settling in.
Tugging on the handle of her hand luggage, a curse slipped through her lips as the familiar twang of the handle was accompanied by a resounding thump as her case hit the floor.
Damn it, not now.
Flushing with embarrassment as all eyes turned towards her, she quickly rammed it back into place with a well-practised hand, grasping the carry handle as she hurried acr
oss to the terminal to the chartered flight to the island that would hopefully become her home. A fresh start was just what she needed, and this job would certainly be that.
Soon her face was pressed to the small window of the charter plane. The sight below the small craft was breathtaking, simply mesmerising. Vivid blue waters shimmered and sparkled in the light of the afternoon sun, drinking the golden rays hungrily.
They flew over small islands, watching the blue waters shimmer below in amazement. She’d always thought the brochures had enhanced this shade to make the view more tempting to holidaymakers, but seeing it now she saw, if anything, the pictures didn’t do the rich and vibrant colours justice.
She had never realised the ocean could hold so many beautiful shades in such a short stretch. It was like a hypnotist’s watch passing before her eyes, mesmerising, enchanting, and impossible to tear her gaze away from. She couldn’t wait to slip into the water and experience the crystal clear embrace.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as the plane touched down and—for easily the tenth time—she silently thanked her father, because of his advice she would have things to wear. She was hardly going to impress anyone in an interview in her leggings, tank top, and crease ridden cardigan.
The more nervous she became, the more she fidgeted until she was certain she had forgot the collection point for the hotel. Reaching under the seat for her handbag, her face flushed. No, no, no. Her hand swiped back and forth, looking for the small fabric strap, finding only air.
This could not be happening.
As the plane drew to a stop she unclipped her belt, dropping to her knees, but she already knew without the need to look that it wasn’t there.
Her mind raced, trying to remember the last time she’d seen it. She’d had it when she was filling out the baggage claim form. She was almost certain it been slung over her shoulder when she went to the waiting area for the flight, then—she tried to remember if she’d felt it on her shoulder on the plane, if she remembered pushing it under the seat or if she just assumed she had, but she’d been so flustered about her case she wasn’t sure.
Breaking Sin: A kidnap abduction story (Addicted to Sin Book 1) Page 7
