Page 19 of Blue Moon

“You too, moon,” Ryder said.

“I can wait in my apartment.”

“And drag a chest of drawers in front of the door?”

Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that. Would it work? Was I strong enough to move the drawers? If I was, then Ryder would be strong enough to move them out of the way, so it would be a waste of time. And besides, I was curious to see what Mark A had sent me this time. Creepy note aside, last night’s dinner had been delicious.

What? Don’t judge me. Weirdos sent me stuff all the time. Usually, their offerings were horrible, so why not take advantage of the good stuff?

Ryder gave me space in the elevator but followed close behind as I trailed Paul to the front door. A bag was sitting on the other side of the glass. I hugged Paul goodbye as Ryder picked up the latest gift.

“See you tomorrow,” Paul said. “If that douche causes trouble, just call me. Even if it’s late, I’ll come back.”

He was so freaking sweet that my eyes prickled. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“That douche” checked the bag of food, glanced both ways along the street, and then hustled me back into the building.

This was going to be a looooooong night.

7

RYDER

Ryder kept the receipt and dumped the food into the trash. The order had come from the Wok ’n’ Roll Chinese restaurant—steamed dim sum, satay chicken, special fried rice, fruit salad with lemongrass syrup, and a styrofoam cup of oolong tea. And there was another love note at the bottom.

My Dearest Queen,

As I send this Chinese feast to your palace, I can’t help but think of your regal charm, just as I was captivated in ancient times. May this meal bring a touch of joy to your evening, and I hope it’s as delightful as your company.

Until our next encounter.

With love,

Mark A

This guy was out of his fuckin’ mind.

“Hey!” Luna pushed past Ryder and began rummaging through the trash. “I’m hungry.”

“Then I’ll buy you dinner. You’re not eating that.”

“Why not?”

“Because he could have tampered with it.”

“I ate yesterday’s food, and I’m still alive.”

“This time. You’re still alive this time. And don’t go downstairs to collect food again.”

“I should get the drivers to come upstairs?”

Give me strength. “No, you tell them to leave and take the food with them, and if they dump it on the doorstep like the last guy, that’s where it stays.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit? I know I was scared when I called you, but if all he’s doing is ordering dinner for me…”

“He’s not just ordering dinner; he’s establishing a pattern. He sends food three, four, five times. You get used to going downstairs and seeing different vehicles, different delivery drivers. The sixth time, he picks a quiet moment, shows up himself, and bundles you into a van. Or slips a sedative into your meal, waits for you to eat it, and then pays a visit to your apartment.”

“Thanks, now I’m not just scared, I’m freaking terrified.”

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