Page 16 of The Landlord
"Be careful."
I take the stairs two at a time, a knot of tension forming between my shoulder blades. Maybe I'm overreacting, but something about this guy feels wrong. The way he's hovering, watching, like he's waiting for something. Or someone.
By the time I reach the building entrance, he's still there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. I push through the door, stepping directly into his line of sight.
"Help you with something?" I keep my voice neutral, but my body language isn't. I stand at my full height, shoulders squared.
The guy startles, almost dropping the small package in his hands. Up close, the uniform looks even more ill-fitting. The logo on his shirt is slightly crooked, like it was ironed on rather than professionally embroidered.
"Uh, delivery." His voice cracks. He's younger than I expected, maybe mid-twenties, with a twitchy energy that immediately puts me on edge.
"For who?" I ask, not moving from my position blocking the entrance.
"Alyssa James." His eyes dart up to the windows above, then back to me. "Apartment 4B."
My jaw tightens. I don't like the way he says her name. Actually, I don't like anything about him.
I hold out my hand for the package. "I'll take it up to her."
He clutches it tighter. "I'm supposed to deliver it personally. Signature required."
Bullshit. I've signed for enough of Alyssa's packages to know this small envelope wouldn't need a signature.
I take a step closer. "I live right across from her. I'll make sure she gets it."
He backs up slightly. "Are you her boyfriend or something?"
The question raises every red flag. Delivery guys don't ask that kind of thing. They don't even usually have time for small talk. They just drop the package and go.
"Yes, I am."
His face changes, just for a moment—a flash of something dark before he schools his expression. Well that's interesting.
"I still need to deliver it personally. Company policy."
"What company is that exactly?" I gesture to his uniform with no clear logo. "Because that's not UPS, FedEx, or Amazon."
He blinks rapidly. "It's a specialized courier service."
"For what? What's so special about this delivery that you need to hand it directly to her?"
"I don't ask questions, man. I just deliver."
I back him toward the corner of the entrance, not touching him but close enough that he has to tilt his head up to maintain eye contact.
"Let me make something clear. Alyssa lives in my building. She's under my protection. Whatever game you're playing, it stops now."
"I'm just delivering a package." He tries to protest, but there's a tremor in his voice. "I'm not doing anything wrong."
"Then you won't mind showing me some ID that proves you work for this 'specialized courier service.'"
His eyes dart sideways, looking for an escape route. "Look, I don't have to prove anything to you."
"Actually, you do." I plant a hand on the wall beside his head, not touching him but boxing him in. "This is private property. And I own it."
He stands straighter, attempting to reclaim some dignity. "I'm just doing my job, delivering orders. You can't stop me from delivering to customers."
"Watch me." I smile, but there's nothing friendly in it. "My fucks to give is in short supply. You either leave now in one piece, or I'll let my dog deal with you. I'm telling you, though. He's not nice to strangers."
