Thank goodness Ivy and her roommates didn’t know about Dani’s birthday. If they had, they would have wanted to throw her a party and Dani wasn’t in a celebratory mood, especially since her father apparently had forgotten the day his only child was born. He hadn’t even sent his usual impersonal greeting card. Or maybe he had remembered but was still angry at her for breaking up with Kipp. It couldn’t be because she’d quit her job; she hadn’t worked up the courage to tell him about that yet.
What would her dad say if, instead of finding a spot in a new HR department, Dani did as Ivy suggested and started her own company? Cooking had always been her first love. She’d wanted to go to culinary school, but her father had refused to pay for anything other than what he termed a “real degree.”
In the silence, Dani heard the loud ticking of the vintage Gilbert wall clock hanging in the apartment’s tiny foyer. Suddenly, it sounded as if it were counting off the seconds of her life.
Coming to a full stop, Dani stood frozen. She was twenty-nine freaking years old. It was past time to stop trying to please her father and start living for herself.
Chapter 2
Six months later
At the sound of gunfire, Spencer Drake exploded out of bed. Although he’d been out of the business for the past year, after being undercover for so long, his actions were automatic. Jerking open his nightstand drawer, he grabbed his Glock. Eyes scanning for any sign of an intruder, his gaze fell on his cell phone and he realized that the shots were coming from it—which, for some ungodly reason, was playing Pink Floyd’s “The Final Cut.”
Scooping up the annoying gadget, which he both loved and hated, he squinted at the screen. Why was Ivy calling him at three in the morning? And when had she programmed his phone with that annoying ringtone? She knew he was more of a country music buff than a psychedelic rock fan.
Spencer tapped his niece’s picture, then wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear and grunted, “Yeah?”
“Uncle Spence?” Ivy sounded as if she wasn’t sure he was who she had intended to call, and he could hear the loud babble of several excited people talking in the background.
“Yep. Who were you expecting?” Spencer’s pulse was still pounding from his rude awakening, but he finally succeeded in pulling on his pants. “You better not have butt dialed me.”
“No.” His niece’s voice wobbled. “Can you…uh…come over to my apartment?”
“What’s wrong?” Spencer’s irritation turned to alarm, and he shoved his feet into a pair of motorcycle boots while plucking a T-shirt from the drawer.
“It’s not my fault,” Ivy said. “I’ll explain when you get here.”
“Just tell me.” Spencer’s patience wasn’t great at the best of times, but after an evening spent arguing about the sale of their condo with his ex-wife, it was practically nonexistent.
When his ex had called, he knew the discussion wouldn’t be pleasant. She’d started the conversation with the words First of all, which meant she’d done research, made charts, and was prepared to destroy him.
Not that her viciousness was a surprise. Her wedding dress hadn’t even come back from the cleaners before she’d drained their joint bank accounts and run off with his former best friend. Someone really should have warned him that marriage was the mourning after the knot before.
Ivy’s cry broke into his thoughts. “Hurry!” A second later, the phone went dead.
Son of a—
Spencer snagged his keys and wallet, sprinted into the garage, and slammed his palm on the button to open the door. Hopping on his Harley, he headed toward Ivy’s apartment.
The cloudy sky obscured the moon, but the bright streetlights guided his way down the deserted roads and the roar of his bike masked any other sounds. It was almost as if he were the only person on earth.
Although spring had officially arrived more than a week ago, the temperature hovered in the forties, and Spencer kicked himself for forgetting to grab his jacket. He wasn’t used to being shocked awake in the middle of the night anymore, and his brain was still half-asleep.
He made the drive in a record three minutes and hurried to the building’s only elevator. The Up button didn’t light when he tapped it, remaining dark even after several pushes. He swore and ran for the stairs. Ivy lived on the fifth floor, and he was panting by the time he burst into the hallway.
The sickly sweet stench of pot, stale beer, and idiocy surrounded him and his scalp prickled. Skidding to a stop, he rubbed his eyes.
In the bright, florescent light of the hallway, several college boys were lined up against the wall. The only things between them and an indecent exposure charge were the NU baseball caps covering their crotches. How the hats were staying in place, he didn’t want to know.
Against the opposite wall stood four young women, including Ivy, who had tears streaming down her cheeks and was wringing her hands. Mercifully, the girls were fully clothed because Spencer could do without seeing his niece naked.
Spencer noticed that the corridor was littered with empty cans and discarded clothing. Closing his eyes, he counted to twenty. Ten was not enough in this situation.
When he felt calmer, Spencer opened his lids and spotted a fifty-something woman striding toward him. Her face was nearly purple, and the lines around her mouth were dug in deeper than the furrows in a freshly plowed field.
Meeting her halfway, Spencer identified himself as Ivy’s uncle, then asked, “What’s going on?”
“Your niece and her roommates’ party has gotten out of hand.” The woman used the sharp edge of her voice like a chisel. “Unlike those gigantic complexes that use
