Sexy in the City

by Alexia Adams, Galen Rose, Samantha Anne, Carolann Camillo, Nicole Flockton, Iris Leach, Olivia Logan, Nancy Loyan, Stephanie Cage (epub)

  That first night, when he’d hunkered down in this ground floor unit, there was nothing between his butt and the bare wood floor but the seat of his pants. Intent to begin surveillance, he hadn’t taken the time to plan ahead. He figured he’d give himself away if he moved around, so he’d stayed in one position too long. His joints had become stiff and his muscles knotted from the cold. The following morning, he’d hit a store that specialized in equipment designed for camping and extreme outdoor adventures. It didn’t matter that he had a ceiling and wall board for shelter. He considered his adventure extreme enough. Blasts of cold air whistled through openings, and his perch in the urban wilderness was about as isolated as any in the real world.

  He’d purchased an air mattress, a small battery-run heater, and a super economy-sized thermos. They made the next few nights more bearable. He’d also eyed a down-filled jacket but passed on it. Bulky clothing would impede his ability to wrestle down the creep if he ever went mano-a-mano with some burly thug. He’d settled for a down-filled vest that he could shrug off in seconds.

  He leaned against a back wall and uncorked the thermos. The aroma from the blackest, strongest coffee available at the nearest all-night bodega diminished the smell of raw wood and night mists. He poured a cup, took a deep swallow, and waited for the first jolt to hit him. Half a thermos of the stuff usually kept him wired for hours. The only chance to catch any sleep was when the sun rose and the neighborhood started to hum with life. After an uneventful night, he’d drag the air mattress into his trailer and crash until his foreman banged on the door and another day began. He’d considered hiring another security guard, but faced with the possibility of serious bodily harm — to the guard, not a determined saboteur — he’d chucked it. Since the danger had escalated, he believed only he should deal with it.

  He became a night creature, which made him acutely sensitive to sound: footfalls, the close of a car door, the flap of a bird’s wing, the whir of the wind. Once, when he’d heard action out by the security fence, he’d crept to where he had a better view of the sidewalk. It was a man walking his dog. When the animal had raised its leg, it had made contact with the fence. A month ago, he’d never have heard such an indistinct sound. Now his hearing was acute.

  Boredom set in as he sat and waited. He no longer tried to read in the miniscule light thrown off by the heating coils. Most nights he had only his thoughts for company. The fate of his project was uppermost in his mind but ran neck and neck with Molly.

  He shifted on the air mattress so the blood circulated in his butt. To sit for long periods made him restless. Thoughts bounced inside his head. He poured another cup of coffee. One sip and he put it aside. He was already too wired. He got up and paced off five steps, turned, and repeated it. If he calculated correctly, in less than a month the initial units should be ready for occupancy. He’d already earmarked one ground floor loft — the one in which he squatted — as the furnished model. His goal loomed within reach. At least, he hoped it did.

  He was about to sink down on the air mattress when he heard a faint sound. Quickly, he turned off the heater and moved close to the side wall. If anyone came through the adjacent doorway, he’d let him get a few feet inside, then step in behind and block the exit. Surprise was paramount, along with a quick one-two punch to the jaw. He shrugged off his vest and kicked it aside.

  Chapter 26

  Each step brought Molly deeper into the project. Except for the tiny circle of light from her flashlight, a curtain of mist shrouded the area. Her back brushed against wooden beams that outlined a doorway. She played her light on the wooden flooring beyond and stepped onto it. The silence unnerved her. Numbness crept into her feet, cold gripped her hands. She tried to whisper “Nick,” but her lips froze.

  Maybe this wasn’t her best thought-out move. It ranked right above the time she’d added an ingredient to cake batter fifteen minutes after she’d slid it into the oven. Luckily, the bakery had still been open, and no one at her aunt’s sixtieth birthday celebration had suspected the truth. Not with all the compliments she’d received. Anyway, Nick could take care of himself. What did he need her poking around like Nancy Drew? This might be a good time to dig out her mace.

  Her hand went to her pocket. Then something flew at her and knocked her down. She lay sprawled, her face pressed into the naked wood. Her flashlight bounced across the floor, flickered, and died.

  “Umph.” The air whooshed from Molly’s lungs.

  A heavy weight ground her hips into the floor. Rough hands sank into her shoulder blades. She tried to wriggle free but was pinned down. Then the weight lifted momentarily, and she was tossed onto her back. A dark shape loomed above her, straddling her thighs. It had the configuration of a man dressed head to toe in black. Her hands were held together in a tight grip above her head and her hood was yanked off. Her heart smacked against her chest like a mallet pounding a piece of beef. A light at least a million times more powerful than hers shone into her face.

  “Molly?”

  She blinked and turned her head to the side. Her breath wheezed as if she’d run up the steepest San Francisco hill — twice. She squinted sideways up at Nick.

  “What the fu … ” He stared down into her face long enough for her fright to slowly ebb. He released her hands and turned her face toward him. Their eyes locked; mortified, Molly grimaced. What she hadn’t thought out was how she’d react the first time she bumped into him. Even in a city of three quarters of a million, it was possible they’d meet somewhere. Maybe she’d develop a sudden craving for tacos, or he’d get beaned at the construction site and carried into the clinic. What she’d never expected was to find herself lying under him — oh, God, don’t go there — with a beam of light heating her face and probably a scowl distorting his.

  For a moment, his knees tightened against her hips. Then he eased off her, stood, and pulled her to her feet. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He sounded anything but happy to see her.

  She squinted into the light. He lowered it and flicked it off. He put it off to the side but kept his grip on her arm. “Pretty bad idea, huh?” She tried for a laugh and almost choked.

  “What’s this about, Molly?”

  It’s about love. Was he too dense to see that? Well, apparently so.

  “I saw your car parked … you know … ” She pointed vaguely toward the corner across the avenue. “I was worried.” She shrugged. How lame did that sound? If only she could have said, “I worried because I love you and miss you and was afraid someone might have hurt you badly enough for your folks to debate whether to pull the plug at the hospital.” Too bad she couldn’t say that. Instead, she gave a spot-on impression of a jackass.

  “I parked away from the site because I didn’t want anyone to know I was here.”

  She bit down hard and grimaced. “Oh, I should have … ” She did a side to side motion with her head and her hands. A habit she’d developed in childhood, when words failed.

  “I don’t know what concerned you. Or why you thought it was a good idea to prowl around in here.”

  Was he dense with a capital D?

  “You’re right. It was an impulse.”

  “Impulses like that can get you hurt.”

  Hurt. Lately, she’d learned a lot about that.

  She nodded.

  “It could become dangerous.”

  “I wasn’t afraid.”

  He shook his head and exhaled, making an exasperated sound. “Well, you should have been.”

  Was he worried about her? Was he sending a signal he cared, at least a little bit?

  “Try not to advertise the fact that I hang around here at night.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t care about her. He was angry she could have drawn attention to him.

  “Go home, Molly. Don’t do anything this … ” She knew he was about to s
ay “stupid.” “Don’t do anything like this again.”

  “I’m sorry, Nick.” He picked up her flashlight and handed it to her. At least she hadn’t maced him.

  He took her elbow and led her toward the doorway. Before they reached it, he stopped dead.

  “Oh, shit.” The words were barely audible. Then he looked at Molly. She’d never seen deeper concern on a man’s face. “This could be trouble.”

  “What?”

  Nick clamped a hand over her mouth. He pulled her back and led her to where a sleeping bag lay on the floor. He removed his hand and put a finger against his lips, a signal for her to remain quiet.

  “Don’t move,” he mouthed.

  Molly froze and listened for whatever had caused Nick’s sudden caution. Then, through the dead air that blanketed the site, footsteps. They came from what would soon become the central lobby, then stilled.

  Nick pointed and in a whisper got the message across that he intended to investigate. He dug a cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. He put his lips against her ear and said, “Thirty seconds. If I’m not back, call nine-one-one.”

  As soon as Nick moved through the doorway, Molly left her safe position and crept close to the opening. The encroaching night kept her shrouded but she could still make out Nick’s silhouette. A scrape and then a thud sounded, as if someone had set down a heavy object. Nick moved quickly toward the sound. A dozen feet from him, a dark shape crouched over the faint outline of what resembled a two-gallon sized gasoline can. The man unscrewed the cap. Nick dove at his back and the two men hurtled across the wood floor. The guy was easily six feet in height and burly with hard, knotted muscles that filled out his dark sweatshirt. Before he had a chance to scramble to his feet, Nick hooked one arm around his waist. Molly watched, paralyzed. Then the man shook him off and charged at Nick. Nick raised his arms and covered his chest. The blow grazed his bicep, and he moved in and landed a punch to the guy’s nose. From the crack, Molly assumed he’d broken it. That didn’t stop the intruder from countering with a full-out body assault.

  Molly flipped open Nick’s phone and dialed 911. Her heart beat a discordant rhythm against her chest and she spit out the message they needed help. Address? What address? There was none yet. She gave the location along with the two cross streets, snapped the phone closed, and dropped it into her pocket. Then she moved through the doorway. In the central area, Nick and the other man rolled about and kicked at each other. Arms flailed and fists made contact with any of the other’s body parts. The strong odor of gasoline hung in the air. A dark puddle spread across the floor. A can with a spout lay on its side. Nick had intercepted an arsonist.

  Molly searched for a board or a tool, something to get in a whack if she had the chance, but found nothing. Nick’s elbow jabbed the man’s ribs. It created an opening for another swing. Like boxers, they circled each other. Fists darted. Nick pummeled his adversary hard in the ribs and managed a couple of elbow jabs to the face. He landed a punch that connected with the man’s jaw, then took one. He stumbled back a few steps and into a wall. Molly dug her mace out of her pocket.

  The thug swung in her direction. Blood smeared his face. It wasn’t Duncan Serk. He began to stalk toward her.

  Nick vaulted away from the wall and charged at the man’s back. He locked an arm around his throat and grabbed a fistful of hair. Molly raised her can of mace.

  Nick’s eyes went to the canister. “What’s that?”

  “It’s … it’s mace.”

  He yanked the man’s head back. “Use it. Now.”

  As Nick ducked his head, Molly clenched her teeth and let loose with a full-powered spray. The thug’s yowl rang in the dead air and his hands flew to his face. Then Nick threw a punch that connected solidly to the side of the man’s head. He sagged, and Nick threw him face down to the floor and twisted his hands behind his back. He pulled off his belt and used it to secure them. He kept one knee jammed into the saboteur’s spine.

  The shrill whine of a police siren slashed through the night. As it drew closer, Nick said, “I want you out of here, Molly. Right now.”

  She couldn’t seem to process his words, no less move. The siren screamed louder.

  “I don’t want you mixed up in this.” His tone turned more forceful. “Don’t argue. Go home.”

  Finally, her head cleared. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Yes, damn it.”

  “Okay.” Molly backed away from him. “Okay.”

  “You’re a gutsy woman, Ms. Molly.”

  She slipped through the gate opening.

  Was she? She stumbled to her car, ripped open the door, and slumped behind the wheel. Or was she just another fool in love?

  Chapter 27

  “Okay, this is the final round. Let’s make it dealer’s choice. Molly, what would you like to play?” Vi passed the deck to her niece.

  Molly glanced at the picture on the top card — a young Elvis tricked out in combat gear and toting a rifle. “Oh, whatever.” She’d wrestled with her concentration all evening. The last hand, she’d laid down what she’d thought was a winning flush, only to discover a club mixed in with the spades. That had cost her thirty-five cents.

  “How about seven card stud, threes and nines are wild and fours give you an extra card?” Dominique suggested. “We haven’t played that since the first round.”

  “Sure.” Molly shuffled and dealt the first cards. She was in no mood for poker tonight. She would rather have curled up on her sofa in her nightgown and robe with a chilled glass of Chardonnay — make that three glasses — and some mindless TV junk. She was in a funk but didn’t want to disappoint the others.

  “Don’t you think you should call him?” Dominique checked her two hole cards. “He might have gotten killed last night.”

  Nick.

  That morning, the Bay Area section of the Chronicle had featured him on the front page. The picture was taken outside the construction site. In it, Nick leaned against the fender of a police car. He had an ice pack pressed against the back of his head.

  “He might have suffered a concussion,” Vi said.

  “Or escaped with only a bump.” Molly had told no one about her foray onto the condo site. Forget that the man she loved had tackled her and thrown her to the floor like a sexless sack of lawn clippings. She had bruises on her hips that matched Rorschach test patterns to remind her. When she’d reached home that night, she’d felt like inflicting further damage on herself for leaving the security gate open. At least when she’d read the article the next morning, she’d discovered the thug had come equipped with a bolt cutter. The police found it out by the fence. So even if she hadn’t forgotten to close the gate, he still would have had the means to gain access to the site. She tried not to imagine the consequences without quick thinking on Nick’s part and a good aim on hers.

  “Even a bump can cause serious problems,” Dominique said. “That’s reason enough to phone him.”

  “Forget it.” Molly dealt herself an ace. Together with two wild cards in the hole, it gave her three of a kind. “I bet a dime.”

  Her aunt and cousin each dropped ten cents into the pot.

  “The newspaper article pointed out the man Nick caught trying to burn down his project had a long criminal record,” Vi said. “All he had to do was strike one match and good-bye condos and maybe even Nick. You really ought to call him, Molly.”

  And say what? Good thing you ducked in time or I might have maced you instead? Was he so dense or disinterested he couldn’t guess what had really prompted her to go onto the site? She’d already said “I love you” one time, which was exactly one time too many. Now it was his turn to say it. Right. She didn’t need another session with Ouija to tell her what she already suspected: he’d moved forward with his life.

  “So … what do you think?�
�� If prizes were awarded for persistence, Dominique would possess a case full of trophies.

  “No.” Molly dealt everyone another card.

  “He might have amnesia.”

  Molly stared at her cousin. “Then why should I call him? He wouldn’t remember me.”

  Vi gave a soft laugh. “Molly’s right. We ought to let her decide.”

  “Maybe it’s about time she took a risk,” Dominique said. “Man-wise.”

  Molly thought she already had — when she’d let Nick make love to her.

  “Molly’s thing with Nick reminds me of an old black and white film I saw on AMC about a month ago.” Dominique checked her cards and bet a nickel. “Instead of taking a chance, the heroine let the guy she’s interested in slip away. What a dumb move. She spent the next forty-five minutes of the movie regretting it.”

  “I remember that,” Vi said. “It was what they called a screwball comedy way back then.”

  “I didn’t find it funny,” Dominique said.

  Molly ignored them and dealt two more rounds of cards. When a nine turned up in her hand, she bet a quarter.

  “I suppose people considered it funny in nineteen thirty-six.” Vi added twenty-five cents to the pot. “In the beginning, she thought he came across as arrogant and opinionated.”

  “Like you thought about Nick, at first.” Dominique nodded at her cousin.

  “No, I didn’t.” Molly already had a rotten ending to her story. What she didn’t need was to climb into her lonely bed at night thinking she’d fallen in love with a full-blown jerk.