Emery worked later than planned that Friday. The early summer light had faded, so now she walked from the metro to her Foggy Bottom apartment in the dark.
Not a big deal. The area hopped with activity. People poured in and out of nearby restaurants and bars. She spied a line of red brake lights as cars backed up at the intersections. The drunken revelry was still a few hours away, but from the sound of the yelling and cheering coming from the line of bars and restaurants around the block, it sounded as if a few people got an early start.
The last two turns put her in a more residential section. Multistory town houses divided into multiple residences. In the spring the trees budded and framed the street in a flurry of pink. Tonight it was just sticky hot and not very pleasant.
In part because of the air-conditioning, she did love her place. It had been listed as a junior one bedroom on the street level of an older red brick building, which was code for an oversized studio with a partial wall separating off the actual bed. Apparently once the landlord tagged it with the whole “junior” thing she got to charge more. Emery thought that sucked, but she didn’t get that much of a say. Plus, the apartment had the benefit of being familiar. She’d moved in during her final year at George Washington University.
Her sneakers hit against the pavement as she walked at a steady clip. Between Wren and her father, she’d wrestled with anxiety from the time she got up to the time she went to bed. She hoped the fresh air would clear her head, but there wasn’t even a touch of a breeze. She’d be sweating through her silk shirt by the time she got to her door.
The original plan was to leave the office a bit early, grab dinner and settle down with a mindless movie, preferably one without family drama. But her dad had called several times to complain about her leaving their dinner earlier in the week. He insisted on seeing her again, but she claimed to have a work issue. Guilt then compelled her to actually hang around the office until everyone else had gone and she’d blown past her scheduled leave time.
Wren hadn’t contacted her since yesterday’s coffee shop meeting. But after he just showed up there she half expected to see him pop up everywhere. She wished she hated that idea more than she did. She wished she hated it at all.
She blamed the handsome face and that whole broody, mysterious thing he had going on. That type never appealed to her before and she wanted to believe it still didn’t, but she kept thinking about him. Not in a he’s-dangerous sort of way. No, this was in an I-wonder-if-he-kisses-as-good-as-he-looks sort of way.
Damn him for being in her head.
She thought about the whole private number thing, how she acted like she wasn’t interested despite the fact her heart had swooped a stupid loop-de-loop in her chest when he handed it over. Even now the note with his number sat in the drawer right next to her bed. She’d added it to her cell contact list under a fake name. Clearly he had her as paranoid as he was, but she’d kept the note. She had no idea why and refused to believe it was because she wanted some sort of connection with him.
Really, damn him.
Just thinking about the men hanging around her life right now made her exhausted. She hit the last corner and had to drag her body to keep moving. Whistling helped. So did focusing on the . . . whoa.
She stopped three houses before her own because Wren stood there, right on the sidewalk in his usual dark suit. For a second she worried just thinking about him had conjured him up.
He stared.
She stared back.
Then she noticed the activity behind him. A police car and another dark sedan with its lights on parked right out front of her building. An officer moved around in the main doorway by the mailboxes, talking to one of her neighbors. Part of Emery wanted to run to Wren and demand an explanation. The rest of her wanted to stay put until she woke up from whatever hottie-induced dream she was in at the moment.
Her choice didn’t end up mattering all that much because Wren walked toward her. Using long strides, he ate up the distance between them and stopped in front of her.
She said the first thing that popped into her head. “What are you doing here?”
“Someone tried to break into your apartment.”
“How can that . . .” Her world tilted.
In a flash, he was there with a hand on her arm. “Emery?”
His face came back into focus. A wave of shock hit next. She’d never been robbed. The building had security and an alarm system, which she knew were only as effective as long as the people in the building didn’t do something silly, like let a complete stranger walk right in. That had happened in the building across the street last year.
He snapped his fingers. “Emery?”
“Don’t do that.” The sound brought her winging back to the here and now. “It’s annoying.”