The floor numbers began to descend at a rapid clip, so she ducked around the corner and held her breath. A few seconds later the door slid open and she shook her head, trying to stop the internalJawsmusic from scaring her to death.
“Tommy?” she whispered to herself.
Did Cary let him into his place? It wasn’t likely since he trusted Tommy as much as NWA trusted the police.
A woman’s voice drifted from the elevator.Lara? No, impossible.But there was no mistake. She wore the same leopard-print coat from earlier, her hair—now slightly disheveled—still curled in its usual way.
As soon as they were out of sight, she stepped into the elevator, swiped her fob against the key reader and pushed 26.
Am I in the Twilight Zone?
“No!” She shook her head before the theme song started to play. “Not today.”
The elevator stopped on the twenty-sixth floor and she unlocked his door.
“Cary?” she called out.
No answer, thank god.
She entered his penthouse and the stench of cigarettes stopped her cold. Tommy had been there; the haze of smoke alone made it obvious. She hung the garment bag in his front closet before inspecting the living room for clues, but everything seemed to be in its usual place, so she wentinto his bedroom. Normally, she could stop the music in her head, but theMission Impossibletheme seemed perfect for this quest.
She scanned the room and . . .bingo. A half-smoked cigarette sat on the edge of a makeshift ashtray, looking more like a murder victim than a cancer stick.
She turned on the bathroom light and found a damning piece of evidence confirming her suspicions: a condom wrapper in the garbage can.
Animals.
Lara and Tommy should have used one of the guest rooms if they were going to act like pigs.
She grabbed her phone and called Cary to break the news, sighing in relief when it clicked to voicemail. “Call me back when you get this, please.”
She stripped the sheets from his bed, threw them into the washing machine, and pressed the hottest setting and extra rinse.
At least Cary wasn’t cheating on her, but doubting him was bad enough. Could she ever trust anyone again? She didn’t think so. And it wasn’t fair to him. But one thing was sure: she had to leave Vancouver. Too many bad memories, too many broken promises—too many bike lanes.
This morning, she was alone when she found out she wasn’t pregnant. Well, Rory was technically there—but he slept through most of it, oblivious. And sure, she’d told Cary not to fly out. Said it was fine.
But come the fuck on. Of course she wanted him there.
Since Tyler was going to be at Cary’s for a while she took the elevator down to grab Rory. The dog probably thought he’d been left in the car for good. They both had abandonment issues.
Arjun had finally returned to his post, so she approached his desk with purpose, resting her hands on her hips.
“Hi, Arjun, I’m Tyler. Cary’s girlfriend.” He raised his brow and nodded. “Do you know anything about the people in his penthouse?”
“Tommy?” he asked, swiveling his chair like a kid.
“How do you know Tommy?” Her tone came out more accusatory than planned.
“Oh, Tommy?” Arjun waved dismissively. “He’s up there all the time. That guy has a lot of stories.”
No fucking shit.
She lowered her chin. “Does Cary know about this?”
“He has keys. I don’t ask.” Arjun shrugged. “It’s none of my business.”
It was a reasonable way for him to keep his job, but was Cary cool with it?
