“I’m sorry, you’re right. Can I walk you to your car?”
“Yeah, thanks.” We walked toward the street in front of the campus. “Hey, Axton went to a club the other night. Do you know anything about that?”
“No.”
“Did you notice him acting weird yesterday? Nervous?”
“No.”
I went through my spiel — backpack, mystery man, yada yada. Maybe I should record this little speech because repeating it was getting old.
“I can’t get into his computer,” I said. “Do you think you could?”
“Yeah, probably.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But are you sure he didn’t just leave for a few days?”
While Ax had taken off a time or two in the past, he’d always called to let me know where he was and when he was coming home, and he’d always taken his backpack. “I’m sure. Do you want to meet up tomorrow and take a crack at Axton’s computer?”
“Like for dinner, or something?” He smiled. “I know this Italian place, they make an authentic osso buco —”
“How about I bring it by after I get off work?”
Steve’s smile lost a few watts. “Sure. You know where the IT office is, right?”
“Basement of Blake Hall. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As I drove home, I kept checking my rearview mirror to make sure no one followed me. Yep, definitely becoming paranoid.
Feeling drained and more concerned about Axton by the minute, I slogged up the stairs to my apartment, sifting the keys in my hand to find the right one. But before I could slide it into the lock, a mountain of a man opened my front door. He loomed above me, his dark hair slicked back from his face. His crooked nose had been broken in at least three places and a long jagged scar ran close to his left eye.
He said nothing, but a deep voice from inside my apartment said, “Come in, Rosalyn.”
Chapter 7
It was
I gulped and stood there, too scared to move forward, too shocked to turn around and run. The man at the door snatched my arm and pulled me into the apartment, slamming the door behind me. He plucked the keys from my hand and tossed them on the bistro table.
I sidled to the left, with my back against the wall. I kept him in my peripheral view while I studied the man standing in the middle of my apartment. He was the exact opposite of Scarface. His blue-black hair was combed away from his perfect face. His gold eyes — not golden-brown, just gold — glittered in the faint glow of my yard sale flamingo lamp. With light honeyed skin stretched over strong cheekbones, he was beautiful — like fallen angel beautiful. He wore a dark suit and overcoat. He scared me a lot more than the other guy. It was obvious he was in charge and Scarface was just there for back up.
I didn’t know what he wanted or if he planned on hurting me, but I made up my mind then and there that I wouldn’t go down without a fight. And I wouldn’t let him see how afraid I was either. But between you and me, I think I wet my pants just a little.
“Hello, Rosalyn. Oh wait, you like to be called Rose. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the futon.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll stand, you know, since it’s my apartment and all.”
I felt a massive paw on my shoulder. “Sit,” Scarface said. His voice sounded like crunching gravel.
I twisted out of his grasp and my backpack slid to the floor. I side-stepped away from him, bumping my hip into the closet doorknob. Since I was scared shitless, the pain barely registered.
The boss waved two fingers and shook his head. “Let’s be civil, Henry. Why don’t you wait in the car?”
As soon as Scarface Henry left, the mystery man began prowling around my apartment. He slid his fingertips across the bistro table and snagged my keys, twirling them around one finger. Then he paused and looked at the red rose keychain Axton had given me as a joke. “Original.” He dropped them back on the table.
Crossing my arms to hide my shaking hands, I glared at him. “What do you want?” I kept hold of my bravado, but my knees were knocking so hard I thought I might topple over.
He walked to the kitchenette and looked at the paper hanging on my refrigerator. Scotty had colored a picture of me — my head was ten times the size of my stick body. The mystery man tapped the drawing. “I can see the resemblance.” Then he strolled to the cluster of cheap frames arranged on top of my dresser. He picked up the picture of Roxy and me. We had our arms thrown around each other and were making smootchie faces at the camera. He put it down and moved to the next photo. The one of Scotty when he was about ten minutes old. I rushed toward him and tried to grab it, but he held it just out of reach.
“Put it down.” I grabbed the soft woolen sleeve of his overcoat and pulled, but he didn’t move. I peered up at his face, and he stared back at me. Our gazes locked and held for a moment.
He leaned toward me. He smelled citrusy and spicy at the same time, like oranges and sandalwood. “I want my property.” His voice was silky steel.
I let go of his arm and stepped back. “I…,” my voice cracked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play games, Rose.” He set the photo down and walked to the futon, gracefully folding himself onto it, his arm spread along the back. “You’ll lose.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeated, my voice stronger this time.
He looked at me like he was waiting for something. Eventually, he nodded. “Let’s pretend that’s true, and for your sake, I hope it is.” His gaze flickered from my face to my breasts and back up to my eyes. The whole process took less than a second, but I had the feeling he’d categorized and labeled me in that brief instant.
“Why don’t you just ask Axton where the hell your property is?”
He didn’t move a muscle, but I noticed a shift in him. His eyes seemed sharper and tension ran through his body.
I hadn’t realized until that moment I’d been holding my breath. Air whooshed out of my lungs as relief and hope shot through me. “You don’t know where Axton is, do you?”
“Why don’t you stick to serving pancakes and focus on your classes. A C-minus in accounting? Tsk, tsk.” He shook his head in mock disappointment.
Hearing him casually discuss the details of my life made me almost dizzy. I stood straight and lifted my chin. “You seem to know a lot about me. In the interest of fairness, why don’t you tell me about yourself? Like, who the hell are you?”
“I’m not interested in fairness. And your interference could be detrimental to Axton’s health.”
I took a step toward him, my fists clenched. “If you harm one wiry hair on his head—”
“You’ll what, sling hash at me? If I wanted to hurt your friend, you’d never find the body.” Then he laughed.
Anger rose up deep inside me, crowding out the fear. This smug asshole broke into my home, threatened Axton, and was sitting on my own damn futon laughing at me. I saw red.
I leapt on him, lashing out with both hands and popped him one in the mouth. All of the frustration, anger, and fear I’d bottled up since Axton’s phone call bubbled to the surface. “You’d better not hurt Axton, do you understand me?”
He calmly pinned my hands and held them behind my back, pulling me forward until my breasts smashed against his chest.
I tried to pull away, but he held fast. “Let go of me.”
His eyes darkened to an antique gold. “Only if you promise to behave yourself.”
I didn’t want to behave myself. I wanted to pound my fist into his face a few more times. I leaned my head back, then drove it forward, trying to head butt him in the nose. But he saw it coming and jerked his head to the side at the last second. My forehead grazed his ear.
“That’s enough,” he said.
I struggled to free myself. With both of my hands restrained in one of his, he thrust his other hand into my
