She went downstairs to the deli to buy a Twix bar and milk. Outside, she marveled over how crowded the streets were even at the late hour and decided the term “city that never sleeps” was totally accurate. In contrast, her building’s lobby sat empty and quiet when she pushed open the door to come back inside. Just as the elevator door closed, a male voice called for her to hold it. Her hand shot out to stop the doors from sliding shut.

A shiver of alarm passed through Story as her neighbor entered the elevator to stand across from her. If possible, he looked more disheveled than last time, when she’d helped him escort his mother to their apartment. His glasses sat slightly askew on his nose and his wrinkled shirt had come untucked from his pants on one side. Inconsistent with his appearance, he smelled as if he’d doused himself in cologne.

As the doors closed and the elevator began its ascent to the fourth floor, she felt him watching her closely in the confined space.

Story turned and smiled politely at him, trying to mask her unease. “How is your mother doing?”

He looked startled at her having spoken, but then his mouth twisted. “She’d be better if she was in the hospital. They practically kicked us out on our asses. I’m not a doctor, so I don’t really know how she’s doing, do I?”

She made a sympathetic noise as her panic ratcheted up another level. Her question had made him visibly angry and the elevator seemed to be taking forever to reach the fourth floor. Even then, he’d be getting off behind her, wouldn’t he?

Something about the man frightened her. Although his abrupt, vaguely confrontational answer did little to calm her jumping nerves, it served to reassure her that she wasn’t judging him based on appearance. After all the times she’d reminded her students not to judge a book by its cover, doing so would make her a serious hypocrite.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Breathe. “Who?”

He made an impatient hand gesture. “The guy who’s been coming to the apartment. This afternoon…a few days ago. There’s only one.”

“Um…” For him to know those details, he’d have been watching through the peephole. Spying on her? Story racked her brain, trying to remember if she and Daniel had ever kissed in the hallway, in view of his apartment. Oh yeah. They certainly had. “No, he’s just a friend.” She felt compelled to lie anyway, praying he hadn’t seen them.

His eyes narrowed at her answer. Thankfully, the elevator doors slid open then to reveal the carpeted hallway. Not wanting him to walk behind her, Story smiled and gestured for him to exit first, but he shook his head in refusal. With a nervous swallow, she left the elevator and walked toward her door. Had the lighting in the hall always been this poor, or had it merely escaped her attention before now?

She’d never met any of Jack’s other neighbors. Would they even help her if she screamed? She suddenly wanted to give Daniel hell for leaving. If he’d stayed, this wouldn’t be happening. Stubborn, sex-denying jerk!

“I’m Frank, by the way,” he called from behind her. Casting a look over her shoulder, she saw that he still stood by the elevator watching her walk away.

Find the key, put it in the lock.

“Nice to meet you, Frank.” The door unlocked and she pushed it open. “You and your mother have a nice night.”

Story cut off his answer as she closed the door and locked the dead bolt. With a deep exhale of relief, she slid down the door to the ground. When her heart began beating normally again, she shoveled the Twix bar into her mouth and chased it down with milk.

“This city is definitely going to kill me,” she said out loud to the empty apartment.

Chapter Fifteen

Daniel slipped into the hospital elevator just as the door closed on a car already filled to capacity. After checking to make sure the button for ICU had already been pressed, he looked back down at the last text message he’d received on his phone. Come quick.—Jack. Hundreds of possibilities raced through his mind as the elevator started to move. Had Jack gotten bad news? Suffered another attack? Did something happen to Story? He hadn’t seen her for two interminably long days, but upon receiving the message, he’d tried calling her on the way over. She didn’t answer. He glanced impatiently up at the ascending numbers just above the door, mentally urging the car to move faster.

When the doors opened in ICU, he took off down the hallway at a jog, but was forced to dodge the stairwell door as it swung open. Intending to walk past it without a backward glance, he did a double take when Story stepped out appearing just as panicked as he felt.

Relief flooded him, but irritation followed quickly on its heels. Nothing new, since he’d basically been a walking, talking ass**le to everyone he’d encountered since leaving her the night of the baseball game. He was sleep-deprived and sex-deprived, and seeing her looking so damn pretty wasn’t helping matters. “I thought I told you not to take the stairwell by yourself,” he snapped.

She flinched, but kept walking toward Jack’s room. “I don’t have time to argue. I got a text message from Jack telling me to come quick. Have you heard anything?”

Daniel shook his head. “No. He sent me the same message. Got here as fast as I could.”

They both rounded the corner into Jack’s room and came to a dead stop. With one hand propped beneath his head, the other holding the television remote, he casually turned up the volume on an episode of Gilligan’s Island. Sensing their arrival, he turned toward them with a wide smile.

“Oh, hey, you two.” His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong? You both look out of breath.”

Story held up her phone and released a pent-up breath. “You texted me to come quick. I thought something was wrong.”

“You texted me, too.”

Jack pushed himself up against the pillows. “I knew I’d have better odds of someone showing up if I texted you both.”

Daniel and Story exchanged incredulous glances. “So what did you want, Jack?

“Breakfast.”

Story made a choked noise. “Breakfast?”

“The food here is abysmal.” Jack rubbed his chin. “I’m in the mood for a Danish.”

“Jack, I ran out of a briefing,” Daniel grated, massaging his forehead. “I thought something bad happened. And you’re telling me this is about baked goods?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s the most important meal of the day.”

Next to him, Story practically fell into a chair. “I need a drink.”

Jack ignored her. “Daniel, show Story that bakery down on Third Avenue. The one that sells the giant black-and-white cookies.”

“Every bakery in New York sells giant black-and-white cookies.”

“Ah, you know the one.” He waved a hand in the air. “With the muffins and stuff.”

“We’ll find one.” Story stood. “In the meantime, no more emergency texts for food or you won’t be the only heart attack victim in the family.”

Jack turned his attention back to the television, where Mr. Howell was drinking a martini out of a coconut. “Sure thing.” Just as Daniel and Story were about to leave the room, his head whipped toward them. “Oh, wait. Story, since you’re both here, why don’t you pass on Hayden’s phone number to Daniel. After everything you’ve told me about Hayden, I think they’d really hit it off.”