Sinner (The Hades Squad #1) (17 page)

With each uttered word, she strode forward.

“What the hell happened to you?” Kenny lurched backward, his hands searching for purchase. “You never lose your temper. And what's with the obscene language?” Slipping into the cubicle two down from Destiny's, he splayed his hand. “Don't come any closer. I'm warning you—you'll regret it.”

He spun around, but before he could break into a sprint, Destiny dived and tackled him, arms clamping around his knees.

“
Ooomph
.
” His breath coming out in an audible whoosh.

Hiking up her skirt, thighs bracketing his waist, she tapped his shoulder. “Kenny?”

In the middle of pushing off the carpet, he turned his head sideways, and barked, “What?”

“This.” She broke into a wide, delicious smile, and then popped him one.

Damn that hurt.
Destiny sucked her throbbing knuckles.

The look on Kenny's face would be engraved in her mind forever. A mixture of surprise and pain, pale-ass brows arched over blue eyes she'd once compared to the Caribbean Sea reflecting the sky, and a scarlet drop pearling at the corner of his mouth.

“You know that break you went on, honey?” Jess’ voice came from behind.

For a second Destiny didn't react.

Cripes. What have I done?

Slowly, not wanting to face the other woman, Destiny rose and crossed over Kenny's still torso.

Jess’ pink lips twitched, and she wrinkled her nose. “I think maybe you need another one. Take the rest of the day off, and that's an order. I'll take care of this situation.”

Jess angled her chin in Kenny's direction.

“I'm calling my lawyer, you frigid bitch,” Kenny snarled.

“About what?” Jess beamed at him. “Running into the sharp edge of a cubicle? Because I saw exactly how it happened. Sara spurned you, and you were so desolate, you didn't watch where you were going.”

“You're both fucking bitches,” Kenny sputtered.

“Tut-tut.” Jess tapped a finger on her lips. “I don't want to have to call security. A smart man would take the opportunity to disappear before I get close to the intercom button.”

Jess stalked to the nearest cube and halted with her thumb poised above a standard-issue red emergency button.

Beet red, spitting mad, hands balled, Kenny opened his mouth and growled, “You haven't heard the end of this. Just wait.”

Jess stifled a chortle.

Destiny grinned so hard her cheeks ached.

They both watched Kenny stomp down the hallway. The elevator doors dinged open, he marched inside, pivoted, and glared at them before the closing doors obliterated his scowling face.

“Oh gawd!” Jess lost it, bending at the waist, spouting machine-gun-rapid guffaws.

Five minutes later, winded from hysterical laughter, Destiny scrubbed the moisture from her cheeks.

“Dahling, that was priceless.” Jess patted the skin under both eyes with twin Kleenexes. She shook her head. “Don't worry about a single thing, honey. I'm attending the editors' retreat in the Hamptons this weekend. By next Monday, my version of the event, replete with vivid description, will be told at every publisher's water cooler.”

“Thanks, Jess,” Destiny mumbled, guilt suffusing her momentary satisfaction.

You don't trust your instincts.

Linc's words reverberated around Destiny’s brain.

He was right.

But not anymore.

“I haven't taken my vacation this year. I don't have any edits pending. Jess, would you approve me taking two weeks off starting next Monday?”

“Great move. Angel's manuscript has already gone to Production. Juanita's has to be in line edits before the end of the month. If you're not around, she can't insist on you. And by the time you get back, the gossip will have died down. Go for it, honey. Take off right now if you want. You don't have to wait for next Monday.”

“I owe you so much. You took a chance on me when no one else would.”

“I know talent when I read it, Sara.” Jess gave her a quick hug. “Pay me back by finishing that romance you started five years ago.”

“You know, I decided not a minute ago to do that very thing.”

Jess’ brown eyes roved over Destiny's features. “I believe you actually mean that.”

“I do.” Unable to stop the slow smile claiming her lips, Destiny gathered her favorite pen and hardcover thesaurus. “Well, I'm outta here. Wish me luck.”

“You're talented. You don't need luck. Break a leg, Sara.”

Destiny turned around and took one step.

“Honey,” Jess called.

Shooting her friend and mentor an over-the-shoulder glance, Destiny arched an eyebrow. “Jess?”

“Take some advice. Get out of town and tell no one where you're going. Go someplace where you know no one and write the great American romance.”

•●•

Eleven days later, a loud squawk broke Destiny's concentration.

She glanced up from her laptop's screen, traced the mottled feathers of the bird's spread wings, enjoying the graceful swoops and loops of the animal as it waltzed the darkening horizon. Like an airplane about to land, the bird untucked long, spindly legs and scrawny three feet, skimmed the rippling water, silver where the fading sun glinted, dark and mysterious where Adirondack forest shadows played hide-and-seek.

The clean green aromas of the lake and the groves of pine fronting the banks adjacent to her rented cottage reminded Destiny of Alaska. A mini heat wave buffeted the normally cool fall temperatures, and today the thermometer had hit the high seventies.

Jess had been right.

The cabin on Lake George proved the perfect setting for writing, the solitary location both inspiring and soothing. Her composing had been a cathartic exercise fired by emotions long suppressed. Cooking, showering, and the occasional long walk had been the only interruptions during hours of feverish typing.

She'd let the battery on her cell die and hadn't bothered to plug in the charger. For ten days and nights she hadn't contacted the outside world—no TV, no newspaper, no trips into the nearby town.

Fingers poised over the keyboard, Destiny reread her email to Jess, stared at the screen for one long second, and hit Send.

There.

She'd done it.

Finished her first novel and emailed it to both her work and Gmail addresses. The USB drive Destiny'd purchased held her first manuscript, although she'd stored a copy on the laptop just to be safe. Not trusting email black holes, she'd decided to personally deliver the USB into Jess’ hands.

Cripes.

Suppose Jess didn't like it?

Maybe she should have picked another title?

Why hadn't Microsoft designed a take-back command for Outlook?

Destiny puffed out a long sigh, knowing she'd have been forever caught between Send and Take Back if such a command existed.

I'm becoming paranoid.

“That's that,” she told the empty cottage. “Time to return to reality.”

She fretted and worried the entire two-hour drive to the Hertz outlet. After turning in the rental car, she rode the Hertz van to the local Amtrak station and took the train to the city.

By the time she stood before the door to her apartment, chaos whirled her thoughts, making them tangential to the point of insanity.

Had she ever made the right decision in her entire life? Temples throbbing, she knuckled the aching spot and fumbled for her keys.

A door down the hallway opened.

“Destiny.”

Destiny recognized Mrs. Charles’ reedy voice. “Dear, I picked up all your mail. Do you want to collect it now?”

“Sure, Mrs. Charles. In a minute. Let me put my purse in the kitchen.” Mrs. C was the only person in the city, besides her landlord, who knew her real name.

Destiny scrimmaged in her bag, found the key, and fitted it in the lock.

“Okay,” Mrs. Charles said. “I'd bring them myself, but the packages are a little heavy.”

Packages?

Her head whipped to the right as she twisted the key, but Mrs. Charles had disappeared, though light shone a rectangular beam on the mosaic hallway floor.

Destiny pushed the door open and tried to remember if she'd ordered anything online recently. Maybe that Internet porn store had sent another teaser DVD. How on earth would she get off
that
mailing list?

She deposited her purse on the counter, pulled the door shut but left it unlocked, and walked down the hallway, avoiding the shadows on the right. Mr. Ronson, the building's awful janitor, who preferred the term “building engineer”—an older man whose gaze never left her breasts whenever they passed each other in the hallway—had a nasty habit of lurking in a decorative alcove kitty-corner to Mrs. Charles’ doorway.

Though the door was wide open, she knocked and called before stepping inside. “I'm here, Mrs. Charles.”

“Come in, dear.” The older woman's voice came from her cozy living room. “I had the delivery gentlemen put them in here.”

Edna Charles epitomized the nurturing maternal instincts of a grandmother. She frequently baked and often surprised Destiny with yummy, cinnamon-laced apple pies. On the last Sunday of every month the two women went to Jackie B's Diner across the road for bagels and lox.

Cripes, I missed our brunch. Damn.

”Mrs. Charles, I'm so sorry I missed our brunch…” Destiny stared at the three wine-carton-sized brown boxes. “Are you sure those are for me?”

“Yes, dear. They're all addressed to you.” Edna's watery blue eyes twinkled. “Never you mind about missing our brunch, dear. That wonderful young man of yours explained you'd needed some time alone. He insisted on taking me to the Plaza.”

Young man of hers? The Plaza? Surely Kenny'd got the message.

Destiny's stomach crashed to China. Fear slithered and skidded the hairs on the nape of her neck to a standing salute.

“Mrs. Charles, I'm not dating anyone. And only one person knew I was away. What did this young man look like?” Her lungs sputtered to a halt during the nine-Mississippi pause before the diminutive woman answered.

“My. He's very tall, isn't he?” Mrs. Charles beamed. “And so polite.”

“What color was his hair?”

“His hair?” The apples in Mrs. Charles’ cheeks deepened. “I might not have put on my spectacles, dear. Really I had no need to. Your young man ordered for me.”

Destiny prayed for patience.

Mrs. C took great pride in her appearance. Convinced her glasses aged her ten years, she never wore them in public unless she absolutely had to. And without her glasses, Edna Charles saw only blurs. She could've eaten brunch with a perfect stranger.

“Did he tell you his name?”

“Of course, dear, the first time I saw him in the hallway. But I mayn't have been wearing my hearing aid that day.” Gifting her with a wide smile, Mrs. C declared, “I am now.”

Destiny choked back a groan.

Mrs. C clapped brown-speckled hands together. “What
is
his name?”

Insanity loomed. Destiny stared at the ornate, antique Waterford chandelier winking on the ceiling.

Should I even try to figure this out?

The man could be a predator.

The Plaza hosted the perfect brunch, Kenny once told her when she suggested the diner across the road one rainy Sunday. Something didn't jive.

Why would Kenny try to make up with her? Why would he take Mrs. C to brunch? He hated old people, complained they had a sour smell, and visited his paternal grandmother four times a year only because he stood to inherit her fortune.

“Dear?” Blue-tinged gray hair coiffed into a plump bun on the top of Mrs. C's head listed to one side. “Your young man's name?”

Too tired to think straight, Destiny uttered the first name that popped into her brain. “Lincoln Chapman.”

Frick. Cripes. Damn.

Destiny cupped a hand over her mouth.

Not another word. Not another single word.

Destiny hastily thanked Mrs. C, spewing out the details of her holiday without stopping to take a breath. If dear Edna spoke another word, Destiny would strangle her scrawny neck.

The first package's heaviness took her by surprise. She remembered the old rule, “Lift with your knees.”