Page 6 of The Love Bandits

I’ve collected a beer from the fridge and am sitting down with my sketch book and pencils when I hear a knock on the door. My back goes rigid, but I have no reason to worry about anyone coming after me, so I make my way to the door without pocketing my knife.

When I look out of the peephole, I see a perfect stranger. I know she’s a stranger, because she’s the type of woman a man doesn’t forget—short, wavy black hair, eyes the color of a glass of fine whiskey, and a curvy figure showcased in a red sweater and a pair of shorts so short it looks like they’re about to quit and move to Florida.

Don’t be stupid,I remind myself. I don’t know if this woman’s here to preach to me about the second coming in an outfit that looks like sin, or if she’s selling chocolate bars or magazine subscriptions no one wants, but I have to send her on her sexy way—even if my natural inclination is to invite her in for a drink.

I open the door slightly, nod to her.

“Hi,” she says, giving me a look that lingers in a few places, sending a warm awareness through me. Then her hands worry at each other, and a little crease forms between her perfect black brows. “I’m sorry to bother you,sir, but I lost my cat, Professor X. I’ve been going up and down the hall looking for him.”

I’m not even tempted to ask her if the cat is one of those hairless ones who bears a resemblance to Patrick Stewart. Hearing this woman call mesirfrom those red-painted lips is nearly a religious experience. “No, sorry,” I say, then cock my head. “I thought no pets were allowed in these units.”

Not that I give a shit, but it’s always good to know who else is breaking the rules. Leverage isn’t just a big word; it’s a lifeline.

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away, holding eye contact like it’s a challenge. It just so happens that I like challenges. They fill my cup. “Are you a man who believes in following the rules?”

I lean against the door frame, enjoying myself now. “When it suits me.”

She gives me another assessing look, that blush in her cheeks long gone, and I feel a prickle of something. Interest, sure.Attraction, hell yeah. But this is something else…something I can’t put my finger on. Cocking her curvy hip, she plants a small hand on it—all sass and attitude—and I feel an unwanted appreciation, along with the thought that I’d like to wrap my hand around that hip and squeeze. “And does it suit you to help me look for him before I get into trouble?”

Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t do anything stupid.

“If it suits you to have a drink with me afterward,” I say, because I’ve never been very good at listening to sound advice, even if it comes from my own damn brain. “What’s your name, lawbreaker?”

“Elaine,” she says, holding my gaze. “And yours?”

“Jake.”

Jake’s a common enough name that I usually only change my last name when I’m posing as someone else. It helps when you can respond without the kind of hesitation that could give a person away.

She nods, then lifts her brows. “No time like the present, Jake.”

It hits me that she doesn’t seem particularly torn up over this lost Professor X. I’m grateful for that, but at the same time, it feels a little off. A woman who’d bother getting a cat would probably care about it going missing.

I’ve learned to trust my gut, so I ask, “You don’t seem too worried about Professor X.”

“He has a wanderer’s heart,” she responds. “It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve been careful because this place—” She waves her hands, silently referencing the stringent no-pet policy. “But there’s no keeping him contained. He always comes back, though. Always.”

“What’s he look like? I need to know so I don’t collar an unsuspecting cat.”

“He’s all black.”

My suspicion eases, and the need to not be alone with my thoughts right now is powerful enough that I decide I’m going to do it, consequences be damned.

“Just a second.” I dip inside to grab my keys, then lock the door behind me while Elaine watches.

“Are you from a big city?” she asks, her voice a little low and throaty, like she should be singing in a lounge somewhere.

I pocket the keys. “It’s not that,” I say, sidestepping the question. “I just don’t believe in asking for trouble. My buddy here told me the cops don’t respond much to B&Es.”

“Or lost cats who aren’t supposed to exist,” she says with another half-smile that would make Mona Lisa jealous.

I glance down the hall, taking stock. My apartment’s the last on the left. “So have you already checked in with everyone, or do you have one apartment left?” I motion to the place across the hall. It’s occupied by an elderly, half deaf man who tells me the same joke every time I see him.Where do pencils go on vacation? Pennsylvania.I figure he doesn’t get many sympathy laughs in his day-to-day, so I always give him a good one and offer him a beer. He accepted one time, and we had a twenty minute bitch-fest about traffic that was more engaging than anything Anthony Rosings Smith has ever said to me.

If I said that to Ryan, he’d shake his head and tell me that I have a chip on my shoulder about rich people. He’d also tell me it’s ridiculous to have it out for the kind of people I’d love to become. Fair point.

“I haven’t stopped by that one yet,” Elaine confirms, “and then I was going to check the stairwell, maybe, and look around outside the building.”

I have a feeling she’s not going to see this cat until he wants to be seen, but I’m not too fussed about finding him. I want the company. The enjoyment and distraction of being out with a beautiful woman instead of stowed away in my box for the night.

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