“Figured you deserved to hear the news since you have a stake in all this.”
In other words, I was still in danger as long as Horatio was free to walk around the city. I rubbed my arms to ward off a sudden chill. “Do me a favor and find him fast, please.”
“Your wish is my command, princess,” she said with a snicker. I shook my head as I ended the call.
Chapter Nine
Derek and I arrived home at ten o’clock that night, both of us dead tired. As we stepped out of the elevator, I noticed right away that our new neighbor’s door was ajar. A sharp chill shot up my spine and my mind immediately leaped to the worst-case scenario. Had Alex been burgled? Was she lying in her apartment, hurt? Dead? I was halfway down the hall and ready to shout out her name when I recalled her invitation.
“Cupcakes,” I said, as relief poured through me. “How could I forget?”
“Beg your pardon, love?” Derek said as he slid the key into our lock.
“Cupcakes. Alex invited me over for cupcakes tonight. That must be why her door is open.”
“Ah,” he said. “Well, go and enjoy. I have a conference call with the Tokyo office in ten minutes, so perhaps you’ll ask her to take pity on me and send you home with an extra treat.”
“I’m sure she will.” I followed him into the house and unloaded my computer and purse inside the door. Shoving my keys in my pocket, I reached up and gave Derek a kiss. “Back soon.”
I was so tired that for a moment I thought I might have to beg for another rain check, but that moment of panic on seeing her open door had given me a quick blast of energy. I was wide awake and ready for conversation and cupcakes.
I nudged her door open farther, and breathed in the sugary, delectable aroma of freshly baked yummies. Oh, mercy. It smelled like my version of heaven.
I knocked lightly on the door and called out, “Hello? Alex? Something smells wonderful.”
With a happy smile, I strolled into her apartment—and skidded to a halt. Sitting alone on the elegant living room sofa was a very handsome man. He looked tall, with blond hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders.
And he was naked. Completely and utterly naked, except for a colorful wide strip of blue painter’s tape across his mouth.
And from the way he was sitting, it looked like his hands were bound behind his back.
“Are you all right?” I whispered.
He nodded.
At least he can breathe, I thought. Painter’s tape, like masking tape, was paper-based and porous, unlike duct tape. I knew this because I worked with paper and tape, but how ridiculous was it to have that thought at a time like this?
My heart rate zipped up and I swallowed nervously. I took a quick glance around, but didn’t see Alex. Was my new neighbor in danger? I was about to race out and call the cops when the naked man winked at me.
I didn’t imagine it. The guy winked at me.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked again.
He wiggled his eyebrows at me and I could plainly see that his eyes were twinkling with humor. I couldn’t see his mouth because of the painter’s tape, but I was pretty sure he was wearing a grin. And not much else, as I already mentioned.
He seemed friendly enough, despite the bizarre situation.
“So . . . you’re all right,” I said lamely.
He nodded slowly, then shifted slightly so I could see that he was wearing handcuffs. He gave me a little thumbs-up sign and winked again.
“And Alex is okay?” I asked, glancing around.
This time he nodded eagerly, his head bouncing up and down with enthusiasm.
Wow. Okay. Clearly, I was interrupting something. Cupcakes were a distant memory as I raised my hand and returned a weak little wave. Then I tiptoed out the door and closed it behind me.
? ? ?
Thirty minutes later, there was a knock at my front door. I was almost afraid to answer it, but Derek was still on the phone with his Tokyo partners, so I soldiered up and headed down the hall, back to my workshop where our front door was located. I checked the peephole and swung the door open.
It was Alex, wearing skinny jeans, a tunic-length black sweater, and orange sneakers. She was holding a pretty, three-tiered tray filled with the most amazing-looking cupcakes I’d ever seen. The frosting was piled high and looked so fluffy and moist, it almost sparkled. She must have used a pastry bag to heap on the frosting in such dramatic swirls and curls, just like a professional baker would. I did a quick calculation. There were twelve cupcakes in three different colors: pretty pink, lemony yellow, and chocolaty chocolate.
“Brooklyn,” she began. “I’m so sorry.”
“Come in,” I said, opening the door even wider. She was, after all, bearing gifts.