Risky Business

In that moment, I understand more than I ever have about Izzy. I never begrudged her falling in love with my dad or having Toni. And over the years, I’ve grown to appreciate that she makes Dad happy. I don’t need to understand, I only have to respect that. But the beginnings of their relationship, when Dad was trapped in an unhappy marriage and likely making promises to Izzy, was a leap of faith on her part. Being Dad’s secret was hard for her, making her feel less than, even when she was the one he loved.

Dad wraps his arm around Izzy’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I love you.”

Izzy smiles at me, telling me with her eyes, ‘you deserve this, so go get it.’ I nod, mouthing ‘thank you’, and take off for the parking lot.

I don’t change. Riding my motorcycle in a tuxedo is a first, but it’s happening tonight because I need to find Jayme as fast as possible and fix whatever’s gotten messed up between us.

I fly toward her place faster than I should, pulling up to the curb and shutting the engine off in record time. Striding up to the door, I greet the doorman, “Hey, Myron. I’m here to see Jayme.”

With a hard thunk that would be comical under other circumstances, I walk smack into the door.

“Fuck . . . ow!” I groan, rubbing at my nose. “What the hell?”

Myron grunts. “You’re not on the list, sir.”

I glare at him. “Yes, I am. You’ve let me in before.”

He shrugs casually, but his eyes are flinty steel, daring me to make a go for the door again. Something tells me he’d really enjoy stopping me. “List’s been updated.”

“What? By whom?”

He lifts a wry brow, not needing to answer, and I basically want to smash his nose the way the door did mine. Though maybe with some actual bloodletting.

“Can you call her and tell her I’m down here?”

He seems to take delight in telling me, “It’s after hours. You’re not on the after-hours call list either.”

I growl, and though his lips don’t move, I swear to God, he’s smiling at my frustration.

Calm down, man. You’re not going to get in like this.

Right. There’s got to be another way. I look up at the building, searching for a fire escape. I’m in good shape. I could probably shimmy up a pipe or something like they do in movies. No . . . no, I couldn’t. Not that many floors. I’m not a goddamn ninja.

But I am desperate, and though I’m running on adrenalin that makes me think I could scale a building, I’ve got to use my brain.

“You ever wonder how I got this job?” Myron says conversationally, as though we weren’t threatening death and dismemberment with our eyes a moment ago.

I don’t even give him a look, pointedly ignoring him as I continue to think.

“I was Secret Service. Security detail, mostly. Investigations weren’t my thing,” he tells me with a shrug as if that’s not impressive as hell. “After I got out, I wanted something easier, but I take my job seriously. This building is secure, no access points unguarded. The doors and windows are bulletproof. Phone lines are impervious to unapproved numbers. Cameras back up to the cloud instantly.”

“So you’re saying you figured out how to block spam calls?” I retort dryly, focusing on the least impressive thing he said because the rest of it is . . . crazy talk.

“I’m telling you that you’re not getting in unless she says so.”

I realize the bigger picture of what he’s telling me. “You’re not a doorman, are you?”

He smiles, his teeth bright against his dark skin. “I am a doorman. One of the three best doormen in the city. Me, Javier, and Brad. We’re a solid team.”

I’m not getting in.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and call Jayme myself. The line rings and then goes to an automated recording. “Leave a message at the tone.”

Beep.

“Jayme, I’m sorry. We need to talk. Can you call me, please? I’m downstairs with Myron. He won’t let me in.” I toss him a glare, though I know it sounds like I’m a toddler tattling on a classmate who didn’t share his toys with me. Putting my phone back in my pocket, I tell Myron, “I’m going to be right over there.”

I point to my motorcycle, and though he doesn’t respond, I know he heard me. Confused, I sit on my motorcycle and stare up at Jayme’s window. I can’t even tell if the light is on inside. Maybe she’s not here? Maybe she went to her parents’ house? Would Myron have told me if that were the case?

I consider throwing rocks at her window. Myron said they’re bulletproof, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t hear a rock hitting one. I don’t know if I could hit one that high, though. Probably not. I don’t think Myron would take too kindly to that idea, either. Probably consider it an attack or something. I wonder if she could hear me if I yelled her name? Though that might get the police called on me for disturbing the peace.