Page 83 of The Savior

She analyzed the open-floor setup. Liam wouldn’t live in a ground-floor apartment, and with that guess, she skipped up the steps to the second story.

Apartments lined the hall. Twelve units faced each other, then she saw what looked to be another landing and a staircase. Door-to-door, it was. She bypassed the first two on the right. They had cutesy doormats and flowery wreaths, not exactly meeting her mental image of his entryway.

A dog barked from the second door on the left, and she pressed her ear against the first door on the left. A muffled action movie was playing. That was about as good of a guess as she could muster given the circumstances, so she knocked.

The dog next door barked louder, and a woman yelled for the pooch to calm down.

There was no answer on the door she picked. Still, her gut became surer that it was Liam’s apartment, and she banged on the door with enough gusto to interrupt whatever blow-stuff-up action flick he had on.

The doorbehindher swung open. An older woman scowled. “What?”

Maybe she’d knocked too loud, but clearly, she wasn’t at the woman’s door. “Sorry to disturb you.”

“Who are you?” The neighbor crossed her arms over the oversized crocheted sweater and drummed her fingers onto its thick knots.

“A friend—”

“Whatkindof friend?”

What kind of friends stopped by?Chelsea’s eyebrow arched. “I’m an… old friend.”

“If he doesn’t want to be bothered, then scram.”

Scram.That sounded like something Chelsea might say. “I didn’t mean to bother you, but he doesn’t have a choice. I’m not leaving.”

The neighbor scowled and unfolded her arms, evidently preparing for a hallway battle as she put her hands on her hips with a high-octane glare.

If Liam couldn’t hear them, maybe Chelsea had found the wrong door. She wished there were a way to send an SOS text without the obvious last-ditch attempt for him to answer, but she couldn’t think of a smooth way to manage it.

“You’re just going to stay out here all night, making a racket?” The woman clucked.

“If that’s what it takes, I suppose so.”

Her nose scrunched. “He’s not home.”

“He is.” She just hoped it was the correcthe.

She harrumphed. “Maybe not for you.”

Chelsea had had enough. She reeled around and banged on the door. “Liam, open up.”

A few beats later, footsteps faintly came closer and the door cracked open. Sure as sprinkles were sweet, Liam didn’t seem happy to see her.

Too bad.“Hey!” She stepped closer, then whispered, “You should let me in before she calls the cops on me.”

Liam glanced over Chelsea’s shoulder. “Evening, Mrs. Donovan.” Then turned back to her. “What are you doing here?”

Not exactly the response she was hoping for, and the woman behind her made an I-told-you-so noise.

“I tried to send her away,” Mrs. Donovan said.

Chelsea grit her teeth.

“It’s fine.” Liam stepped to the side and offered her safe harbor. “Thanks, Mrs. Donovan.”

She didn’t bother with a well-mannered smile to the other woman and strode in. His apartment was lit by the television screen and from the doorway of the kitchen. The smell of fresh popcorn hung in the air, and she turned, eyeing the dark leather couch and the coffee table, which held a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of beer.

Water dripped down his cheeks. His wet hair clung to his face as much as the T-shirt stuck to his wet chest. Well, whoops… he hadn’t been ignoring her, he’d been showering. She’d read the situation all wrong.

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