My phone buzzed. It was a text from Parker saying yes to my question about whether she’d left the deadbolt off the front door.
Hey, you’re awake early, I replied.
Still in bed.
I chuckled. Parker spent a lot of time in her bed. She said she could do everything she needed to in pajamas and under a duvet. I couldn’t argue with that.
Back in a min. Cab around corner.
I’m at my flat, she replied.
Really? I typed out, slightly concerned. Thought you were only spending one night there?
I waited as the phone showed she was typing and then she stopped.
Is everything okay?
My mind began to wander to worst-case scenario. Had there been a break-in at her place? Had her ex turned up at her work and dragged her back to her flat? Had he broken into her place as soon as she got back and wasn’t letting her leave? I was being ridiculous but I needed her to tell me that.
I pressed call on the phone but she didn’t answer.
I leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Change of plan. You need to get to Maida Vale. There’s a big tip if you can get there in less than five minutes.” She’d probably just gone to the loo or run out of battery or something, but it could be more serious. I still hadn’t discovered who had been taking the payments from the charity bank account, and although I set up a permanent hack into her building’s security cameras, nothing had come up. Maybe whoever had been targeting her had been waiting for me to be out of the country.
I rang her again but it kept going straight to voicemail. Fuck. I checked the time. Six thirty in the morning. Her phone should be fully charged. Why hadn’t she called me back? My paranoia grew, crawling into my chest and circling its hands around my heart.
At least there was no traffic. I pulled some cash out of my wallet, ready to press into the driver’s hand as soon as we arrived.
The minutes seemed to extend into hours. I kept trying her phone over and over until we pulled up outside her building. I thrust the money at the driver and opened the door before we’d come to a stop. If she didn’t answer the buzzer, I was going to have to break down the front door. I didn’t have the fob with me.
As luck would have it, someone was just exiting the main doors dressed in running gear as I sprinted up the path to meet him.
I caught the door just before it shut, thankful and furious at the same time that he hadn’t waited until the door closed. People just weren’t focused on security.
I didn’t bother with the lifts, opting instead to take the stairs two at a time to the third floor. I pounded on Parker’s front door. There were no signs of a break-in. That was something at least. “Parker, it’s Tristan. Let me in.”
Just as I was about to shout again, I heard the turn of locks and the door opened. A red-eyed, pajama-clad Parker saw me and promptly collapsed.
Shit.
I barged through the door and crouched down beside her, feeling for her pulse. Her heartbeat was strong, and as I glanced up and down her body, wondering what to do next, her eyelids fluttered open.
“Parker,” I said. She gave me a weak smile.
“I think I’m sick.”
I scooped her up off the floor and headed to her bedroom. “What kind of sick?” I asked. Was it serious? Why hadn’t she said anything? We’d texted every day that I’d been in New York.
“I’m so cold. Can you put the heating on?”
She was in the middle of some kind of delusion or something. The place was stifling. “Parker, it feels like the fucking Sahara in here.” I set her on the bed and placed my hand on her forehead. It was like touching a pan that had just come out of the oven.
“You have a temperature.”
“I just need another blanket,” she said.
I pulled off my coat and went to get her a glass of water. When I came back, her eyes were closed. Her shiny black hair was splayed across the pillow, and despite having just collapsed and having the temperature to end all temperatures, she still managed to look beautiful? “Do you have a thermometer?”
“Lips,” she said, her eyes still closed. “I have lips.”
She certainly did have lips. She might be gaga, but she was also adorable.
I took a seat next to her bed and felt her forehead again. She was still scorching hot.
“And so do you. Such great lips.” She made an mmm sound, the sort I’d make after a spoonful of crème brulee.
I chuckled to myself. Was she dreaming? She’d been awake thirty seconds ago.
“I need you to have a drink. Can you sit up a little?”