Page 16 of Craved

And that, sadly, means my job here will be that much harder.

Well, fuck.

On all counts, just…fuck.

For the rest of the ride, I concentrate on watching the city go by. With flight delays, the flight time, and a three-hour time difference between California and New York, it was already dusk by the time I got in the cab. Now, it’s technically dark, but this is the City that Doesn’t Sleep, and there’s plenty of light for me to watch the streets as the driver weaves through traffic to arrive at the bellman’s stand for my adorable little hotel.

Since I’d flown commercial, I’m not armed when I arrive at my perfectly appointed room, but Stark Security has a small network of semi-active operatives all around the globe. As soon as I’m settled and have locked the door, I follow the instructions that Leah, another LA operative, had texted to me while I was waiting at LAX. Sure enough, there’s a small lockbox concealed under a loose tile behind the pedestal-style sink in the bathroom.

I remove both the gun and the magazine from the lockbox, slap the magazine in, then rack the slide to chamber a round. The only other thing in the box is a small knife and holster. I pull up the leg of my jeans and strap the holster to my calf before sliding the knife into place. The gun’s a tiny KelTec with a clip, so I attach it to my waistband, counting on my comfy tee to cover it up. Then I put my iPad in the lockbox and tuck it all away beneath the tile.

After that, I grab my key and phone, then head out of the room to scope out the area and grab some dinner.

The hotel has a charming indoor cafe that looks like an outdoor patio, with trees lit with string lights and dainty tables and chairs. It’s so lovely that I consider grabbing a sandwich there. But, again, this is a city that’s wide awake at night, and I’d rather grab something I can eat while walking because I’m anxious to get my bearings.

I consider heading to the theater district for a slice at Sbarro’s, but the building I need to see is on 23rd near Second Avenue. In other words, almost the exact opposite direction from the iconic pizza place.

I head that way, gratified to find a stand selling gyros just a few blocks from my hotel. I grab one, and rather than maneuver with a gyro and soda, I sit at an outdoor table and try to get a feel for the area.

This isn’t a part of the city in which I’ve spent much time, and even if it had been my regular stomping grounds when I lived here with Maxim, Manhattan has changed a lot over the years.

It’s July, so the air is warm and muggy, a far cry from the cool nights in LA, especially near the beach. And despite bumping up against the Pacific Ocean, muggy is the last word I’d used to describe the area where I now live.

It describes my current location to a T, though, and I pluck at my shirt to cool down as I stand up, ditching my trash, but keeping my soda as I continue to walk the sidewalk with my fellow pedestrians.

Despite the humidity, it’s a nice walk. Even this late, the city feels alive. Vibrant. Purposeful. Everyone who walks toward me or passes me looks like they have a destination, which is so unlike the majority of people I see around my small house, most of whom come bearing skateboards or beach towels and have no purpose more formal than getting chill.

I cross the street as I approach the Squire so that I can see the entire building. Its windows are mostly dark now, with illumination coming from only a few on the third and fourth floors. Offices, I assume.

On the top floor, I see a few strips of faint light that form a series of connected rectangles. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that there are blinds on those windows, but light is sneaking out around the edges. Which tells me that whoever is up there doesn’t care if the world knows he’s working…but he doesn’t want anyone to see what he’s working on. And he’s paranoid enough that he needs blinds on the tenth floor.

Interesting.

Or not. Even if this was a legitimate tech/science operation, they would still want to protect themselves from corporate espionage. In other words, I won’t know what’s on that floor—and whether or not it’s benign or dangerous—until I make contact with Maxim and get myself in that inner circle.

I’d hoped that would have happened by now, and once again, I check my phone.

Once again, I’m disappointed.

Irritated, I turn around, telling myself I should go back to the hotel, get a good night’s sleep, and start fresh tomorrow.

I tell myself that, but I know that’s not what I’m going to do. There are places I want to see. Memories I need to confront. Lost hopes and dreams that I need to exorcise.

None of those things are in that hotel. But they are in this city. They are, in fact, reasonably close by.

I came to New York to get back in tight with Maxim. To maneuver myself back into his world. To regain his trust.

That’s all well and good.

But there’s one other thing I need to do about Maxim. I need to exorcise him, once and for all. And to really do that, there’s one place in particular I need to go see.

Determined, I turn to face the opposite direction. As I do, I see a quick swish of movement. Nothing I can identify. Just a shadow moving a bit too quickly, as if something behind me hadn’t expected me to turn on a dime.

I’m immediately on my guard, my hand ready to draw my weapon if need be. At the same time, I’m not overly concerned. There are quite a few people out. Someone could have been waving for a taxi. A dog could have sprung his leash. A cat might have been chasing a rat into a sewer.

It might have been my imagination.

All plausible explanations.