Page 12 of Steinbeck
He grabbed his burner phone, then a backpack from the back, and followed her inside a narrow entry, then up three flights of stairs to an apartment with a keyless entrance.
The inside was exactly like what he’d expect from a woman who lived out of a suitcase.Or a backpack.
Not a big place—the kitchen attached to the main room, with two tall balcony doors that let in the darkness through sheer white linen drapes.A hallway with a door at the end, and one near the front.Wood floors, a black leather sectional, a round Formica table with two chairs, faux plants, and a bookcase.He set his backpack on the floor and walked over to the bookcase.It took up the entire wall, jammed full of books.“You read fantasy?”
“It’s epic.And not real.And maybe I’d like a world where you could time travel or conjure up magic or even fly.”She walked over to the kitchen and picked up a hot pot.“I’m making tea.I think there are probably biscuits in the pantry.”
He picked up a book, paged through it.It was about a slave trying to reclaim his kingdom.That might be a story he could read.“You sound British.”
“I’m anything I need to be.”She set the pot on to boil.“Except clean.I’m going to hop into the shower.”She pointed to the nearest bedroom.“There are two bedrooms, two bathrooms.Make yourself at home.”
Just like that?“You sure one of us shouldn’t stand watch?”
She pointed to a flat-panel screen on the wall in her kitchen.It showed four camera views—one from the balcony, one in the hallway outside her landing, one in the alleyway below her balcony, probably, and one near the front door.“I’ll set the alarm.Don’t worry—if it sounds, you’ll have two minutes to grab a towel before anyone can get in.”She winked.
Clearly, she’d shaken off the tremble from the dungeon on their drive into the city.
She headed down the hall to the bedroom in the back.
Okay then.
He found the room spare but clean, a double bed with a cotton blanket, a side table, a reading lamp, a wooden chair.And a full bathroom.
The heat of the shower turned his bones from brittle to revived.He pulled off the itchy fake beard, washed his face, shampooed out the itch from his hair, then pulled out his kit and shaved.He dumped the clothes in the garbage can, then found a clean pair of cargo pants and a T-shirt in his duffel.
Pulling them on, he stepped to the window and surveyed the view.The lights of the city burned, and he eased open the balcony door, let in the ocean—er, river—smells.
He could like it here.And maybe, once this was over?—
Stop.So what if she’d clung to him?Of course she had—he would have been freaked out too if he’d been shoved into an underground hole on his way to Russia.
But it stayed with him, the shape of her body against his, the sense that she’d needed him.
Had reached out to him,thank you very much, in her hour of need.
He was brushing his teeth when he heard the beeping.
He spat and ran out into the hallway in his bare feet, his heart thundering.
Phoenix’s door hung open at the end of the hall, the scent of a shower lingering in the air.The beeping emitted from the panel in the kitchen, and he walked over.
He’d triggered the alarm when he opened the balcony door, it seemed.“Phoenix!”No answer.He pressed reset.
The beeping died.And that’s when he read the panel alert.Street entrance accessed.
“Phoenix?”
He turned, headed back to her room.Pushed the half-open door.
The bedside light splashed over a double bed, a canvas picture of the ocean on the wall.The scent of lavender lifted from the bathroom.He took a chance and looked inside.
Nothing except a wet towel hanging on a warmer, and her grimy clothing in the garbage can too.
He rounded and headed back to the flatscreen and rewound the feed.
And watched as Miss Thank You for Saving Me strolled right up to the door, keyed in her code, flung a backpack over her shoulder, and walked out into the night.
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