“Those guys sent you one hell of a message tonight. I wouldn’t underestimate them. Watch your back.”
Morgan struggled to keep the smile from slipping from her face as she drew in a deep breath and nodded. She didn’t need the reminder. What she needed was something that would assuage the guilt of pulling Ty into her troubles.
Chapter Seven
7:52 p.m.
Morgan stared at the clock on the cable box just below her television, willing it to change, just like she’d been doing for the last half hour. It wasn’t working of course. Time stubbornly refused to bend to her desires. It ticked by at the same tedious pace as always.
Usually, Morgan didn’t have this problem. Days had been known to fly by. Hell, she’d lost entire weekends.
Of course, those days she had been allowed to leave her apartment and not forced to wile the hours away binge watching television on her couch.
Well, maybe forced was a little over dramatic. There wasn’t an armed guard posted outside her door keeping her inside. But there might as well have been.
Morgan hadn’t realized how rattled she’d been until she’d climbed into bed last night and turned out the lights. The second she was alone in a dark room, all the fear she’d pressed down bubbled up to the surface. She closed her eyes but only saw slashed tires, the gleam off the silver blade, the cold warning in the Russian’s stare.
Morgan had turned the lights back on thirty seconds later. She’d spent the rest of the night that way, drifting off for a few minutes only to be jolted awake by every clank and creak in the apartment.
Around nine in the morning, she’d given up. Not that the daylight had been much comfort. She kept remembering what Ty said the night before.
Watch your back.
Those three words had effectively killed any plans she had for the day. How the hell could she watch her back if she was out on the city streets? She couldn’t go to the grocery store. She couldn’t get coffee. And she’d seen far too many mobster movies in her lifetime to risk a trip out to North Beach for a nice pasta lunch.
So she’d stayed in her pajamas and caught up on the latest season of her favorite sci-fi show. The one she was hopelessly behind on because she spent nearly every waking hour working at the club—the job that was now probably going to kill her.
Morgan had given up on feeling sorry for herself a couple hours ago and started getting ready. She’d tried on different outfits, experimented with makeup, hell, she’d even attempted an up-do. It was a disaster of course, and she took her hair down fifteen minutes later. But she couldn’t help but appreciate the irony that the date she was spending the most time getting ready for wasn’t an actual date at all.
Not really.
Still, Morgan couldn’t help but look forward to it. It wasn’t a coincidence that the only times she’d felt safe over the last two days Ty had been by her side. Sure, she felt guilty that she’d pulled him into this whole mess. She’d tried to warn him away. She’d been trying to shake him from the moment they’d met. It wasn’t her fault that the man couldn’t take a hint.
Besides, she was no longer convinced that he didn’t know what he was getting into. The man knew about expensive knives after all. He could pick—and unpick—locks. And he kissed like the devil himself.
7:55 p.m.
Now all she had to do was wait the last five minutes until he was due to pick her up. The longest five minutes of her life.
Morgan drew in a deep breath, and let her head fall back against her couch cushions…and nearly jumped out of her skin as the door buzzer screamed from the hallway.
Morgan scrambled to her feet and ran to the window. She pushed down the blinds and peered down at the street. A black Ducati was parked right in front of her building.
Oh, thank God. She was going to die if she had to endure another five minutes alone.
Morgan rushed over to the call box and quickly composed herself before she hit the talk button.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Morgan. It’s me.” Ty’s voice filled the space. A little shiver ran up her spine.
“Is it eight o’clock already?” she said. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“I’m a couple minutes early.”
“Cool,” she said, knowing she sounded anything but. “I’m on the second floor. I’ll buzz you in.”
She hit the button that opened the security gate over the front door. And ran to the bathroom for one last check in the mirror. Her dress fit just right. Her hair looked great. Her makeup too. She looked pretty good.
Well, at least her day of forced rest hadn’t been a complete waste.
A moment later, a knock echoed through the living room. Morgan walked at a deliberately slow pace to the front door and opened it.
Ty stood in the hallway, looking just like he had the night before—jeans, blue button-up shirt, racing jacket. It seemed his wardrobe wasn’t all that varied.