Page 6 of The Escape Plan

“On my way,” he replies.

I’m about to hang up when I hear some banging, followed by a lot of swearing.

“It’s locked,” Craig grunts.

“But didn’t you say you just saw someone walk in without a key?” I ask. Stupidly. Because my question serves as a red flag to a bull.

“You’d better be down here in one minute, Keeley, or I’m leaving!” Craig practically shouts. “I have better things to do than wait around outside your apartment building.”

I want to point out that he told me he would be here sometime between nine and ten this morning and that it’s only 8:58 right now, but I know that will just make him leave faster.

So, instead I say, “Coming now!” and run.

It’s only when I fly out of my apartment and into the hallway that I realize I’m barefoot and still wrapped in a bath towel.

“Noooo,” I moan.

I stop for a moment, weighing up my options, before ultimately deciding that running around my building practically naked is a safer option than sleeping in burning heat for another night. Most of my neighbors have surely already left for the day to go to work, and I’m unlikely to bump into poor old Mr. Prenchenko next door and give him a heart attack because he usually doesn’t take his morning walk until around ten.

Plus, if I take the elevator rather than the stairs, I have less chance of exposing myself to any unlucky souls who may be lingering in the lobby.

A quick dash down to let Craig in, and I’ll be back in my apartment and fully dressed before anybody will be the wiser.

And I’ll get my AC fixed.Win, win.

I run to the elevator at the end of the hall and jam my finger on the button, and luck must finally be on my side—see, told you today was going to be a good day—because the bell pings and the doors fly open right away. Which is unusual, at best, for our creaky old elevator.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I launch myself inside and promptly stub my toe on something hard.

“Ouch!” I exclaim as I trip, tumbling forward. The feeling of falling makes me weightless for a moment before?—

“Easy there,” comes a smooth, deep voice with a lilting, melodic accent. The sound of the voice is accompanied by the sensation of rough, sure hands on my upper arms.

The hands steady me, preventing my fall, and I look up into a pair of glinting eyes that are the prettiest shade of hazel-green I’ve ever seen. A pair of eyes that belong to the person with the deep voice and the sure hands. Which, I realize, make up three very attractive parts of a very attractive man who is currently holding me upright. In an elevator.

While I’m wearing only a towel.

Alarm bells ring in my head and I stumble back, only to almost trip again over what I now see is a guitar case.

The handsome stranger’s eyes follow mine to the large, black case on the floor. He smiles a little sheepishly. “Ah, sorry about my guitar.”

Only, with his accent—which I now identify as Irish—it sounds more like “sahrry aboot me geetaer.”

I suddenly feel a little giggly. Although that could have more to do with the general hysteria of meeting a handsome Irishman in an elevator while unclothed than his pretty accent.

“Oh, no, no, that’s okay,” I say as I back away, both hands tightening around the top of my towel. AKA, clinging to it for dear life. “I should be the one to say sorry about my, uh”—I look down at my body, then back up at the stranger—“general state of undress.”

The stranger’s smile turns amused, his eyes full of laughter as he runs a hand through his short, messy light brown hair. “Ah, I hadn’t noticed until you mentioned it.”

I look up at him to gauge the extent of his sarcasm, and when I see his lips twitch, I realize he’s speaking it fluently.

The Serendipity is a relatively small apartment building with a tight-knit community feel. I know most of the residents, if not by name, then by face.

So at least I can confirm this isn’t one of my neighbors. Hopefully he’s a one-time visitor to the building whom I’ll never, ever see again.

This is the shred of dignity I cling to as I hurriedly reply, “Yes, well, goodbye,” then turn to flee the elevator, deciding I’ll take my chances with the stairs.

The elevator doors close in my face.

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