He pulled out his phone and stepped to the edge of the mezzanine overlooking the dancefloor below. Lights strobed over glistening bodies. Laughter, sweat, and lust hung in the air like fog.
“Andri,” he said when the call connected.
“Good evening, Mr. Aeto,” came the crisp reply.
“I need you to run a background check. Name’s Kiki Reese. Number incoming.”
“How deep?”
Nikos paused, thinking. “Boyfriends. Dating history. Social media. Anything of interest. Oh, employment history would be nice. If you can find out if she’s scared of anything or has food allergies, that would be a plus.”
Andri chuckled. “Understood.”
He ended the call and stared out at the pulse of the nightclub below.
“Only during daylight hours, huh?” he murmured. “Well, that rules out her being a vampire.”
He was still digesting his conversation with Harvey and Jim when Sabrina Contessa sauntered up behind him, pressing herself against his back like a cat marking its territory.
“Niiikos,” she drawled. “We miss you. Sherry says it’s time to be bad again.”
He slid the scrap of paper into his pocket and turned toward her with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m just getting started.”
The building smelled like rain-soaked carpet and a multiplicity of dinners from succulent to fast food. Faint traces of old varnish, peeling wallpaper, grime, and discarded candy wrappers—probably from apartment 3D—clung to the stairwell. Kiki Reese took the next step one at a time, puffing out a frustrated huff when her canvas messenger bag thumped against her hip and the plastic bag of groceries cut into her wrist. A bruised avocado was threatening to make a break for it.
“Of course I had to buy the gallon-size of milk instead of the smaller one,” she muttered under her breath, her apartment keys clinking in her grip. Her stomach let out a low, pitiful growl in agreement. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll feed you in a minute.”
The ancient brass numbers on the third-floor landing winked at her. One more floor. She trudged upward, her hoodie damp from the afternoon drizzle and her arms aching in protest. The stairs creaked like old bones beneath her feet, and somewhere above, the familiar buzz of the overhead hall light filtered down, casting shadows.
The building was an old, end-of-the-century brownstone converted into apartments. It was made of brick and stone, with thin hallways and doors that swelled in summer. Her fourth-floorwalk-up apartment was nestled beneath the sloped roof of the building like a secret, shadowed refuge. Rent was cheap—for New York. Heat was spotty. But it was hers. Quiet. Safe. Hidden.
That’s why her stomach dropped the moment she stepped onto the landing and saw the man leaning casually against the wall near her door, staring down at his phone.
Tall. Dark suit. Clean lines. Expensive. Confident.
And a complete stranger.
Every nerve in her body went taut.
She tucked her chin and didn’t stop. She didn’t ask who he was—she really didn’t care. Pursing her lips, she was proud of the fact that she didn’t flinch either.
Focus. Walk on by. Move to the stairs like you own the place.
She held her breath as she walked past her door, past him. Her gaze slid away when he glanced up, moving like water over marble. She adjusted her grip on her keys, slipping one between her fingers like a makeshift blade, the angled tip protruding between her knuckles.
Her breathing hitched. Her soft-soled sneakers were silent on the worn carpet runner as she headed for the next flight of stairs.
Nope. Nope. Not today. Tall-Dark-and-Definitely-Dangerous will just have to leave.
She’d go up to the fifth floor where the attic was, wait this creep out, then circle back.
Her phone vibrated. Loud in the silence. Jarring.
“Seriously?” she hissed under her breath, twisting awkwardly to dig into the pocket of her oversized hoodie. Her fingers fumbled with the device as the bag of groceries slipped sideways.
Unrecognized number. She pressed decline and stuffed the phone back into her pocket.
