“Where did he go?”
He points down the street. “That way. But you won’t catch him. He slipped me a twenty to wait fifteen minutes before passing it. He’s long gone.”
I lean back in my chair and sigh.
Dammit! This is not how I saw my master plan going down.
How the hell did he know I was here? More importantly, what the heck do I do now?
“You still want that coffee?” the waiter asks.
“No. Just the check, please.”
“You got it.”
As he leaves, I rub my eyes. There must be another way to play this. I just need to think of it.
I call Toby and tell him about the new development.
“Well, crap,” he says. “That sucks.”
“Exactly.”
“What’s the next step?”
“Can you find out who the box is registered to? Maybe I can track him down that way.”
He sighs. “More crime? My God, lady, you’re a bad influence.” I hear rapid key tapping in the background.
“But you’re doing it anyway?”
“Eh. It brightens my otherwise dull day. Stretching my hacking muscles is always kind of exciting.”
“Will this take long?”
“Maybe. Some of these private companies have more security than others. I’ll call you when I have it.”
“Cool. Thank you, Tobes.”
I hang up and examine the note once more. He signed it M.R. Seriously? He even refers to himself as Mister Romance? Man, that’s cheesy.
I write up some notes while waiting for Toby to call me back.
Why is M.R. so paranoid? Is he just concerned about protecting his clients? Or himself?
Why did he reject me? And how did he know I was here today, watching for him? I assume he’s onto me, but how?
My phone buzzes with a text from Toby:
<This is going to take an hour or so. Multi-stage firewall. Chillax for a while, so I can work my magic.>
The waiter deposits my check, and I throw down some cash before shoving my computer into my bag and checking my watch. It’s only 3pm. Might as well head to the gym while I’m waiting.
I grab my stuff and head toward the subway.
I need to do something to work off all of this caffeine in my system, or I’ll start bouncing off the walls.
*
Led Zeppelin blasts through my ear buds as my feet pound the rubber of the treadmill. Even though sweat is streaming down my face and my lungs are burning, this is the part of my workout I like the best. My adrenal glands have switched into overdrive, and the resulting rush is making me feel more than a bit high.
Ahhh, yes, come to me, sweet endorphins.
At this time of the afternoon, the gym is mostly empty. It hasn’t yet been inundated with the after-work rush of image-obsessed princesses and muscle-bound posers, and that’s just how I like it. I tend to stick to the treadmill and stair climber, but I hate waiting for machines, and I especially dislike navigating around the Lycra-clad mating rituals that happen when this place is packed.
Overall, I don’t approve of the gym as a pickup place. When I’m here, I want to feel free to be my worst self. That way, after I shower and put on makeup, I can pretend to be my best self. Trying to impress someone when I’m still in my caterpillar phase isn’t my idea of a good time.
Having said that, I’m all for perving on prime pieces of gym meat, and there’s a perfect specimen a few feet away. In fact, the only other person in this part of the gym is the dark-haired hottie running on the treadmill two over. I’d seen him here earlier in the week, and I ogled him then, too. His arms are lovely. Thick and defined. Lightly tanned skin. Muscular chest and legs. And the way his dark hair flops over his forehead as he runs is sexy as hell.
As I head into my cooldown, I sneak glances at him. The way he moves is both graceful and incredibly masculine, and I find the combination mesmerizing. I could watch him all day.
Just as I’m thinking that, he glances over and catches me staring. I immediately look away. He’s not allowed to notice me right now. Not when I’m sweating from every pore and smell like landfill.
On my arm, my phone buzzes with a call. I keep jogging as I answer.
“Tobes! Hey.” Okay, talking and running while trying to breathe is a challenge. “What do you have?”
There’s a small pause before Toby says, “Uh ... is this a good time?”
“Yeah. I’m just at the gym. Why?”
“Oh. Okay, it’s just there was heavy breathing and grunting, and I thought ... well, never mind. So, the P.O. box is registered to Reggie Baker of Greenpoint, Brooklyn. I’ll text you his address.”
“Could this Reggie could be our guy?”
“Sure. If this Mister Romance is a sixty-year-old retired teacher.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, that’s unlikely. Does Reggie have a family? Any sons in their twenties?”
I hear keys tapping in the background. “Nope. Reggie and his wife have two daughters, Priscilla and Daisy, both in their thirties.”
I lower the speed on the treadmill until I’ve slowed to a fast walk. “Well, that doesn’t give me much to go on, my friend.”
“I know. Sorry. It would have been nice if the box had led straight to our guy.”
“But of course it doesn’t. That would be too easy. Thanks anyway, Tobes.”
“No problem. I’ll text the address details anyway. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I sign off and pull my phone from the case on my arm. This story is going nowhere fast, so unless I want to lose my only lead, I guess I’ll have to wrap things up here and head over to pay Mr. Reginald Baker a visit. Perhaps speaking to him will yield some results.
I shut down the treadmill and turn to step off it, but due to some weird superpower in human legs that takes over after running in one spot for a while, I launch off the rubber belt with way too much momentum to stay upright. With the girliest squeal that’s ever come out of me, I flail and drop my phone. But just as I’m preparing to faceplant into the concrete floor, strong arms close around me and pull me against a hot, hard body.
“Whoa, there. Ye alright?” Warm male voice. Thick Irish accent. Smooth skin pressing against me as large hands set me back on my feet.
I look up at my rescuer to find my hot, dark-haired treadmill neighbor looking down at me with concern. Of course I do. Because it’s not bad enough he had to witness my uncoordinated pratfall, he’s also doomed to experience my workout stench and gross perspiration pressed against his beautiful, muscled body.
“Shit, sorry,” I say. Embarrassed, I pull back to step out of his arms. “Thanks for the save.”
I expect to see him wipe his hands on his shorts, because honestly, I’m kind of slimy. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he retrieves my phone from the floor and gives it a quick examination for damage. “No problem. I did the same thing the other day. It’s a good thing I was the only one here at the time, so no one witnessed me sprawl on the floor like a baby giraffe.”