“You go tell Moe,” she hissed, jabbing a finger at his chest, “that I don’t care how many handsome men he sends to my door begging for forgiveness—being a landlord is hisjob, and he’s responsible for making sure construction happens duringbusinesshours. Who in this apartment would be inconvenienced by construction happening from nine to five? Hell, even from eight to five? No one. Not a single person in this building works nights. So why is construction happeningduring the night?”
“I’m not sure, ma’am,” Harlow admitted. While he felt guilty for causing her undue stress, he’d much rather she be ruffled than that she come to investigate a mysterious noise later that evening. Evie wasn’t in this apartment—of that, Harlow was certain—but when he found her, there was a chance things could get loud. The less nosy tenants he had to worry about stepping into the middle of a fight, the better. The only people who should risk injury during this operation were himself and the guilty.
“Of course you aren’t. You’re just like the rest of them—senseless and following orders.” She spat it like an insult, and Harlow had to wonder what, exactly, it was thatshedid for a living if she wasn’t following orders from someone else. “Doesn’t matter if what you’re told to do makes sense or not, you just do it, don’t you? Well, never mind. I know you’re not going to help me. None of you ever doanythingother than make a racket. I’ll bring this up with Moe himself.”
“You can do that,” Harlow said with a shrug. The last thing he needed was her jumping on the phone as soon as she shut the door. If Moe was alerted that there was a construction crew on the premises when he hadn’t scheduled one, then that wouldn’t bode well for Harlow. “But I heard from my boss, Mr. Anderson, that the landlord is outta town until later this weekend. Said something about him being unavailable, or something.”
“Christ,” the woman mumbled. “Leave it to Moe. I wonder if the bastard brought his computer. I’ll send him an email that will singe his eyebrows off. At least, I will if the goddamn power stays on long enough. You’re not here to fix the blackout issue, are you?”
“No, ma’am. And it’s better that you write him, anyway,” Harlow agreed. “If you want to file a formal complaint or take him to court, you’ll want a paper trail.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “For a construction worker, you seem to know a lot.”
“Construction workers aren’t dumb, ma’am,” Harlow replied, doing his best to keep the disdain from his voice. “We work physically demanding jobs, sure, but that doesn’t stop us from being intelligent.”
“Well then, it’d be nice to see some of that intelligence expressed. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that being interrupted at dinner is offensive! And I’m going to make sure that Moe knows it.Again.” She looked him over one last time, lingering first on his bulging biceps, then again at his groin. Harlow, stunned, stood frozen while she ogled him until her eyes snapped back up to his. “I hope you don’t make much noise tonight, for your sake, Jacob, or I’ll make sure your construction company never lands another contract in this building.”
“Jensen,” Harlow corrected helpfully.
“Whatever. Goodbye.” Then, without warning, she slammed the door shut.
What an unpleasant woman. Harlow let the undeserved abuse roll off his shoulders, then moved on. There were more important issues to focus on—namely, the rest of the apartments he had to scope out while hunting for Evie. And as unpleasant as the last conversation had been, it had offered him valuable insight that would lend credibility to his act. The more he knew about this place, the better he’d be able to blend in. If that meant dealing with a few more pissed-off residents, so be it.
With what he’d learned about the building and Moe freshly in mind, Harlow moved to the next door and began the process all over again.
* * *
Evie wasn’t being heldon the ground floor. Disappointed, but not discouraged, Harlow headed for the stairwell. It was located behind a door in the hotel lobby, concealed behind a heavy door with a push handle that squeaked when he used it. The door, its hinges disobedient, was sluggish to open. Harlow made note of it. If he needed to get Evie out quickly, it was essential that he know what he was up against.
The door led to a downtrodden, poorly lit stairwell that was too large for its purpose. Dreary gray concrete slab steps were set against the wall, each segment ending in a landing when the stairs met a corner. Harlow walked to the center of the ground floor landing and looked up, tracking the stairwell all the way up to the fourth floor. With a gap at the center of the stairwell like that, a fall would be lethal. He tucked that away for future consideration as well. His goal wasn’t to kill whoever had taken Evie, only to see them brought to justice.
But if they wanted to cause trouble, Harlow refused to let them gain the upper hand for nobility’s sake. Hewouldprotect Evie, even if that meant doing something he’d rather not do.
Harlow stepped back from the center of the stairwell and approached the first step. It appeared that the entire stairway was lined by black metal railings. He tested the one he’d come to, laying his palm against the top metal bar. The black finish hid what his touch could not—the railing was corroded by time, its texture gritty and unpleasant to the touch. Harlow gripped the railing regardless and rattled it to check its sturdiness to find that when he pushed against the handrail, the whole stretch of balustrade wobbled.
Wonderful.
He dropped his hand, but the mark of rusted metal left its mark, and scent, on Harlow’s palm. He balled his fingers, tracing over the indentations the railing had left on his skin, then followed the stairs up. His shadow flitted across the wall in dim, haunted ways. There were no windows in the stairwell, and the only source of light came from utilitarian, oval-shaped sconces that cast their dingy glow barely any farther than their cloudy-white coverings.
Fear lived here. A dull, subconscious kind of terror that lurked in the soul and manifested in the raised hairs on the back of necks, or goosebumps that plunged their way down arms. Harlow tucked the clipboard a little tighter to his side and continued upward, the scuff of his shoes against the slab steps and the constant buzz of low-current electricity the only sounds.
Somewhere in this apartment building, hidden away from the world, was the person who mattered the most in Harlow’s life—the one he’d give anything for.
He would find her. He would bring her home. The terror would end, and they’d leave this forsaken place behind them.
And one day, when memories of this time had faded into vague recollections, whatever dark force had coerced Evie into running away would be vanquished, and life would go back to normal. Harlow would figure out, fix, and then forget what was wrong, and they would move on. There would be bright days in the sunshine, laughter in the rain.
They’d be happy.
However long it took, Harlow swore it would be the case.
