Kiss Me If You Dare

green ribbon. I counted out enough bills to cover the check and tip and hightailed it out of my own house.

Sam caught a glimpse of me halfway across the kitchen.

“Oh, my gosh. Tish?” She slapped a hand over her mouth and checked for spies. “I mean Sasha.”

“It’s Tasha.”

She looked at my excess baggage. “So you’re the one who bought the clock.”

I nodded, sidestepping toward the door.

“Is that a Christmas present for your grandfather?”

I shook my head, mute.

She stared at me, her eyes turning hard. “Listen. Stay away from Brad. I heard about that stunt you pulled yesterday. He’s not ready to see you. I’ll let you know when he is.”

I was sorry she couldn’t see the scorn in my eyes. With a spin, I took off out the back door.

Packages safe on the passenger seat next to me, I made the drive to Manistique. No former sister-in-law-to-be was going to scare me away from Brad.

26

Brad’s personal bodyguard opened the door.

“Hi, Austin,” I said, praying Brad hadn’t told him about the kiss yesterday.

“The crazy college chick. What do you want?” Austin kept his fit and trim physique between me and my goal as he looked into the hall behind me. “No Mr. Russo today?”

I shook my head, struggling with my box and bag. “I’m about to drop this stuff. Can you get the door for me?” “No can do. You can’t come in.”

Sighing, I put on a weary voice. “Look. I know I upset Brad yesterday. I brought him lunch to make it up.”

Austin sniffed the air. “Sam’s Coney Deluxe. That’s Mr. Walters’ favorite.”

“I know.” I took a step forward, edging into the opening. He cut me off at the pass. “Sorry, no visitors.”

“Come on. I’d like another chance to talk to Mr. Walters.” I rocked the aromatic bag of Coneys under his nose and spoke in a singsong voice. “I brought him food.”

Austin grabbed the bag off my larger package. “I’ll tell him it’s from you.” He started to close the door.

“Give that back.” I slapped at the paper, missing. “That’s my lunch too.”

“Sorry, no visitors.” The bag disappeared and the door was almost closed.

“Who’s here, Austin?” a voice boomed from the bedroom. “Hey!” I yelled through the crack. “Brad! It’s me! I brought you a Coney Deluxe.”

Austin slammed the door in my face.

I stood there, the toe of one shoe wedged against the threshold. Brad had to realize it was me, Tish, come back to life. Any moment Austin would open the door and usher me inside. I waited, listening. When Austin didn’t return, I rested the clock on one hip and stuck an ear to the door.

The rustling of a paper bag.

I jiggled the doorknob. Locked.

My fists hit the wood. “Hey! Open up! That’s my lunch! Hey!” I kept pounding, determined not to stop until Austin opened the door.

Down the hall, a head poked out of a doorway.

“Excuse me, miss,” an elderly gentleman said with a missing-denture lisp. “M*A*S*H is on. I can’t watch it with all that racket. Makes a rumble in my hearing aid.”

I held my hand suspended mid-thud. What was I doing? Standing in an old folks’ home pounding on doors was definitely low-class.

“Sorry.” I gave a little wave. The head disappeared.

I turned back to my task. I was not leaving here without seeing Brad.

Tapping a finger softly on the door, I spoke through the wood. “Come on. I promise I won’t upset him today. Anyway, you have to open up. I have a present for him.”

Silence. He probably couldn’t answer because his mouth was full of that special sauce with meat and beans and topped with onions… My stomach growled.

“Fine. Give me back my lunch and I’ll go away.”

Still no answer. Maybe he was back sharing the spoils with Brad.

A building attendant passed by in the narrow hall. “Can I help you with something?” the man asked.

“Ahhh…” I wiped the guilty look off my face. I had every right to be here. More than every right. “I seem to have been locked out. Could you show me where I can find a phone?”

The man in navy coveralls walked me to the lounge and pointed to a phone on a decorative desk. “Local calls only unless you have a calling card.”

“Thanks.” I put the clock down and sat in the straightback chair. I opened the long top drawer of the desk. A phone book. Just the thing.

I flipped through the Ws. No Brad Walters. But one listing read Walters-Russo, Samantha. Instead of a Port Silvan prefix, it had the Manistique exchange. That had to be Brad’s number at River’s Edge.

I dialed it.

“This is Austin,” came the voice.

“Austin. Hi. It’s the crazy college chick. Open the door, okay? I really need to talk to Brad.”

Click.

I dialed the number again. It rang once, picked up, and slammed in my ear.

I dialed again-and this time got a busy signal.

The receiver dangled from my hand, its beep beep beep audible throughout the lounge.

“What’s the matter, dear, he’s not taking your call?”

I looked toward the gentle voice. A woman with a wizened face sat in a corner by a window, the various shades of pink in her clothing allowing her to blend with the general decor. No wonder I hadn’t noticed her earlier. Gray hair swirled in perfectly round curls atop her head. It had to be a wig. I touched my own masterpiece, suddenly conscious of how foolish I must look.

I smiled and turned away, avoiding conversation. The pages of the phone book fluttered under my fingers as I delved for the secret to visiting Brad.

The voice interrupted my thoughts again. “Perhaps I could help.”

The sweet old lady apparently couldn’t take a hint.

I waved a hand and nodded. “I’m fine, really. Thanks anyway.”

Back to the pages of phone numbers. I could call Puppa and get him to come out. Or call Sam and bawl her out. No. There had to be a better, faster way of getting in there.

Movement in the corner of my eye. I glanced up. The old gal had moved to the chair closest to me.

She leaned forward and spoke in a scheming voice. “I happen to know Austin runs errands for that Walters fellow between two and three o’clock.”

My brows shot up. “Really.” How did the spry old gal know what I was up to?

She gave my leg a firm pat. “They keep him locked up in there like a prisoner. No visitors outside of family, they tell us. And he never comes out. Never.” She tsked her show of disapproval. “Not even for Bingo. I say that poor young man needs some excitement.” She looked me up and down. “And you seem like the exciting type.”

Good heavens. Was the old woman trying to set Brad up on a date? As Brad’s onetime almost-bride-to-be, I was mortified that Ms. Matchmaker was on the job in the lobby. Brad did not need excitement. He needed me.

That being the case, how could I pass up this opportunity to see Brad? All I needed was a way to get inside once Austin left.

Another pat on the leg. “I have a plan,” the old gal whispered and crooked her finger. “Follow me.”

The clock in the box chimed and sang its soulful melody from its place on the table in the woman’s apartment,