“Have you spoken to Mr. or Mrs. Marsh? They told me we were leaving on Friday.”
“The Hubbard plane is leaving on Saturday. If Mr. and Mrs. Marsh wish to travel earlier, they are welcome to book another flight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll see you Saturday,” I said. “Goodbye.” I disconnected the call.
The icon for a text message appeared on the screen. “Read text message.”
* * *
“TEXT MESSAGE FROM FIN. WHERE ARE YOU? IF YOU ARE IN ANOTHER SITUATION THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN REMEDIED WITH SECURITY, ONCE YOU’RE HOME SAFE, I’M REDDENING YOUR SEXY ASS.”
* * *
“Oh,” I said with a giggle. “Sorry, car. You’re a rental, and you probably shouldn’t have read that.
At the stoplight, I sent a quick text.
* * *
“SECURITY COULDN’T HAVE MADE A DIFFERENCE. YOU’RE BEING BOSSY AGAIN. ALMOST HOME.”
Chapter 21
Fin
Ethan arranged for me to use a parking space in the lower-level garage at the Vine. The owners were out of town, snowbirds who had already flown Kentucky for the beaches of Florida. This new benefit allowed me entry up to the seventh floor without the hassle of baseball caps or disguises. My thighs ached as I stepped down from my truck. I didn’t know what color or model rental car Vee had, but I was sad to see her parking space still empty.
Thankfully, I was able to go straight from my truck up to the seventh floor. The beeping of the security system confirmed that Vee wasn’t here. I turned it off.
A smile tugged at my lips as I looked around. I had lived in many cities, moved from apartments to houses and to condominiums. In LA, I discovered the ease of renting—everything. As I prepared to move to Lexington, I followed that pattern. JD recommended the apartment complex, and a few phone calls later, I had a fully decorated place to sleep. Everything from the furniture to wall art, kitchenware to towels and sheets were waiting for me.
That was convenient, but it wasn’t personal. Even after a year in LA, the apartment felt as if I was living in someone else’s place. My new place was the same. Vee’s condo reflected her personality. The modern, classy style was welcoming and light. Despite the darkening sky, the golden glow of lights from street level filled the living space with a Thomas Kinkade warm radiance.
I hit the lights and contemplated starting a fire in the fireplace.
Everything looked as it had been when we left in the morning, including the dishes in the sink. Throwing my duffel bag on the bed in the bedroom, I went to the kitchen to remedy the dirty dishes and think about dinner.
Part of me wanted to collapse, but the practical part of me was afraid that if I gave in to my aching body and sat down on the sofa, I wouldn’t get back up. Opening the dishwasher, I arranged our coffee cups, plates, and a frying pan.
The ring of the doorbell echoed throughout the condo. Vee wouldn’t use the doorbell. I was prepared for another encounter with Kentucky’s finest. Instead, the sweet scent of roses assaulted my senses. The large bouquet of flowers obscured the delivery person’s face, allowing me to see tan pants and nice leather loafers—expensive for a delivery person.
The flowers moved and I came face-to-face with a man about my age, average build, not too muscular, not overweight, with dark-brown eyes.
“Who the fuck are you?” he said.
“Um, is this a delivery?”
The man leaned one direction and the other as if trying to look into the condo. “Is Vee here?”
I lifted my arm to the doorjamb, flexing my bicep, and narrowed my eyes. “How did you get up here?”
“I told the guard at the elevator I lived here.”
“You don’t live here.”
He took a step back. “Fuck, you’re Graham, from the Coopers.”
