Seducing Fortune (A Serendipity Novel Book 3) (6 page)

“Happy to do it.” I back away to the door, staring at the dog as he waits patiently for another cracker.

“I’m going to call you. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

“Toby, you’re a nice guy, and I don’t want you to waste your time.”

He hands a cracker to the dog. “I’d never call it a waste. Maybe we become friends. Maybe we become more. I’m optimistic about all things that I can influence, because I can make it happen. The only way nothing happens is if I don’t call you.”

I stare at him, my mouth hanging open a little. “You’re seriously not taking no for an answer?”

“I want to be friends. I don’t know beyond that. But I’d like to call you.” He puts up one finger. “Don’t leave yet.” Then, he moves back into the kitchen.

When he returns, he has a small platter of cheese cubes. “But seriously. I’m not going to stalk you or anything, and if you tell me that we can’t even be friends, I won’t call.”

The dog walks over to the door where I stand. I’m puzzled since this is away from the cheese cubes. Then he lies down in front of the door, effectively blocking my exit.

“See?” Toby crouches to hold out a cheese cube. “The dog says you can’t say this is the end of this friendship.”

I grin at that. “Okay. Okay. Call me.”

“Move, bud. She’s going to take our call.”

At this, the dog rises and putters across the room to retrieve his cheese.

“Talk to you later.” I close the door softly behind me and shiver as I walk to my car. My phone rings, and I cradle it between my shoulder and head as I unlock the car door.

“Hello.”

“Emerson. Where are you?” Gabby’s sniffling and her voice trembles.

“At a friend’s. Why?” Here it comes. I place bets with myself on whether her latest boyfriend has dumped her.

“Someone broke in.”

“What do you mean?” I start the engine and quickly back out of Toby’s driveway. “What happened?”

“I got home and everything was messed up and broken and—wait, there’s someone at the door. I called the police. Gotta go.” The phone disconnects.

Gabby’s words push every panic button in my body. My hand trembles on the steering wheel and I tighten my fingers, pressing the hard grooves of the plastic into the palms of my hand. A light from an oncoming vehicle blinds me and I drop my phone onto the floorboard.

My ringtone sounds near my feet, forcing me to pull over to the side of the road. I reach down and retrieve the phone. “Gabby? Are you okay?”

“It’s Dylan,” he says.

I take a second to regroup. “Can I call you back? I’m in my car and need to hurry home.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Gabby’s there and someone broke in tonight. I need to go.”

“I’m coming over.”

“No, don’t. I just...well...I just need to get home.”

Silence. “Dylan? Dylan?” I panic at the thought of him being in my business—there in the middle of whatever the mess is now—Jesus. What’s with people hanging up on me?

M
y usual MO
is to call a woman when I actually want something—dinner, night out, night in. But I’m not a total dick. Unless having an MO puts me in that category.

Possibly, it does.

Dick or not, I’m frustrated because I know I should hang back a little when it comes to Emerson. Wait until tomorrow or the next day to call. The fact that she’s with Motorcycle Boy is making me do crazy shit like pace the floor, flip through TV channels, check to see if Emerson’s on any social media sites.

She’s not.

It’s either call Emerson or drop by her place. Or both. I scroll through my contact list and find her number.

“Gabby? Are you okay?” Emerson’s voice has a tight, not-quite-right sound.

I wonder for a Nano-second about what she’s doing. It’s been two hours since I left her place and there’s no way she can still be with Motorcycle Boy at the coffee shop. “It’s Dylan.”

The second she tells me someone broke into her apartment, I’m in motion, grabbing my keys from the dresser and heading to the closet for my jacket.

I take a steadying breath and realize I’m shaky like when Mom called about Dad’s heart attack last year.

At the bottom of the stairs, I’m blocked by my roommate Jordy on his way up.

“Hey, where you off to?” He’s holding a box of pizza. The smell of cheese and sausage fills the air.

“Emerson’s.” What if she walks in to something at her place? I move to go around him.

“Really? Since when do you hang out with her?”

He steps aside and I continue to the door. My hands are clammy. How long will it take me to get to her place? Fifteen minutes? Ten if I floor it? “Since now. Somebody broke into her place.”

Jordy sets the pizza box on the coffee table. “I’ll grab my jacket.”

“I’m in a hurry.” My hand is on the doorknob and the last thing I want to do is wait for him.

“Right behind you,” he says, picking up his jacket from the chair.

We drive out to Emerson’s apartment and Jordy doesn’t ask how I know her address. Of my two roommates, Jordy is the talker. He’s not saying a word and the silence means he’s thinking.

I wait for whatever is filling his brain to spill out. Three. Two. One...

He clears his throat first. Ah hell. Here it comes. I glance over at Jordy.

“You messin' around with Emerson?” The headlights from an oncoming car cast light on his face. “I mean, you’re gonna say who you date is none of my business and I’m going to say you’re right.”

“True. It’s none of your business.” I look back at the road, hoping he’ll drop it. I speed up and pass a car. Maybe I should have Jordy call her. What if someone is still there and her sister didn’t realize it?

“But you’re wrong because Emerson is all our business. I gave her the job and I am responsible for her.”

“You should drop it.” I glance back across the dark interior.

Jordy looks at the ceiling of my car. He does this when he’s serious—which isn’t often—and he’s searching for just the right words, as if little thought bubbles hover above his head. “Why her? Of all the girls coming and going through your bedroom’s revolving door—”

I take offense at the revolving door jab, but I don’t have time to bring up his one-night stand record. We’re approaching Emerson’s street. “Why not?”

He shrugs. “Because she’s a lot more complicated than you think. She’s not going to go for a hook-up.”

“And just what’s that supposed to mean? You’re a mind reader now?”

“No.” He’s silent again, staring at the ceiling of the car. I don’t even have to turn his direction to sense it.

“You don’t know her any better than I do.” There’s a definite challenge in my tone. Jordy thinks he’s every girl’s best friend, champion, protector.

“I hired her, didn’t I?” Jordy looks out the window, hiding his expression and no longer searching for words.

I turn into the apartment complex, wondering if Jordy knew her exact address. Maybe this is what is really at stake here—his personal interest in Emerson that I’ve somehow missed.

I give a stiff nod. “So, you know her work history. The stripper gig. So?”

“Stripper gig?” he asks, disgust lacing his words. “You don’t know anything.”

A police car sits near the bottom of the stairs that lead to her apartment. “Then educate me.”

“Not now.” He leans forward and peers up at the staircase as I park.

“You and Emerson... You two haven’t...”

“No.” His answer is definite.

Relief washes over me in a powerful wave. “Good.”

He shoots me a pissed off look. “She’s a good girl. Don’t let the stripper background make you think she’s an easy lay.”

I open my car door so he’ll shut up. “Get rid of the attitude. Don’t assume you know what’s in my head.”

Jordy gets out and follows me to the staircase. I’m still not sure if he’s been here before and I’m too stubborn to ask at this point.

I knock on Emerson’s door and it takes too many seconds for it to open. Her little sister answers. Gabby looks like she’s been crying, her eyes red rimmed and mascara smeared.

“Hi,” she says, giving me a trembling smile.

“Hi.” I look over her head to scan the room. My gaze stumbles. Sofa cushions on the floor are ripped open with yellowed guts shredded. Plants overturned. Dirt on the floor. The lamp busted.

The book I’d noticed earlier lies on the corner of the end table and may be the only thing intact.

“She’s in her bedroom with a cop.” Gabby steps aside.

I don’t wait for more information but head straight back to her room. The door’s open and Emerson stands with her arms crossed over her chest. The cop is taking photos of the floor.

Her bedroom looks worse than the living area. The mattress is upturned and someone’s ripped it up with a knife. Clothes are piled in a heap in front of the open closet doors. Papers are everywhere.

Emerson turns to me. Her face is the definition of stoic, her body tense as a garden statue. “Why are you here?”

I ignore her question. “Did someone break through your deadbolt? Was your sister at home?” I search her face for some clue that she’s upset, but it’s amazingly calm. Eerily calm.

Jordy enters the room. “You okay?” he asks Emerson.

She nods at him and gives a stiff smile. “I’m fine. The officer has to ask me a few more questions. Can you guys wait somewhere else? Could you take Gabby to get a soda or something? She’s pretty upset. I need to clean up the place.”

Jordy places a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah. We’ll take her. Be back in a few.”

I want to mention that Gabby is an adult, not a six-year-old, but one look at Emerson’s face and I don’t. This is Emerson taking control of the situation, taking care of what’s wrong. Taking back whatever the burglar took from her well-being.

Jordy leads the way out of the bedroom and down the short hallway. “So much of the place is trashed,” he says. I barely hear his muttered words.

I take another step and stall, watching Jordy continue down the hallway and stop to place an arm around Gabby’s shoulders. Something niggles at the corner of my consciousness, delaying my movements until I can grasp the importance of the elusive clue.

“You go ahead and take Gabby out. I’ll stay with Emerson.” I walk to the end of the hall and pitch my keys to Jordy.

Gabby gives me a pouty look. “The cop is here. Can’t you come with?”

“I’m going to help pick up the mess.”

She glances around the room and wrinkles her nose. “Ah, that’s so sweet. Okay, then. The cop says he’s done taking photos in here. Come on.” Gabby takes Jordy’s hand and pulls him to the door. “I need a drink. A real drink. How about we get some stuff to make margaritas? You, me, and Dylan could hang out later. And Emerson. If she wants.”

Jordy’s mouth twitches in a half-smile. “Nice try, short stuff. We’ll go for a burger and shake or something. I’m staying in good with your sister.”

Gabby’s familiarity with Jordy tells me he’s been here before. Now I’m not only jealous of Motorcycle Boy, but Jordy’s joined the list.

“See you two later,” I say to their retreating backs. “Take your time. I’ve got this.”

There’s a lot of chaos in the room besides what I noticed the first time through. Everything is on the floor as if a tornado touched down in the living room. I set a floor lamp upright and head to the kitchen for a trash bag.

Every cabinet door is open with pots and pans spilling out like kitchenware vomit. In this neighborhood, either the burglar was on a high that left him destructive or it’s a deliberate search. Nobody breaks in to steal a Teflon pan. I open the dishwasher and begin loading it with things from the floor.

“I can do that.” Emerson’s voice startles me and I drop a lid.

“There’s plenty to do. We don’t have to fight over the kitchen.” I pick the lid up, place it in the dishwasher and look around to see if she’s alone. “He gone?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll do this. You take another room.” I open the cabinet underneath the sink to find the stuff for washing dishes.

“Okay.” Emerson stands with both hands braced on her hips, staring at the wall.

There’s not a doubt in my mind that she’s upset. Her face is too blank. I stop what I’m doing and take the few steps to stand in front of her.

Her eyebrows lower, a thunderstorm of emotion in the creasing line it forms between them. I reach up and pretend to move her hair from her forehead, tracing the line of worry, feeling her satiny skin. “You don’t have to be tough all the time.”

“Yeah, I do.” She gives me a real smile and licks her lips. “I know you guys get off on that damsel-in-distress crap, but I just can’t be that.”

“Understood. I’m not here to rescue you. I’m here to be your friend.” I step closer and her eyes narrow. I recognize the scent of Emerson’s perfume or body wash or maybe just her skin. Maybe she was born with a smell that makes me want to rub all over her like a cat.

“You’re doing...the kitchen. Right?” Emerson makes the words sound like a proposition.

“I can. Or I can help you in the room you want to tackle.”

“Oh. Okay.” Her gaze darts from my eyes to my mouth.

I close the distance between us and fold her into my arms. Her forehead rests on my shoulder. She’s not pulling away and I revel in the feel of her body.

“They probably killed my plants,” she murmurs.

“Yeah. I noticed.” I rub her back in a small circle between her shoulders. “I’ll help you get them back into the dirt. Maybe they’re not dead.” I know nothing about plants, but the comment must’ve been the right thing to say because she nods.

“I’m sick from thinking about what would’ve happened if Gabby’d been home.”

I’m only grateful Emerson wasn’t at home. What if she’d been here? “How did the person get in?”

“Don’t know. Key, maybe.”

I hold her tighter. The last thing I want is for her to see the worry on my face. “Who has keys?”

She stiffens. “I haven’t been giving them out, but I doubt they change the locks every time someone new moves in.”

I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. “Okay. Then the police will check the list of former tenants.”

“Doubt it. Do you think I’m high on their list of crimes to solve?” There’s an acrid quality to her voice.

“We have to get the locks changed. I’ll call a locksmith. Right now.”

“I don’t know if I can do that. My landlady has rules—”

I pull back and put my hands on her shoulders so I can look at her. “Screw what someone else says. You can tell her I did it. You tell her the police said to do it. I don’t care what you tell her, but it’s getting done. Tonight.”

Emerson doesn’t answer. Damn if she isn’t looking at my mouth again. If she doesn’t stop, I’m going to kiss her whether this is the right time or not.

She nods. “Yes. You’re right. I’ll pay you back for a locksmith. Okay?”

I rub her upper arms. “Good. I’ll call now.”

“Thanks,” she says, and extracts herself from my hold.

Her silky skin is addictive. I miss the feel of it the second she steps away. The absence is so defined and intense that I’m shaken. I pivot away from her and pull out my phone, afraid that my face might show some kind of weird emotion I can’t put my finger on. “I’ll help you with the living room as soon as I call.”

It’s a relief she didn’t argue like she had about the tire. The tire. The damn tire. Toby said someone cut Emerson’s tire. This place is trashed, not burgled.

I’m glad when she walks away and I can put my focus on getting the locksmith. It takes five minutes to arrange for a twenty-four hour service to come out. The guy charges extra since it’s after hours, but Emerson doesn’t have to know since I asked that they send the bill to me. I grab a broom from the closet and head for the front room.

Emerson’s bent over a picture frame, picking up the pieces of glass. “Assholes.”

I move close with the broom. “I’ll get the glass. You’re going to—”

“Ouch.” She drops the sliver and blood appears on her fingertip.

I lay the broom on the floor and move to take her hand. “Let me see.”

Instead of doing as I ask, she dodges me and places her finger in her mouth, sucking on it. Holy hell.

“I want to know how bad it’s cut.” My voice sounds strained and there’s no way she doesn’t know why.

She holds out her hand to me. “It’s fine. See?” She offers her finger as evidence. It isn’t bleeding anymore.

I take it and examine the finger. “Small cut.” I bring her finger to my lips and kiss it. “Be careful.”

Her face flushes and she jerks her hand back. “Friends don’t kiss boo-boos.”

I give her a raised brow and smirk. “Sorry.”
Friends don’t give friends hard-ons.

“You don’t know how to do the friend thing, do you?” She grabs the broom and stands. “That’s a rhetorical question. No need to answer.”

She sweeps the glass into a pile. When I don’t answer, she looks up. “What are you smiling about?”

“The fact that kissing your finger got to you.”

“Jerk,” she says with a smile, shaking her head. “You are so full of yourself.”

She stops sweeping and begins scanning the floor. Her face pales and she walks the area, her gaze sweeping back and forth.