Page 90 of Moonlighter
Scout is a badass. She slowly maneuvers him toward the far right lane, and then Duff peels off to the left, leaving Twelfth Avenue and the motorcycle behind.
“That was fun to watch,” I say, turning around again.
“I am sorry I couldn’t watch,” Duff says, turning sharply down Twentieth Street.
“You both have a strange idea of fun,” Alex murmurs.
Duff makes a succession of quick turns as we head for the secret rear entrance to my brother’s building.
“The van behind you is also friendly,” someone says into the radio.
“Copy.”
“We’re ready for you at the back door.”
And then we’re there. A metal door rolls open just before Duff can pull inside. I hear it rolling closed again immediately behind us.
The car stops. Someone knocks on the window, and Duff disengages the locks.
The side door opens, revealing my brother’s smiling face. “Didn’t know you’d be dropping by tonight. Come on upstairs.”
23
Alex
My heart isin my mouth. And it isn’t until I have to get out of the car that I realize I’ve plastered myself to Eric.
Hastily, I peel myself off his comforting body, allowing Max to take my hand.
“Let’s all get on the elevator together,” he’s saying. “I don’t want to fuck around with security badges at this hour.”
“Okay,” I say, voice shaky. We’re moving through the garage, and my senses are reeling. I’m vaguely aware that the collection of vehicles around me is extraordinary. In addition to a few ordinary cars and SUVs, there’s a Maserati, a Con Ed repair van, a Jeep Wrangler, a jacked-up minivan, and an armored car.
There’s even a small yellow school bus. I can’t imagine what that’s for.
On shaky knees, I allow myself to be shuttled into a modern brass elevator. A wide, steadying hand lands on my lower back, and I lean back into Eric’s protective embrace without even thinking.
Max presses his hand against a sensor, and the elevator glides smoothly upward for a while. When the doors slide open, I don’t see offices, though. Instead there’s a beautiful loft apartment with brick walls and tall windows, the lower portions of which are hidden by velvet curtains in the color of smoke. City lights filter in through their arched tops, illuminating a suite of funky furniture and thick rugs covering the wood floors.
I’ve heard my bodyguards gossiping about Max’s private lair before, but I wasn’t sure it was real. “He could survive the zombie apocalypse up there,” they whisper. “It’s a fucking bunker. Even the windows are bomb proof.”
I hope some part of that is true, because I amfreaked outright now.
“Sit down,” Eric says, gently steering me toward the sofa. “That’s it.” I’m eased onto a deep, velvet sofa with a high, curving back. The style is a cross between Sumptuous Men’s Club and Alice in Wonderland. Eric props my feet onto a leather foot stool and covers me with a thick throw of ivory-colored wool.
But then Eric walks away from me, and I’m not okay. I force myself to breathe deeply. It’s possible that I’ve been holding my breath since Broadway and Seventy-ninth streets. I glance around the room and notice how solid this place really is. The beams crossing the distant ceiling must be a foot thick.
I’m at the top of one of the most fortified buildings in Manhattan, I remind myself.I’m fine. Although the hockey game feels like it happened a month ago.
I close my eyes and try to relax.
The sofa depresses under someone’s weight a few minutes later. “I made this for you,” Eric says. “But you don’t need to drink it.”
I open my eyes. “What is it?”
“Apple cinnamon herbal tea.”
The spicy scent reaches me, and it’s almost as comforting as this sofa. “Thank you,” I say, sitting up a little straighter. He passes the mug into my hands, which already feel steadier. “Thank you,” I say again, pulling myself together. I take a tiny sip, because the tea is too hot to drink yet. But the heat is bracing and just what I need.
