He’s in front of the building, his driver by his side. Ace has his hand on the shoulder of an older woman. He shifts to the side and I see that it’s Mrs. Hensley, from two floors below me. She has an overcoat on over her nightgown and she’s clearly distressed, tears running down her face. What is she doing down here? It’s well after midnight.
Ace’s face is the picture of compassion, and that’s when I realize I’m sitting in the car like a complete asshole, staring out the window at the scene. I climb out of the car and go over to them, listening as Mrs. Hensley’s shaking voice echoes across the sidewalk.
“I just don’t know where he’s gone,” she says, one hand going up to her disheveled hair.
My heart twists in my chest.
“I’m sure we can help you find him, ma’am,” Ace says, his voice smooth and comforting. As far as I know, he has no idea who she is, but he’s stopped out here to help her.
Not something a hardened murderer would do, right?
“I just don’t know.” Her voice is pained.
Mrs. Hensley must have woken in the night and been caught up in one of her moments. I’ve run into her in the elevator more than once, a little confused but not unhappy. This is different.
“Mrs. Hensley?” I say, stepping up to Ace’s side. “My name is Carolyn Banks. I live a couple of floors above you. Do you remember me?”
She scans my face, and then her expression relaxes. “Oh, Carolyn. Of course. How—how are you?” Another flash of confusion. “It’s quite late,” she says, glancing down at her overcoat and nightgown combo. “It’s very late.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Hensley.” I step forward and link my arm in hers. “Are you feeling all right? Is there anyone you’d like me to call?” I know she has one son in the city and a daughter on the west coast. Somewhere, I have the son’s number written down—she gave it to me forever ago, thinking she’d set us up. He should know about this, if not in the middle of the night.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I think I’d like to go back to bed.”
“Not a problem at all.” She lives on the third floor. I mouth “I’m sorry” at Ace, and he shakes his head, raising his hands slightly. “Tomorrow” he mouths back, and I give him a smile.
In the elevator with Mrs. Hensley, a strange tiredness descends on my shoulders. I was going to sneak up to the penthouse and knock on Ace’s door once Mrs. Hensley was safe in her apartment, but my eyes are getting heavier by the second, and my heart is in two places at once.
Afraid that the rumors might be true.
And warmed through by the sight of Ace Kingsley stopping everything to help a distraught old woman.
I’m falling…despite the rumors.
Chapter 20
Ace
I toss and turn all night, wishing Carolyn was here with me.
Should I go down to her door and knock softly until she answers?
No.
She seemed to take my words as a promise, although there was a flash of some expression in her eyes that I couldn’t quite place.
That poor woman outside our building.
Noah hadn’t opened the door for me when we pulled up, and it made perfect sense when I saw her standing outside the building, pacing the sidewalk. Where was the doorman? He wasn’t at his usual post behind the podium. No telling how long the woman had been out there. It wasn’t very cold for the middle of the night in September, but she didn’t seem to care about the temperature, only locating her husband.
It reminded me of seeing my grandmother like that, her mind prematurely deteriorating before she even reached her seventies.
On the way up to the penthouse in the empty elevator, my jaw clenched. I wanted Carolyn with me, not escorting an old woman back to her apartment. I might have insisted on her coming up afterward, as soon as she was done, only….
There’s something about her that splits me in two.
She makes me feel like the same Ace Kingsley who left for Italy two years ago—cocky, self-assured, and totally unafraid to go after and take the things I wanted. But she also taps into the soft-hearted part of me that came out of hiding in Europe, with Elisa.
What would Elisa think about all this?
For the first time since arriving back in New York City, I think of her without a twisted shock of pain. It’s still there, but dull, farther off, soothed by the fact that Carolyn is nearby. If I really wanted to, I could go down to her apartment right now and see her, assuming she’s there, and not out doing something on what looks from my penthouse windows like a gorgeous Saturday morning.
Nothing. She wouldn’t think anything because she’s dead.
My throat tightens.
It’s a mistake, I know it is, but Carolyn is drawing me to her in a way I can’t ignore. The way she put off sex—sex with me—to help that woman get back to her apartment safely….
That’s the kind of woman I want to be with.
Even if it means disaster.
My coffee has gone cold and I’m staring out at the New York City skyline from the windows surrounding the breakfast nook in the penthouse when there’s a knock at the door.
Who the hell…?
When I open the door, a shiver of sheer pleasure runs down my spine.
It’s Carolyn, looking absolutely fucking gorgeous in a deep red wrap dress, her hair piled on top of her head, cheeks pink.
“Hi.”