Walking away hadn’t protected her. It had left her exposed.
***
The buzzer didn’t work. Leland pressed it a second time anyway watching the panel lights flicker silently and die. He stared at them a moment longer before scowling.
Unacceptable. Everything was.
The parking lot’s cracked asphalt. The barely functioning streetlights. A fence without a gate, which made no damn sense. The entry light above the door strobed weakly, throwing shadows. Add in the call system in dire need of repair, let alone an upgrade, and the entire place became a criminal’s wet dream.
Leland turned, hands on his hips, and took in the layout. How many times had he told himself she was safer without him? Standing in that parking lot, he felt the weight of the truth, even if he wasn’t quite ready to accept it.
He pressed the buzzer a third time, not expecting a different result. He’d call the building manager in the morning. If that didn’t get action, he’d pay him a visit.
The door opened behind him. A woman stepped out, phone pressed to her ear, voice carrying into the night. “I told him that’s not how this works—”
She didn’t look at him. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question the stranger standing inches from the threshold.
Leland put out a hand and caught the door, also unnoticed. He slipped inside, one thought in his head: easy entry, poor visibility, no deterrents. Security in Julia’s building sucked.
The elevator shuddered and creaked with every floor; its strained ascent suggested it was on its last legs. He could have walked to the fourth floor faster. By the time he reached her door, his irritation burned along with anger.
He knocked. As he waited, he checked the time: 10:20.
Late, but not unreasonable. Her car had been in the lot.
Movement sounded on the other side of the door. The light dimmed at the peephole.
“Who is it?”
“Leland.”
A long pause followed. Then the lock clicked, the chain slid free, and the door opened. Julia froze when she looked out, as if she had to see him to believe he was really there.
“What are you doing here, Leland?”
Not Master Leland, soft and eager as he remembered all too well. Just his name, flat and guarded. He’d done that to himself.
“Your landlord needs to be reported. Or sued.” His gaze dropped briefly to damp hair curling at her shoulders, a short robe belted at the waist, bare legs, and pink toenails, before lifting again. “Your buzzer doesn’t work. The entry light’s failing. Half your lot’s dark. And someone let me in without a second look.”
A frown creased her forehead. “You came over this late to tell me that?”
“No.” He held her gaze. “May I come in?”
For a second, he thought she might say no, but she moved aside.
When he crossed the threshold, the contrast to the rest of the building was striking. Outside was neglected—dim lights, worn carpet, walls in need of paint. Julia’s apartment was clean, bright, and orderly. Feminine, too. A soft throw over the couch. Books stacked neatly on the coffee table. The faint scent of vanilla or cookies, maybe.
It wasn’t lavish; it was homey and cared for.
She didn’t offer him a seat. Didn’t move farther into the room, either. Only watched him, an interruption she hadn’t decided how to handle yet.
He’d really dug a hole for himself.
“I was heading to bed,” she said, rather pointedly.
She had reasons, several of them, but there was only so much a man could take.
“We need to talk,” he said, nodding toward the sitting area.
