Page 43 of The Woman in the Warehouse

“You can come out,” I called to Saylor.

She must have been listening at the door because it whipped right open at that.

“Feel better?” she asked, looking at me as she moved into the living room.

“Yeah, actually. Thanks for taking the heat on the coffee creamer. I’d never hear the end of it if he knew it was mine.”

“Brothers love to tease,” she said with the kind of certainty that came from experience.

“I can’t imagine you let your brother tease you,” I said, curious about why she always kind of shut down when he came up in conversation.

“Not anymore,” she said. Then, like an afterthought, she added, “he’s dead.” Then, likely feeling a little too exposed by that admission, she rushed to say, “So, where’s the cash? I looked through your nightstands already,” she admitted. My mind flashed to the contents of my nightstand, hoping there was nothing too embarrassing in there. “It says a lot about you that you keep bandaids and instant icepacks in your top drawer,” she said, smirking. “Right next to your condoms. Because, priorities,” she said, walking into my bedroom, leaving me to follow behind her. “The bottle of lube is considerate of you,” she added.

I’m not proud of the way my mind immediately flashed to her naked on my bed, writhing and begging for more.

Clearing my throat, I moved to the wall, taking down a picture I’d bought off the wall at a coffee shop, and exposing the wall safe.

“Not afraid of me knowing where that is?” she asked, watching me as I plugged in the code.

“I know where to find you,” I said. “Besides, I’m pretty sure in your profession, you’re making more than I do. The fuck would you need to steal from me for?” I asked, reaching inside to pull out a few stacks, handing them off to her to count them out.

“This is good,” she said. “Why are you getting more?”

“Gonna need some food for the fridge. Maybe a coffee pot. Soap, TP, paper towels…”

“How long do you think we’re going to be staking the place out?” she asked, creating two different stacks, and stuffing the smaller one in her pocket, then holding the bigger one out for me to stuff into my breast pocket.

“As long as it takes,” I said, shrugging. “I figure, if we’re lucky, we might be able to have a day when everyone leaves. In which case, it would be easy enough to break in, get your supply, and get the fuck out of there.”

“That only solves my problem, not yours,” she said, watching me as I went into my closet to grab a duffle bag. “What are you doing?”

“I’d rather be there round-the-clock until this is done than to keep going in and out and risk being seen,” I said, shrugging. “I know we’ll have to leave to take care of Fury, but other than that, I think it’s smart to minimize how much time we leave the apartment.”

At her probing look, I shrugged. “I can just stay. You don’t have to.”

I knew that was just going to make her want to stay.

And I may or may not have had ulterior motives for wanting to stay there, for wanting to provoke her into staying with me.

“What size was the bed in the apartment?” she asked.

“Looked like a queen,” I said.

Her gaze slid to my bed. “Do you have spare sheets and bed protectors? I don’t trust that mattress,” she deadpanned.

I handed her another small bag that she stuffed with the sheets, then she grabbed some of my shit out of the bathroom.

“We’ll stop at your place before we head back,” I said, despite knowing we would be cutting it close to our meeting.

I wanted to see her place.

“We’ll have to head back to Fury after the paperwork,” she said, following me out to the kitchen, and going into the fridge to grab my coffee creamer. “Maybe we can pick up my SUV too,” she said. “I have some fake plates. And there’s nothing about it that would make it distinguishable from the hundreds of others in the city if they see it parked on the street. Just think it would be smart to have a quick getaway vehicle.”

“Yeah, that’s smart,” I agreed. “And if we do find an opening when no one is home, we’re gonna need somewhere to put all the guns when we steal them back.”

“True,” she agreed. “Though I don’t know where the fuck I’m gonna store them in the meantime. Don’t think my warehouse is a good idea until after the threat is neutralized,” she said as we got into a cab, and headed in the direction of Hell’s Kitchen.

Saylor ended up having a roomy-ass apartment on the top floor of an old money brick building. “Arms dealing pays better than I thought,” I said as we walked into her living room.

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