Page 36 of Broken Rules
He nodded and looked at the little screen before putting it back in his pocket.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know people still used those.”
He cupped her cheek. “I have to go.”
Her stomach dropped out. A sudden sense of foreboding made her chest tighten. “Is there any point in my asking where you’re going?”
“Only if you want to be an accomplice to a crime.”
Her eyes widened.
“I’m joking. I just have to make a call.”
She pulled out her cell phone. “You can use mine, if you don’t have one.”
“Thank you, but I have a special phone I’d rather use.” He stood up and offered her his hand.
She slid her hand into his. “And by special, you mean untraceable.”
He shrugged and gave her a lazy smile that made her knees weak. “I’ll take you home.”
From her front door, she watched him get on his bike and drive away. When she lost sight of him, she grabbed her keys off her side table and rushed out the door.
“I’ve lost my mind,” she muttered as she got behind the wheel. It was a quiet night. She wished it was busier so that she could stay closer to him, but she trailed back, making sure she only glimpsed his bike when he turned through the side streets. Once they cleared the coast, passing into the business district, the roads stretched out, growing wide.
After a half an hour, the affluence of the seacoast gave way to one of the old mill towns, once prosperous hubs of the working class, but no longer. The factories and workers had been abandoned for cheap labor overseas. The mills were either crumbling or had been turned into industrial-chic apartments for yuppies.
Moonlight glimmered off a river, which came into view in the distance. It was then she saw him pull off the main road, down a narrow alleyway to what was once a thriving wharf.
She followed, keeping her distance. He stopped in front of one of the old brick buildings. Turning off his bike, he pushed it forward, then disappeared from view. Parking, she hurried after him on foot. Along the river-walk, she passed a mill that had been made into offices and apartments and then a few others that had suffered damage in a fire years ago. It was the last derelict building into which he’d disappeared.
She pushed against the battered door and it opened. Beam and piping covered the ceiling. The surface of the brick walls were crumbling in areas. And then she spotted a loft in the back, most of which was covered in heavy, translucent plastic through which emanated the glow of a soft light.
Barely breathing, she tiptoed across the floor, picking her way over chards of glass and debris toward the loft. Slowly easing aside the heavy plastic, she found a ladder that was missing several rungs. With a deep breath, she climbed, carefully testing each rung before placing her full-weight on it. When she was high enough, she peered over the loft floor. There he was, in the back of a vast, stark room, sitting on a rolled-out pallet, his back against the wall, a small mug in hand while he spoke in a hushed tone on the phone.
When he ended his call. He set the phone down on a sleek, black case. A moment later, he turned his head and they locked eyes. “Aren’t you going to come in?”
She sucked in a sharp breath and almost lost her footing. In an instant, he appeared in front of her, reaching to help her finish her climb.
“You knew I was following you?”
He raised his brow at her before he began to dust the newly acquired dirt off her pants. “You have a few things to learn about moving unseen.”
She scanned their shabby surroundings. Beside his pallet was a stack of books, a small camping stove, and the small tin mug he’d been holding. “This is not what I was picturing.”
He held up a bottle of wine. “Would you like a glass,” he began, “or rather a cup?”
She nodded, while her gaze scanned the lonely space.
As he topped up the one mug, he asked, “What were you expecting?”
She dropped her gaze and blushed. “You don’t want to know.” His run-down loft was a far cry from the swank hotel room filled with gorgeous and willing women she had imagined. Canting her head, she ran her finger down the spines of the books and stopped when she reachedWuthering Heights. “My favorite,” she exclaimed, sliding it out of the stack. She thumbed through the worn pages.
“Mine as well.”
She glanced up at him skeptically. “Is it really, or did you just do your research on me, too?”
A smile upturned the corner of his lips as he leaned close and cupped her cheek with his strong hand. “If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you...” he quoted Ms. Bronte in a husky voice. “I would be your slave.”
