by Sarah Morgan
He eyed the knife that lay on the table close by. The blade glinted, taunting him.
He’d been staring at it for the best part of a week, even though he knew it wasn’t the answer. He was better than that.
“That’s why you’ve been calling? To ask about the book?”
“I know you hate to be disturbed when you’re writing, but production is hounding me. Sales of your last book exceeded even our expectations,” Jason said gleefully. “Your publisher is tripling the print run for the next. Are you going to give me any clues about the story?”
“I can’t.” If he knew what the book was about, he’d be writing it.
Instead, his mind was terrifyingly blank.
He didn’t have a crime. Worse, he didn’t have a murderer.
For him, every book started with the character. He was known for his unpredictable twists, for being able to deliver a shock that even the most perceptive reader failed to anticipate.
Right now the shock would be the blank page.
It was worse this year than it had been the year before. Then, the process had been long and painful, but he’d managed to somehow drag each word from inside him by November, before memories had paralyzed him. It was like trying to get to the top of Everest before the winds hit. Timing was everything. This year he hadn’t managed it and he was beginning to think he’d left it too late. He was going to need an extension on his deadline, something he’d never had to ask for before. That was bad enough, but worse were the questions that would follow. The sympathetic looks and the nods of understanding.
“I’d love to see a few pages. First chapter?”
“I’ll let you know,” Lucas said, before proffering the season’s greetings that were expected of him and ending the call.
Lucas rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. He didn’t have a first chapter. He didn’t have a first line. So far the only thing that had been murdered was his inspiration. It was lying inert, the life squeezed out of it. Could it be resurrected? He wasn’t sure.
He’d sat at his open laptop hour after hour and not a single word had emerged. The only thing in his head was Sallyanne. She filled his head, his thoughts and his heart. His bruised, damaged heart.
It was on this day, three years ago, that he’d had the phone call that had derailed his seemingly charmed life. It had been like a scene from one of his books, except this time it had been fact not fiction. He’d been the one identifying the body in the morgue, not one of his characters. He no longer had to put himself in their shoes and imagine what they were feeling because he was feeling it himself.
Since then he’d struggled through every day, dragging himself from minute to minute, while outwardly doing what was needed to make people believe that he was doing fine. He’d learned early on that people needed to see that. They didn’t want to witness his grief. They wanted to believe he’d handled it and “moved on.” Mostly, he managed to meet their expectations, except for this time of year, when the anniversary of her death came around.
Eventually he was going to have to confess to his agent and his publisher that he hadn’t written a single word of the book his fans so eagerly awaited.
This book wasn’t going to make his publisher a fortune. It didn’t exist.
He had no idea how to conjure the magic that had sent him soaring to the top of the bestseller charts in more than fifty countries.
All he could do was carry on doing what he’d been doing for the past month. He’d sit in front of the blank screen and hope that somewhere in the depths of his tortured brain an idea might emerge.
He kept hoping for a miracle.
It was the season for it, wasn’t it?
* * *
“This is it?” Eva peered out of the window of the cab. “It’s incredible. He has a view of Central Park. What I wouldn’t give to live this close to Tiffany’s.”
The cabdriver glanced in his mirror. “Do you need help with all those bags?”
“I’ll manage, thanks,” Eva said as she handed over her fare.
It was bitterly cold and the snow was falling heavily, thick swirling flakes that reduced visibility and settled on her coat. A few flakes found the small, unprotected section of her neck and slid like icy fingers under her coat. Within moments the bags were covered and so was she. Worse was the sidewalk. Her feet slithered on the deep carpet of ice and snow, and finally lost traction.
“Agh—” Her arms windmilled and the doorman stepped forward and caught her before she hit the ground.
“Steady. It’s lethal underfoot.”
“You’re not kidding.” She clutched his arm, waiting for her heart rate to slow. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have wanted to spend Christmas in the hospital. I hear the food is terrible.”
“We’ll help you with those bags.” He lifted a hand and two uniformed guys appeared and loaded her bags and boxes onto a luggage cart.
“Thank you. I’m taking it all to the top floor. The penthouse. You should be expecting me. I’m staying a few days to decorate an apartment for a client who is out of town. Lucas Blade.”
He was a crime writer with a dozen global bestsellers to his name.
Eva had never read a single one of them.
She hated crime, both real and fictional. She preferred to focus on the positive side of people and life. And she preferred to sleep at night.
The warmth of the apartment building wrapped itself around her as she stepped inside, comforting after the chill of the blizzard swirling on Fifth Avenue. Her cheeks stung and despite wearing gloves her fingertips were numb with cold. Even the wool hat she’d pulled over her ears had done nothing to keep out the savage bite of a New York winter.
“I’m going to need to see ID.” The doorman was brisk and businesslike. “We’ve had a spate of break-ins in this area. What’s the company name?”
“Urban Genie.” It was still new enough that saying it brought a rush of pride. It was her company. She’d set it up with her friends. She handed over her ID. “We’ve not been around long, but we’re taking New York by storm.” She shook snow off her gloves and smiled. “Well, it’s maybe more of a light wind than a storm, given what’s happening outside the window, but we’re hopeful for the future. I have Mr. Blade’s key.” She waved it as evidence and his gaze warmed as he looked first at it and then at the ID she’d handed him.
“You’re on my list. All I need is for you to sign in.”
“Could you do me a favor?” Eva signed with a flourish. “When Lucas Blade shows up, don’t tell him I was here. It’s supposed to be a surprise. He’s going to open his front door and find his apartment all ready for the holidays. It’ll be like walking in on a surprise birthday party.”
It occurred to her that not everyone liked surprise birthday parties, but who was she to argue with his family? His grandmother, who had been one of their first clients and was now a good friend, had given her a clear brief. Prepare the apartment and make it ready for Christmas. Apparently Lucas Blade was in Vermont, deep in a book and on a deadline; the world around him had ceased to exist. As well as decorating, her job was to cook and fill his freezer and she had the whole weekend to do it because he wasn’t due home until the following week.
“Sure, we can do that for you.” The doorman smiled.
“Thank you.” She peered at his name badge, and continued, “Albert. You saved my life. In some cultures that would mean you now own me. Fortunately for you, we’re in New York City. You’ll never know what a lucky escape you had.”
He laughed. “Mr. Blade’s grandmother called earlier and said she was sending over his Christmas present. I wasn’t expecting a woman.”
“I’m not the gift. Just my skills. Saying I’m his Christmas present makes it sound as if I should be standing here wrapped in silver paper and a big red bow.”
“So you’re going to be staying in the apartment for a couple of nights? Alone?”
“That’s right.” And there was nothing new in that. Apart from the occasio
nal night Paige slept over in her apartment, she spent every night alone. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been horizontal with a man, but she was determined that was going to change. Changing it was right at the top of her Christmas wish list. “Lucas isn’t back until next week, and with the weather this bad there’s no sense in traveling backward and forward.” She glanced at the snow falling thickly beyond the tinted glass. “I’m guessing no one is going to be traveling anywhere far tonight.”
“It’s a bad one. They’re saying snow accumulation could hit eighteen inches, with winds gusting fifty miles an hour. Time to stock up on food, check the batteries in the flashlight and get out those snow shovels.” Albert glanced at her bags, brimming with Christmas decorations. “Looks like you’re not going to be too worried about the weather. Plenty of Christmas cheer right there. I’m guessing you’re one of those people who loves the holidays.”
“I am.” Or she used to be. And she was determined to be that person again. Reminding herself of that, she tried to ignore the hollow ache in her chest. “How about you, Albert?”
“I’ll be working. Lost my wife of forty years two summers ago. Never had kids, so Christmas was always the two of us. And now it’s just me. Working here will be better for me than eating a frozen dinner for one on my own in my apartment. I like being around people.”
Eva felt a rush of empathy. She understood needing to be around people. She was the same. It wasn’t that she couldn’t be on her own. She could. But given the choice she would always rather be with other people.
On impulse, she dug her hand into her pocket and gave him a card. “Take this—”
“Romano’s Sicilian Restaurant, Brooklyn?”
“Best pizza anywhere in New York City. It’s owned by my friend’s mother and on Christmas Day Maria cooks for everyone who shows up. I help her in the kitchen. I’m a cook, although most of the time now we’re running big events and I’m outsourcing to external companies and vendors.” Too much information, she thought, and gestured toward the card. “If you’re free on Christmas Day, you should join us, Albert.”
He stared at the card in his hand. “You just met me five minutes ago. Why would you invite me?”
“Because you saved me from landing on my butt, and because it’s Christmas. No one should be alone at Christmas.” Alone. There it was again. That word. It seemed to creep in everywhere. “I’m not going to hole myself away totally either. As soon as the snow eases enough for me to see my hand in front of my face, I’m going to pop across to Central Park and build a snowman the size of the Empire State Building. The Empire State Snowman. And speaking of giant structures, I have a tree being delivered later. Hopefully it will arrive before the blizzard stops everything. You’re going to think I stole the one from outside Rockefeller Center, but I assure you I didn’t.”
“It’s big?”
“The guy lives in the penthouse. The penthouse needs a big tree. I just hope we’ll be able to get it up there.”
“Leave it to me.” He frowned. “You’re sure you shouldn’t be getting home to your family while you can?”
His words poked at the bruise she’d been trying to ignore.
“I’ll be fine right here, safe and warm. Thanks, Albert. You’re my hero.”
She walked toward the elevator, trying not to think about everyone in New York going home to their families. Home to warmth, laughter, conversation, hugs…
Everyone except her.
She had no one.
Not a single living relative. She had friends, of course, great friends, but for some reason that didn’t ease the ache.
Alone.
Why was the feeling always magnified at Christmas?
The elevator rose through the building in smooth silence and the doors slid open.
Lucas Blade’s apartment was straight ahead and she let herself in, thanked the two men who’d delivered all her bags and packages and carefully locked the door behind her.
She turned, and was instantly mesmerized by the spectacular view visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass that made up one entire wall of the apartment.
She didn’t bother putting on lights. Instead, she toed off her boots to avoid trailing snow through the apartment and walked in her socks to the window.
Whatever else he had, Lucas Blade had taste and style.
He also had underfloor heating, and she felt the luxurious warmth steal through the thick wool of her socks and slowly thaw her numbed feet.
She stared at the soaring skyline, letting the cold and the last of the snowflakes melt away.
Far beneath her she could see the trail of lights on Fifth Avenue as a few bold cabs made what was probably their final journey through Manhattan. Soon the roads would be closed. Travel would be impossible, or at least unwise. New York, the city that never slept, would finally be forced to take a rest.
The snow fell past the window, big fat flakes that drifted and swirled, before settling lazily on the already deep layer that blanketed the city.
Eva hugged herself, staring out across the silvery-white expanse of Central Park.
It was New York at its dreamy, wintry best. Why Lucas Blade felt the need to go on retreat to write, she had no idea. If she owned this place she’d never leave it.
But maybe he needed to leave it.
He was grieving, wasn’t he? He’d lost his beloved wife three years ago at Christmas. His grandmother had told her how much it had changed him. And why wouldn’t it? He’d lost the love of his life. His soul mate.
Eva leaned her head against the glass. Her chest ached for him.
Her friends told her she was too sensitive, but she’d come to accept that it was just the way she was. Other people watched the news and managed to stay detached. Eva felt everything deeply, and she felt Lucas’s pain even though she’d never even met him.
How cruel was it to meet the love of your life and then lose her?
How did you pick up the pieces and move on?
She had no idea how long she stood there or when, exactly, she sensed she wasn’t alone. It started with a faint warning prickle at the back of her neck, which rapidly turned to the cold chill of fear when she heard a nearby clunk.
She was imagining things, surely? Of course she was alone. This apartment block had some of the best security in the city and she’d been careful to lock the door behind her.
No one could have followed her in so there couldn’t be anyone else in there, unless—
She swallowed as a different explanation occurred to her.
—unless someone had already been in the apartment.
She turned her head slowly, wishing now that she’d taken the time to find the lights and switch them on. The storm had darkened the sky and the apartment was full of cavernous shadows and mysterious corners. Her imagination burst to life and she tried to reason with herself. The sound could have been anything. Maybe it had come from outside the building.
She held her breath, and then heard another noise, this one definitely inside the apartment. It sounded like a footstep. A stealthy footstep, as if the owner didn’t want to reveal himself.
She glanced up and saw something move in the shadows up above her.
Fear was sharp and paralyzing.
She’d interrupted a break-in. The hows and whys didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting out of here.
The door seemed a long way in the distance.
Could she make it?
Her heart was racing and her palms turned sweaty.
She wished now that she hadn’t removed her shoes.
She made for the door and at the same time grabbed her phone from her pocket. Her hand was shaking so much she almost dropped it.
She hit the emergency button, heard a woman say “911 Emergency—” and tried to whisper into the phone.
“Help. There’s someone in the apartment.”
“You’ll have to speak up, ma’am.”
The door was there. Right there.
&nb
sp; “There’s someone in the apartment.” She needed to get downstairs to Albert. He’d—
A hand clamped over her mouth and before Eva could utter a squeak she’d landed on her back on the floor, crushed by the hard weight of a powerful male body.
The man pinned her. One of his hands was across her mouth and the other gripped her wrists with brutal strength.
Holy crap.
If she could have screamed, she would have, but she couldn’t open her mouth.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe, although bizarrely her senses were still sufficiently alert for her to realize her attacker smelled really good.
It was an irony that finally, after almost two years of dreaming and hoping, she was finally horizontal with a man. It was a shame he was trying to kill her.
A shame and a tragic waste.
Here lies Eva, whose Christmas wish was to find herself up close and personal with a man, but didn’t specify the circumstances.
Was that really going to be her last thought? Clearly the mind was capable of strange thoughts in the last moment before it was robbed of oxygen. And having written her eulogy, she was going to die, right here in the dark in this empty apartment mere weeks before Christmas, flattened by this gloriously smelling hunk of solid muscle. If Lucas Blade decided to postpone his return, her body might not be found for weeks. They were in the middle of a snowstorm, or a “winter weather emergency” as it was officially called.
The thought rallied her.
No! She didn’t want to die without saying goodbye to her friends. She’d found Paige and Frankie perfect Christmas gifts and she hadn’t told anyone where they were hidden. And her apartment was a total mess. She’d been meaning to tidy up for ages, but hadn’t quite found the time. What if the police wanted to look through her things for clues? Most of her possessions were strewed across the floor. It would be horribly embarrassing. But most of all she didn’t want to miss enjoying New York City at Christmas, and she didn’t want to die without having amazing, mind-blowing sex at least once in her life.
She didn’t want this to be her last experience of having a man on top of her.