by C. T. Adams
I understood the feeling. “It’s about the landlord of your other place, huh? What did he do?”
Tom was getting more and more agitated as I watched. He was staring at the sidewalk and was lost in internal thoughts that made his jaw muscle bulge. I put a hand on his bicep to bring him back to this world. He jumped and then stared at me, startled. He took a deep, slow breath with his eyes closed and seemed to center himself.
When his eyes opened again, he was back to normal—or at least as normal as he was yesterday. “Sorry. I shouldn’t let him get to me like that. But he barely told me two days ago that I had to move by the end of the month, and this morning there’s a knock on the door and two guys say he’s paid them to move my stuff onto the street!”
I opened my mouth in shock. “What?!” My hands went to my hips and I barely suppressed a scream. “They can’t do that, Tom. It’s against the law!”
He shrugged and threw up his hands. “Not much I can do about it. A couple of guys I know are watching the boxes to make sure that nobody rips them off. But I really need to get the key and get back there. Do you mind? I know it’s not the first of the month or anything—”
My brain immediately started working. This was wrong on so many levels that I couldn’t even count them all! “Oh, we’ll get your boxes all right. Just let me slip on a pair of jeans and grab my keys. I don’t have the spare back from the other tenant yet, but mine will work just fine. It’s a master.”
I spun around but he grabbed my arm. His look told me that he was afraid I was going to do something that get him into trouble. “Really, Kate. You don’t have to get involved. I can bring the key right back.”
I smiled tightly and removed his hand. “No, it’s okay. We’ll get you moved, and I’ll be nice. But then your landlord is going to hear from the Housing Authority, the D.A. and anyone else I can think of very soon. I’ll make sure of it! Guys who pick on people with no room to make waves really yank my chain.”
He looked uncomfortable, but waited downstairs as I took the elevator up, turned off the coffee pot, grabbed my cell phone, keys, and wallet, and changed clothes.
The trip over to his building only took a few minutes. The building was one of the pre-renovation models, with crumbling brickwork and peeling paint on swollen doorways. It looked just like one of the crack houses on Cops—after the police raid.
A couple of clean-cut burly guys were leaning against a growing stack of boxes, angrily watching the other two burly guys who were carrying boxes out of the building.
We pulled up to the curb and Tom hopped out. I waited for a break in traffic and then quickly opened the door and shut it before the next big delivery truck could clip me. A large green and white sign caught my eye as I started to walk toward Tom and his friends. I immediately recognized the logo and lettering, but no way! I heard the swear words that I muttered under my breath while opening the passenger door of the truck to grab my cell phone.
Tom walked up to me with his friends, just as I started to dial.
“What’s up, Kate? You suddenly look pissed off on a whole new level.” He stared at me curiously, and I noted that his nostrils were flared wide again. I wondered what a werewolf could smell that a human couldn’t. I’d have to ask someday.
I held up a finger to stop him as the woman at other end of the line greeted me. “Hi, is Keith there? This is Kate Reilly.”
Tom cocked his head and narrowed his lids a bit, but then looked at his friends and shrugged. He opened the soda that his buddy handed him and took a sip.
“Hey, Kate! Good to hear from you. Did you change your mind about the property?”
I put on my best professional tone. “Hi, Keith. No, actually I’m calling about something different today.” I put a bit of concern, and a hint of confusion in my voice intentionally. “Do you have the property over on—” I looked up at the building. “1840 Baker?”
“Hmm, that sounds familiar. Let’s see.” I heard clicking from his rapid fingers on the keyboard. “Yep, that’s one of ours. It’s not for sale, though. We just have the management contract.”
I let out an annoyed breath that would be obvious over the phone. “Boy, I was really hoping you weren’t going to say that, Keith.”
Caution edged into his voice. “Yeah? Why not?”
“I just took on a tenant who lived there, and I’m standing in front of the building as we speak. There seem to be a pair of movers that were hired by the owner of the building and they’re putting his stuff out on the street.”
Keith could hear the other boot starting to drop, but he didn’t quite know what to say. “Uh-huh. And . . .”
I learned a lot about the process of renting and evictions when I bought my building. Interviews with property management companies taught me more. One thing I learned from Keith was that managers tend to get stuck in the situation of being a buffer between the owner and the tenant. They always hate to hear that the owner is going around directly dealing with the tenants without involving them.
“No three-day demand, Keith. No FED complaint, no court appearance, no Order of Restitution. Nada. Please tell me that you’ve got a renegade owner on your hands and that you didn’t authorize this incredibly illegal situation. I’d hate to think that about you guys while I’m still considering hiring your company.”
One corner of my mouth curled up as I heard him put down the phone and mutter violent swear words in the background. I winked at Tom and his buddies, who were trying to hide their laughter and failing miserably. Tom was staring open-mouthed at my side of the conversation.
Keith’s voice was very serious when he finally picked up the phone again. “Kate, I swear to you that we had no knowledge of this action. I just checked the file on that building and we are supposed to be fully involved in evictions. We don’t have anyone in violation of their lease. Everyone is paid up to date. I’ll call our client, and if there’s a legitimate reason for this, Kate, I promise you that it’ll be handled in the proper way.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Can you grab one of the movers and let me talk to him, please?”
I walked up to what appeared to be the head mover and held out the cell phone. “Excuse me, but the gentleman on my phone is the property manager of this building.” I pointed to the posted sign on the building wall. “He’ d like to talk to you.”
I stepped over to Tom and accepted a Coke from his grinning blond friend. “You go, girl!” the blond whispered. I wiggled my eyebrows briefly while popping the can and taking a sip. Tom couldn’t quite figure out what to say. He just looked confused and was watching it play out.
The middle-aged Latino mover stepped away from us, toward the management sign. I could hear bits and pieces of the conversation—the name of the man who hired him and what they were to be paid. No, they didn’t have the tenant’s name; just a description and the apartment number. Finally, it was over and he returned and handed me back the phone.
When the other mover—a slender pale guy in his twenties, came out with stack of boxes, the first one said, “Hey, Dale, grab your stuff. We just got pulled off this job.”
The man named Dale pulled a red paisley handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “That sucks. We gonna get paid for the whole day?”
The older man nodded. “Yeah. I told him it was a flat rate. I got the address to pick up the check.”
“Oh. Okay, cool.” Dale ripped open the hook and eye fastener on the front of his black nylon back belt, leaving it dangling from the shoulder suspenders. They walked away without another word and got into an old, beat-up pick-up truck.
There was a moment of silence while we all stared after the departing truck, trying not to choke on the thick blue smoke that belched out of the tailpipe.
Finally, the tall Latino friend with the Sprite waved his hand to clear some of the fumes away and spoke up. “Jeez. Any chance you could call my landlord, too? I could use a new fridge.”
We all burst out laughing.
Tom couldn’t s
eem to get a grin off his face. He leaned back against one stack of boxes and shook his head. “I can’t believe you just did that! In fact, I’m not quite sure what you did!
I shrugged and swilled down the last of the Coke. “Nothing much. I know the guy at the property management company. I was going to hire them to run my building. Basically, the owner doesn’t get to tell you to get out. He hired a company to represent him, and is under contract to let them deal with the tenants. There’s a whole legal process to remove a tenant. It takes days and days to go through. Since the owner doesn’t have a leg to stand on for kicking you out, you don’t technically even have to move into my building. You can stay here if you want.”
“Oh, hell no!” said the blond. “My wife would shoot me dead if she ever found out I let Tom stay in this hellhole!” He held out his hand to me. “By the way, since Tom is being rude and didn’t bother to introduce us, I’m Marty, and this is Paul.”
I shook his massive hand and gave as good as I got, which earned me a startled look and then an appreciative nod. I was too far away from Paul, so I nodded a greeting, which was returned.
Tom looked embarrassed and stepped forward. “Oh, hey guys! I’m sorry. I should have introduced you right off. Kate Reilly, this is Marty Bell and Paul Tolwake. They work out of the Northglenn station. Guys, this is my new landlord.”
“Damn, Tom!” exclaimed Paul with jealous admiration in his voice. “You do manage to fall into the sweetest deals! Now that’s a landlord! If only I didn’t live a mile from the firehouse already—”
Tom and I laughed, while Marty guffawed and punched Paul lightly on the arm. “Pfft! And if only you didn’t have a jealous wife and four kids, too!” He shook his head and turned to Tom. “C’mon, let’s get this stuff back upstairs.”
I held up my hand to stop them. “Hey, I’ve got the truck right here. Why don’t we go ahead and load the boxes? It’s just a few blocks to my building, and then you’ve got some of your stuff already there.”
Tom looked at me hopefully. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”
Paul nodded thoughtfully and glanced at his watch. “I don’t have much more time today, guys. I promised to pick up my sister’s kids from the doctor and take them back to school. It’s the only way she’d let me borrow her truck tomorrow to move the furniture. I can probably stay a few more minutes, though.”
With four of us working, it only took about half an hour to load the boxes into Edna. Tom’s every other sentence on the way back to the building was spent thanking me for the apartment, thanking me for calling Keith, thanking me for helping with the boxes. I was just starting to enjoy the wanton gratitude when we arrived. Damn!
I was really glad he’d purchased file storage boxes from the office supply store. Having boxes that stacked neatly, with removable lids and handles, was a nice treat. I’d have to remember that the next time I need to move things around. After discussing the best method, we decided to put all the boxes on the freight elevator and take them up to my apartment. Then I could block open the door and turn it off so we could unload it easily. As a bonus, carrying the boxes down one flight of stairs would be a lot easier than carrying them up.
With careful arranging, all the boxes fit in the elevator, with just enough room for us. I wiggled backward into the space, so I was squished between the steel grate and the boxes, and Tom entered face first so we could talk. But when he kicked out the block in front of the door with his foot, it slid shut with a dull clang and latched, but nothing else happened. I realized the motor was still turned off. I fished in my pocket and removed the key, handing it to Tom.
“Turn on the elevator, would you? It’s the keyhole under the fire alarm.”
He turned his head and spotted it. He took the key and tried to reach around. But he was stuck tight between the boxes and couldn’t move. He bent, he twisted, but it was just out of reach. He looked at me and bit his lower lip. “Uhm, Houston, I think we’ve got a problem.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “Yeah, I can see that. Why do I get the feeling you planned this?”
He chuckled. “While I can think of worse places to be stuck with you, I’d like to think I have a bit more tact. Any ideas?”
I sighed. “Actually yes.” I could put in the key, but it was going to be slightly uncomfortable and more than a little embarrassing. “All I ask is that you hold still and not make any sudden moves. I promise I’m not getting fresh.”
That raised his eyebrows. “Well, now you’ve got me curious. Please do proceed.”
I took a deep breath and wiggled forward until we were touching along the full length of our bodies. His eyes bored into mine from inches away, and he chuckled low and deep. Then he noticed my discomfort and tried to make light of it. But the tone was too honest. It wound up sexy enough to make my face red. “Well, so far I’m liking your idea.”
It took more than one try to talk, which made me even redder. “Just don’t move. Please?” I slid my arms between the grating and his muscled hips, holding onto the key carefully so it didn’t drop. I wouldn’t get another try at this. I realized that his wonderfully broad shoulders and chest were in the way, and I couldn’t quite see where I needed to be. “Well, okay, I was wrong. You do need to move. Can you pull up your arm up so I can see the panel?”
“I think I can manage that.” He slowly wormed his arm upward until it touched the ceiling of the elevator, and then lowered it down over my shoulders, lightly stroking my hair on the way. Flames beat at my face from the inside and I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Is that better?” Tom’s voice was getting husky and the silk shorts didn’t leave anything to the imagination.
I glanced down under his arm and could see the keyhole, along with other things that made my stomach clench unmercifully. “Much,” I whispered, and then coughed when the word caught in my throat. “I mean, yes, that’s better. Thanks. It should just be a second now.”
He twisted and moved his head slightly, which made it easier to see. But his nose also nestled in my hair and his reply was warm and moist against my neck. “No hurry. Take your time.” The shiver went all the way to my toes.
Eek! I held my breath and reached forward quickly, trying desperately to concentrate on the key, instead of his amazing cologne tickling my nose, the feeling of muscled legs against mine, and the little moan that huffed into my ear when I made the final, desperate attempt. The key went into the lock and I turned it on in one triumphant movement.
But I’d forgotten about the initial bounce at start-up when the car was fully loaded. The jolt knocked me backwards. Tom caught me before I hit my head. We wound up squished against the back of the elevator. He was pressed against me in ways that my body was very happy about.
I noticed that he didn’t try to untangle us for the short trip, and I was embarrassed to admit that I didn’t try either. I think he very deliberately nibbled my ear as we scuffled around trying to catch our balance. I could be wrong, but I was sort of hoping I wasn’t.
When the door finally, thankfully, opened on the third floor, part of me was sorry. But the more staid, rational part of my brain was screaming to get out of the car, and he could tell.
I nearly kissed the carpet when I exited the car, but instead turned into a flurry of energy. That happens when I get stressed. I found the big chunk of iron that I used as a doorstop during construction, blocked open the elevator, unlocked the apartment door, nearly ran down the stairs to open the other apartment, and ran up the stairs again. My heart was beating nicely by the time I’d returned, and I knew that part of it wasn’t from the stairs.
Tom was wandering through the apartment, which I don’t normally let people do. But it was better than a warm and fuzzy moment after being wrapped around each other. I didn’t think I could handle that.
“Okay, let’s get moving,” I declared with a loud clap of my hands. I grabbed two of the boxes and spun around to take them downstairs.
“Kate—”
“
No time now, Tom.” I said the words behind me as I tore out of the apartment again at a fast walk. I saw him shake his head from the corner of my eye and grab a pair of boxes.
I worked like a madwoman but even still, it took nearly an hour to unload the boxes and take them to his new apartment. I did try to follow the directions he’d written in pen on the boxes, placing some in the kitchen and some in the bath and others in what would be the bedroom.
“These are the last two,” he commented on the way past me down the stairs and the thought made me nervous. Could I really stand to have a guy that was giving me this bad a case of the whim-whams right downstairs? What was I thinking! And what was I going to do when he stepped back through the door? I felt really guilty that my first thought was to slam the door shut and lock it. But that would be rude and, in reality, I really didn’t want to.
As Mum always said: When in doubt—cook! I retreated to the kitchen where I felt safe. Some food really would hit the spot. Dinner had been a long time ago. I thought about diving into the freezer stock, but eggs sounded good. I like food that’s heavy on protein—with the exception of my pasties and the occasional rum raisin ice cream. Stick to the ribs, but simple. Dylan had complained endlessly—and insisted on eating out most of the time. French food, with fancy sauces. Things I could never possibly have replicated in the kitchen.
Just thinking about Dylan brought my mind back to the message, and I glanced at the clock. It was already after ten. To go, or not to go. What a really sucky question!
I heard Tom bounding up the stairs, which he must do a lot of. He has the best-looking butt I’ve ever seen. My mood improved measurably with each step he took, and that scared the crap out of me.
He tapped on the open door lightly before poking his head inside.
“Come on in.”
He poked his head into the kitchen and smirked. “I guess you’re hungry?”
I shrugged one shoulder and cracked an egg into a bowl. “I haven’t eaten since dinner. I was feeling a little lightheaded.”
