Still, the dickwad needed to take a chill pill. Anna pushed her hair back from her forehead and glanced at her image in the mirror. What she needed was a glass of wine and a night in front of the television. Mindless, stress-free, and away from the insanity swirling around her. She checked her pink Swatch. Almost time to clock out. The doctor was supposed to come here before he made his last rounds at the hospital, so she'd hang out until he left. What a day.
She drew a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, stretching her neck to the side and cracking it. So, another hour or so before she’d be able to have that drink and grab something to eat. Mr. Buff-o-matic could go screw himself. She had a job to do. If he didn’t leave her alone, she’d talk to Deacon. The spooks in the black suits worked for him. Besides, she’d watched Hill Street Blues and Miami Vice. Cops had to abide by the law, too. Manhandling her was a big no-no. She glanced down at the red marks on her arm from where McNair had gripped her. The man had some serious anger issues.
It took an hour and a half before she was able to descend to the sixteenth floor. The doctor’s visit was quick and concise, although he did pull her to the side. Jackie’s mental health was a serious concern, and there would be another doctor coming tomorrow. Right now, Jackie was managing, but everyone, including herself, was concerned. Jackie was strong, but even the strongest people needed to catch a break now and then. Jackie was well overdue for one of those breaks. Even with the blessing of her boyfriend, Deacon, she deserved the rest of her life to be sprinkled with fairy dust, and every imaginable happy, good, and wonderful thing life could provide.
Unfortunately, finding out where to pick up the key delayed her occupation of her new apartment. Two floors below the luxury penthouse, there was a crush of black suits. Anna asked for Graham St. James and pushed back against the wall as she waited and watched. A huge counter had been moved into what was once a lobby area for the elevators. Wide swaths of tape held down cables that ran to a bank of television screens, or what she assumed were television screens, as they faced away from her. After five minutes, she realized there was an organized type of chaos to the madness. The men behind the counter watched her and three different men asked her three times what she needed. Her reply to each question was the same, Graham St. James had yet to appear.
Finally, the man in question jogged across the converted foyer toward her. “Anna, I’m so sorry. I should have delivered the key to you, but I got caught up in a delivery of some equipment we were expecting from the CIA.”
“I’m guessing that isn’t the Culinary Institute of America?” She accepted the brass key from him.
“Ah, that would be a big negative. We are talking the super-sleuth-covert-operations-if-I-tell-you-I-have-to-kill-you kind of CIA. Not the did-you-use-salted-butter-in-this-sauce type of CIA. Your apartment number corresponds to the number on the key. Your luggage should already be there along with the other things.”
“Other things?”
Graham held up his clipboard. “Checklist, remember?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do I feel like I’m being set up?”
“I have no idea. I’m just a lowly logistician doing his job. I promise.” Graham’s smile and contagious laugh filled the lobby. “Would you like me to escort you down?”
“No, I think I should be okay. Thank you for this.” Lifting the key, she turned and headed to the elevator. She had to show her badge to the man standing in front of the doors. He called an elevator for her, asked her which floor she was going to and reached in to push the button.
“No deviations are authorized.” His growled warning preceded the door closing.
She lifted an eyebrow and stared hard at the control panel. She mimicked the man, “No deviations are authorized.” Geez. She glanced up and saw a camera mounted in the corner of the elevator. Memo to Self: don’t correct any wedgies in the elevator. When the carrier stopped at her floor, she made her way down the corridor. The numbers were clearly marked on the doors. Her new home, at least for a while, was at the very end next to the stairs. She inserted the key into the lock and opened the door.
And blinked. She stepped out and looked at the number on the front of the door again. Yes, this was her assigned apartment according to what Graham had told her. Only... Wow. She would never get used to the amount of money Jackie’s boyfriend had and spent. Three vases filled with roses and baby’s breath perfumed the apartment. One sat on the coffee table, another on the dining room table and a third on the little bar that separated the kitchen from the dining area. A bottle of red wine sat beside the flowers on the coffee table along with a plate of assorted crackers and cheeses. A bowl of grapes, three apples, a small paring knife, and a dish of nuts snuggled in with the cheese and crackers. She pulled the key out of the lock and made sure the number on the door matched the key. It did. Taking in the opulence, she whispered to herself, “Well Toto, we are most definitely, absolutely, not in Denver anymore.”
Stepping in far enough to shut the door behind her, she craned her neck to see into the small but well-appointed kitchen. She opened the door nearest to her and found a coat closet—which no one would ever need in New Orleans—a coat, that is. The closet could always be used. She stepped off the marble tile onto a layer of heaven. Her feet sank into the high pile, cream-colored, shag carpeting. To her right was a bathroom, to the left was a bedroom. She wandered into the room and saw her suitcases beside the closet. There was a bathroom that adjoined her bedroom, too. Wait, didn't she just see... She glanced back over her shoulder. Yep, so two bathrooms for a one-bedroom apartment. Snazzy. She kicked off her tennis shoes and peeled off her socks so she could curl her toes into the yummy carpet.
It took five minutes to hang up her limited selection of clothes and refold the rest, putting them in the dark wood grain dresser. As she dropped her last uniform onto a hanger, she made a mental note to find a laundromat or cleaning service. Deftly, she peeled out of her scrubs, grabbed her bathroom travel kit, an oversized t-shirt, a pair of gym shorts, and ambled into the marble-clad bathroom.
There was a panel of switches by the door. A flick of the first switch illuminated the light over the vanity. The second switch turned on a television that was suspended in a metal frame in the corner of the room. From where it was placed, whoever used the shower or tub could be amused while they washed, which was weird. She picked up the remote and flicked the channels until she found a mindless sitcom. She spun the single dial on the control panel, and a heat lamp over the shower popped on. Yeah, no. She didn't need any more heat or humidity.
Pushing the dial the other way, she waited until the light popped off and the timer stopped ticking. She padded over and started the shower. A door just past the shower caught her attention. She opened it and blinked. How absurd. The small room contained a toilet—not so strange, but there was a telephone mounted on the wall. Anna chuckled and then threw back her head and laughed. Scenarios of ridiculousness bounced through her mind.
Hold on, Virgil, I'm going to pick this convo up in the bathroom.
Hey, Sally, disregard that flushing noise.
Operator, you have to help me. I've fallen and managed to wedge myself between the toilet and the wall.
Okay, that last one was almost legit, but still. Who would be so busy that they'd need to be on the phone while they were on the throne? Ha! A throne phone! Ladies and gentlemen live from his throne phone, the busiest, most obnoxious person on earth! Please disregard any extra sounds you may hear.
Anna laughed her way into the shower and dropped her head back under the strong spray of warm water. She groaned at the massaging pulse of the fancy showerhead. Yeah, she could get used to the luxury Jackie’s man provided. She ran her hands through her wet hair. Well, she'd draw the line at the throne phone, but compared to the way she lived her life now, this place was a palace. Her brother was definitely used to this style of living. The limo and the reservations, plus the clothes... yeah, well... It was nice, but it wasn't her. Nev
ertheless, she'd enjoy it while it lasted.
With a twist of her wrist, she cut off the shower, and the rivulets of water scurried to the drain. Her hands squeegeed her short hair before she dried off with a towel the size of a bed sheet. After donning her slouch-around-the-house clothes, she combed her hair, turned off the television, and strolled out into the flower-lined living room. She touched one of the petals. The roses were almost too beautiful to be real. Oh, sweet heavens, the soft petal between her fingers caressed her skin. In her world, they would be artificial flowers. She'd bought some for the small vase by her fish tank. They were expensive. The real ones she was admiring now? The long-stemmed, perfect blooms in a multitude of colors had to have cost a mint. She caressed a pink-tipped white rose. The partially open blossom would fill her palm it was so large. They were all beautiful, but this blossom was perfect. She smiled and reminded herself to thank Deacon in the morning. She felt... appreciated. Warm happiness settled around her.
A grumble from her stomach turned her attention from the flowers to the coffee table. Wine, cheese, and fruit. Dinner is served. Anna found the remote to the projection screen television, turned on the boob-tube, and headed into the kitchen with a wine glass from the spread on the coffee table.
The refrigerator had an ice maker. She lifted the little swinging door and reached in, grabbed three half-moon cubes, and plunked them into the crystal goblet. She couldn't help but notice the vast array of food in the freezer. She peeked into the fridge side and blinked at the amount of food on the shelves. Curious, she closed the fridge and moved to the cupboards. Completely stocked. Well, that was... interesting. She shut off the light on her way back to the wine bottle calling her name. It took two minutes to cut the foil and crank the cork out of the bottle. She upended the green bottle and poured the wine. She surpassed the amount proper for the polite public, kept on past a healthy home pour, and came within a quarter-inch of the lip before she dropped the ass end of the bottle to stop the flow. She glanced at the half-empty bottle. Two servings per bottle. That would work. Especially after the day she'd had. Her eyes traveled down to her arms and the bruises that were forming. That asshole had better watch himself. If he touched her again, she'd... well, she'd tell. Didn't that make her sound like a twelve-year-old? If he touched her again, she'd make sure to rupture one of his testicles. That would teach the asshole to keep his hands to himself.
Her snort was less than ladylike. “Stay away from Gabriel.” Like she had any say in his social calendar. Like. Dearest heavens, she'd be saying gag me with a spoon next.
Setting the glass on the table, she carefully placed the tray of goodies on the sofa beside her along with the projection television's remote. That screen had to be at least forty inches if not more. She watched the big TV come to life.
Her body folded back into the cloudy-comfy cushions of the suede sectional, and a sigh escaped her. Seriously, like, who needed a bed? She might have to figure out a way to accidentally take this couch to Colorado when she went back. Yep, just strap it to her back and hitchhike all the way north. She snorted at herself again before she leaned forward and carefully retrieved her wine. She snuggled back and rested the glass on her leg as she reached with her other hand to pop a cube of cheese and a few nuts into her mouth. The sharp tang of the cheese and bitterness of the walnuts preceded her first sip of the wine. Oh, that's delicious. Anna pointed the remote at the television and flipped the channels. Heaven, thy name is... she glanced at the bottle... Yeah, she couldn't pronounce that. She pointed her index finger at the bottle. “We'll agree you are too expensive for me. I bet you cost more than the three dollars I pay for my wine.” She took another sip and hummed. “But I'm not looking a Deacon-sized gift horse in the mouth.” She snorted and took another sip before she sighed and flipped another walnut into her mouth. Nope, she'd mark this little TV picnic as a win.
Chapter 14
Gabriel sighed as he got off the elevator. He'd been running balls to the wall all fucking day. He wanted a drink and food. He slid the key into the apartment he'd commandeered from Deacon. His jacket was off within two steps and his tie followed by the time he reached the well-stocked bar.
Flexing the muscles in his shoulders, he rolled them back. Said move resulted in a pop that echoed in the silent apartment. The scotch bottle found its way into his hand. He'd normally add an ice chip to help the liquor bloom, not enough to dilute the scotch but enough to let it open slowly as the ice melted. He lifted the tumbler to his lips and paused as he heard laughter come from the apartment next door.
Damn it, he'd wanted to check on Anna earlier to make sure she'd settled in and had everything she needed. He approached the adjoining doors and listened. The television was on, but the laughter he'd heard was definitely her.
He tapped on the door that joined the apartments, still holding his drink. He heard the television mute. He tapped again.
“Who's there?”
Anna's question put a smile on his face. “It could be pizza delivery.”
“Really? What if I told you I didn't like pizza?”
“Then I'd say you're not American.”
The door opened, and she leaned against the jamb. Her bottom lip was clenched between her teeth, and her eyes narrowed at him. She pointed at him with a wine glass that was half full. “Then you'd be wrong. I'm USDA prime.”
Damn, but she wasn't joking about that. The woman was braless under a white t-shirt that had seen better days and the shorts she was wearing were high cut, trimmed in white and fucking sexy. Her foot lifted, and she scratched her leg, drawing his eyes down the long, lean length of those sexy as fuck legs. He'd always been a leg man, and damn if hers didn't go on forever.
She scrunched her nose at him before she stood on her tiptoes and tried to see around him. He leaned to the side and let her gaze travel past him.
“Nope, no flowers in your place.” The ‘s’ in flowers slurred the slightest bit.
“Ah, no, no flowers. I take it my flowers arrived for you?”
“You did that?” She blinked at him, wide-eyed.
“I did. I see you also found the wine.” He leaned forward. What in the hell was that? “Are those ice cubes?”
She blinked at the glass before a smile popped on her lips and spread joy across her face. “Yes! Do you like ice cubes in your wine, too?”
“Ah, no, but I take it you do?” Gabriel lifted the hand that wasn't currently holding his scotch and rubbed his neck.
She nodded and took a long sip. “Perfection. Come on in. I thought Deacon did all this for me, but it seems I need to thank you for making me feel welcome.”
“I know you had a hard time settling in today. This is my way of saying I'm sorry for everything that happened.” He followed her into her apartment and ticked off the items he’d requested. Graham St. James was getting a fucking bonus.
She sat down on the sectional and scooted back into the corner. “I don't like Mr. McNair. He's a brute.”
“I had a serious talk with him earlier. I promise he won't approach you again. When I heard what happened, I was appalled. I assure you he won't bother you again.” He'd interviewed the young Guardian who had handled Anna's initial entry into the building. The young man told him what Craig had done and said. After lunch with Anna he'd talked to Craig and he'd ensured the man knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Anna was to be treated with kid gloves. He’d made his intentions crystal clear especially when Craig's apartment accommodations changed at his request. Craig had not liked it and had demanded to know the rationale for the move. He’d told him the truth. He wanted this woman near him.
Anna snorted and then giggled, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes rounded out at the size of fifty-cent pieces. “Sorry. I doubt Mr. McNair gives a rat's patooty what you tell him. He seemed quite determined.”
“Rat's patooty?” He didn't try to stop the rumble of laughter her colloquialism provoked.
“Like, yeah! You know, his tooshie.”
&nb
sp; “Tooshie?”
“What, I need to spell it out for you? A-S-S. That is what your man is, and he’s a royal one, too. I think he hates me.” She looked over at him and grabbed a piece of cheese from the tray.
“I don't believe he knows you well enough to hate you.”
“Well then remind me not to get to know the guy, okay?” She lifted the glass of wine. It was so well-chilled it fogged the bottom half of the crystal. Gabriel shuddered at the thought of cold red wine.
“Have you eaten?” He asked as he sipped his scotch.
“Yup.” She pointed to the decimated tray of fruit, nuts, and cheese.
“That is not dinner.”
“It is for me. I've had a heck of a day, and I don't feel like cooking, although with the food in that kitchen I could feed the building for a week or so.”
“Well then, how about I cook for you?” He rose from her couch and headed into the kitchen. He was starving. Bits of cheese and nuts weren’t going to cut it. Not by a long shot.
“Seriously?” He heard her shuffle off the couch.
“Sure.” He opened the fridge and took inventory of the contents.
“You can cook? And you want to cook for, like, me?”
He straightened from examining the shelves and threw her a questioning look. “Yes. Why? Is that an oddity?”
“Ummm… in my world, yeah.” She leaned on the refrigerator door and peered over it at the shelves.
“Steak, salad and...” he opened the upper freezer compartment. “French fried potatoes. You get to make the salad.” He tossed her a head of iceberg lettuce.
She caught it with her free hand. “Do not throw anything else at me or we will have a red wine dressing.”
“Speaking of which, ice cubes in your red wine. I take it you finally found a drink you like?”
Gabriel (Guardian Defenders Book 1) Page 15
