by Jo Leigh
To make things worse, the guy sitting across the aisle from her—a thirtysomething travel writer typing on his laptop—kept staring at her legs, which was making her uncomfortable. Until she realized she was jiggling her foot. Probably shaking the whole row.
She stopped. Gave him a conciliatory smile. Heard him hit the keyboard again as she watched her hometown disappear street by street.
By the time they’d gone ten miles, her mind had gone right back to worrying. Where the hell was Wes? Her ex-boyfriend/current business partner had gone ahead to New York to settle their living arrangements and meet up with some college friends who lived in Manhattan and had the connections she and Wes needed to get their fledgling concierge business off the ground.
Their last conversation had been great. He’d been excited about seeing her and showing her the temporary apartment he’d found for them. So why wasn’t he picking up?
The guy across the aisle was gathering up his things. One glance told her she was the reason. He stood, taking the time to give her an evil look.
Ah. Her leg was bouncing again. “Sorry,” she said, but he didn’t respond. At least now she had the row to herself.
Maybe if she just closed her eyes for a bit?
That lasted about two minutes.
Wes had managed to get an amazing deal on a place in Nolita, which, she’d quickly learned, meant the area north of Little Italy, in a building that was being remodeled. It was just a small room and a bathroom on the second floor of an empty apartment, but it was cheap, belonged to a friend of a friend and, well, they didn’t need all that much in the way of luxuries. The biggest problem would be the sleeping arrangements.
Wes knew their relationship was and would remain strictly business. They’d actually been over for a while. April knew he’d hoped the break they’d taken would only be temporary, but she had to wonder if he wasn’t answering because he knew her mind was made up and he was pissed about it. Although he’d had plenty of time to tell her he didn’t want to move forward with their business plans. She figured there had to be a good reason why he hadn’t been in contact, and she couldn’t help but worry that he’d been in an accident, or the victim of a mugging—or worse.
She stopped herself. No use sending herself into more of a tizzy. She’d find out what was going on soon enough.
At their stop in Chicago, she ordered a croissant and a large double espresso venti from a kiosk in the bus terminal then added a double-chocolate brownie and a blueberry muffin. She’d probably gain ten pounds before she even got to the most amazing restaurant city in the world.
The transfer to the new bus went smoothly, but it also meant the end of no neighbors. This time a lady wearing a Chicago Bears hat sat in the seat right next to her, pulled out a paperback book, then turned to face April. “I’m Lorene. Lorene Patrick. I’m going all the way to Toledo, and it’s my first time there. But I’ve got a job waiting for me. And my friend, Kiki, she’s letting me share her apartment until I can find a place of my own. Where are you headed?”
April stuffed half her muffin into her mouth, just to give her time to adjust to this new situation. Her first thought was to move seats immediately, but then she thought that Lorene might be the distraction she needed.
She was wrong. So very wrong. Lorene ended up talking her ear off for the next three hours before enough people had left the bus that April could finally claim a new seat. The first thing she did was call Wes. Of course he didn’t answer. She’d already sent three stealth texts while Lorene had been talking. And talking.
By now April wanted to strangle him. “Goddamn it, Wes. Where are you? Why aren’t you answering? Do I really have to call every hospital in New York to make sure you’re still alive? You’d better have a damn good excuse for this bullshit. I’m giving you one more hour, and then I’m going to call the police.”
The worst thing about cell phones was the inability to smash down a receiver. She made do by punching the disconnect button five times. It didn’t help.
April turned toward the window and stared at the lights of South Bend, feeling disembodied. She was so incredibly tired. But closing her eyes just revved her mind up into a spiral of one terrible thought after another.
When her phone actually rang, it made her jump so hard the thankfully quiet woman next to her jumped, too. Fumble-fingered, April finally saw that it wasn’t Wes calling. It was her mother.
She pasted a smile on her face, a trick she’d learned working as a waitress. Smiling through terrible situations made them less terrible. And tended to disguise her voice enough that it might earn her a tip. “Hi, Mom.”
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” her mom said. “You hardly got a wink of sleep the last couple of days.”
“I’m awake now. Don’t worry. I slept all morning. Besides, I should be worrying about you. Did Cassie get all her stuff inside? Are the kids settled yet?”
“It’s all coming together. I’ve put everyone to work, so we’ll be done by suppertime. But tell me about your trip. It must be so exciting. Is Wes calling you every twenty minutes?”
“Yeah, sure. Wes is beside himself waiting for me to arrive. He’s got the apartment all ready and everything.”
Her mother didn’t respond right away. “April Michela Branagan, are you telling me the truth?”
“Mom, it’s fine. I’m just tired, that’s all. Too much excitement, not enough room to burn off my nervous energy.”
April glanced at the woman next to her, who didn’t even pretend not to be eavesdropping. She turned to the window again and asked her mother to tell her about how the rest of the family was doing.
Her mom and dad had a full house once more. With five kids—only two of them still in school—her folks never did seem to get any peace. Her sister’s husband had left her, and Cassie couldn’t take care of her kids and afford a place on her salary, so they’d gone where all the Branagan kids seemed to wind up. Back home. God knew where everyone was sleeping. What a mess. Four kids, plus two sets of grandkids meant there was no vacancy at the inn. Which was a little scary for April, considering her business partner wasn’t calling her back.
But even if something bad had happened, she wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of this plan of theirs. She’d worked too hard, scrimped and saved every dime, to make her dream come true. Whatever was going on with Wes, she’d handle it. She’d make it work. She was good like that. Her dad called her the most determined girl in the whole Midwest. Which was true. Although it was easier to be determined when she wasn’t dizzy from not sleeping and she knew what the hell was going on.
“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 h
er 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 filmi
ng 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.
