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Blane got behind the wheel and the quiet roar of the engine took them away.
With Anne quietly directing him, Blane pulled up outside her apartment building.
“You can just drop me off,” she whispered.
Blane gave a short bark of laughter at the suggestion. “Surely you think more of me than that.” As if he’d just dump her on the street like an unwanted dog. He backed into a parallel parking space just in front. In a moment, he was at her door. The long flash of leg as she got out was worth dozens of rides home.
“Thank you, but I can make it from here.”
She seemed insistent that he not accompany her. Unfortunately for Anne, Blane was not the sort of man who let a woman walk herself to her door, especially in this part of town. And especially not after what she’d been through tonight.
“I’m sure you can,” he said, resting his arm lightly around her waist guiding her toward the door.
Giving a sigh of resignation, she let him lead her. Digging in her purse, Anne swiped an electric key card in front of a reader and the door unlocked.
“Which floor?” Blane asked.
“The third, but the elevator doesn’t work.”
“Your feet must be hurting in those shoes. Do you want me to carry you?” He had never understood how women were able to walk in heels like that, not that he didn’t appreciate that they did.
She gave him a look he had no trouble deciphering. “Surely you must think more of me than that,” she said dryly, echoing his own words back at him.
Blane grinned. “Just a gentlemanly offer.” They began climbing.
“How can you be so calm?” she asked, somewhere between the first and second floors. “You shot a man.”
“I shot someone who was threatening others. It wasn’t the first time.” Though hopefully it would be the last. “It’s not something I enjoy. I just do what needs to be done.”
“But, why? They were going to leave.”
“I was there and had the opportunity. And there was no way I was going to let them take you. If they hadn’t done that, I might not have interfered.” Maybe not one hundred percent true. Blane had an innate sense of justice and he’d been quietly furious at the two men, robbing a crowd made up of predominantly women. The one victim who’d been shot had survived. The robber Blane had shot…not so much.
They arrived at a door marked with the number 313 and Anne rummaged for her keys.
“Lucky thirteen?”
She grimaced. “It was the only one available at the time.” She tried to unlock the door, but her hands shook. Blane gently took the keys and did it himself.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked.
Why yes, yes he did.
Once they were inside, she punched a code into the alarm system. Blane memorized it out of habit. She hit the lights and Blane paused for a moment, his eyes widening.
Her apartment was definitelynotwhat he’d been expecting. He could tell immediately that it was professionally decorated, and expensively at that. Original paintings hung on the walls. A hand-woven rug stretched across the living room area. There was even a small sculpture atop the square, walnut coffee table.
“Do you mind if I go change?” Anne asked politely.
“Of course not.”
She disappeared into what seemed like the only bedroom. No roommate then. Mysteriouser and mysteriouser…
Blane took the opportunity to explore. There were pictures along with books displayed on a bookcase. They were of Anne with various people. A few looked to be with her parents. An older couple, the man dressed expensively, but still had a gruff look about him, as though he’d rather be in jeans and flannel. The woman was very beautiful and well-preserved. Money did do wonders for one’s looks, he mused. Anne must come from money. Then why in the world was she working in a restaurant? Surely she hadn’t been disowned or something archaic like that. Perhaps her parents had died tragically, and the estate hadn’t gone to her?
Ideas were still spinning through his head when she returned, now wearing black leggings and a long t-shirt with the words “Got Coffee?” printed on it. Her hair was still in the braids, though she’d washed the makeup from her face. Frankly, she looked more appealing now, more fragile and vulnerable. He’d always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. “Water? Wine? Coffee?”
