Smart, Sexy and Secretive (The Reed Brothers 2)

“Can I borrow it?” I ask, hurrying to get my lined overalls and a stocking cap. I don’t have a ton of cash for a cab and the subway will take too long.

He opens a drawer and fishes around until he finds the keys. He tosses them at me and my heart leaps. If I hurry, I might be able to get to Emily’s before they do.

“Thanks,” I say.

I pull on my overalls and get Paul’s helmet from the closet. The bike is down in the garage under the building, but there’s no guard and no delay this time of the night. I run down the steps, hoping the damn thing starts when I try it.

The bad thing about cars and things with engines is that I can’t hear when they start. I can feel the vibrations, though, and I put my hand on it and turn the key. It hums for a second, and then it stops. Of course, this would happen. I’m wrapped like a pig in a blanket and the f**king bike won’t start. I turn the key again, and the bike revs to life. I look behind me at the black smoke billowing from it and straddle the machine, kicking it off its stand. It’s cold as a witch’s tit in a brass bra, but I have a bad feeling about sending Emily home with Trip. I just do. I don’t know why. But it’s there, and I need to get to her.

The city keeps the streets pretty clear, and cars have been on them all day today. Except for some black ice, I’m not too worried about the roads.

It takes me about fifteen minutes to get to her house. I see the tail lights of the limo pulling away as I drive up. Henry opens the front door and looks out as I stop Paul’s bike in front of the door, looking through the window for Emily. She must have already gone upstairs.

Henry motions me forward. “Bring that thing inside,” he says. He points to the bike and points to the inside again, like he’s not sure I understand. “If you leave it out there, someone might steal it,” he reminds me.

It’s a small bike, but it’s going to leave wet tracks on the tile if I bring it inside. He nods at me in encouragement and jerks his head, gesturing me into the lobby.

I kill the engine and push the bike into the foyer. He points to a storage room, and I roll the bike toward it. He takes a bucket with a mop sticking out of it from the same room, and goes behind the wheels really quickly, cleaning up my mess.

“Sorry about that,” I say.

“No worries.” He cocks his head at me. “Why weren’t you with Miss Madison?” he asks, his brows drawing together.

“Technical glitch,” I say, pulling my knit cap from my hair. I blow into my hands. They’re f**king freezing, even though I had on thick gloves.

He motions for me to come close to the heater blow his desk. “Warm up a bit. Then you can go upstairs.”

I look at him out of the corner of my eye, as if I don’t care about the answer to my next question. “Are Emily’s parents upstairs?”

He shakes his head. “Just that man. The little f**ker.” Henry is a New Yorker through and through. I never can tell, since I can’t hear accents, but I can tell when men start dropping the f-bomb where they’re from. A laugh bursts from my throat.

“Oh, you have no idea,” I say.

“I do know. He threw a fit yesterday when I wouldn’t give him a key.” He shakes his finger in the air like he’s just remembered something. “Speaking of which, I have your key.” He reaches into a drawer, takes out a small brown envelope, and places it in my hand with a flourish. I could kiss him, I’m that happy. I shake the key into my hand and thread it onto my key ring.

“Thank you,” I say.

He nods his head toward the elevator. “You better go up. She didn’t look very happy when they came home.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He had icicles hanging from his nuts, if I’m not mistaken,” he says with a grin. “That girl isn’t giving him a second glance, much less any action.”

I really will have to kiss Henry for that. I reach for him, and he jumps back. He’s spry for someone as old as he is. “Save that for Miss Madison,” he says with a laugh.

I unhook my thermal overalls and step out of them. “Can I put these with the bike?” I ask. He opens the storage-room door back up, and I drape them over the Suzuki. I look at Henry. He looks tired.

“Do you ever go home, Henry?” I ask. It seems like he’s here every time I show up.

He smiles softly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “My wife had a stroke recently, so I work to pay for her medical care right now.” He shrugs. “They offer me the extra hours, so I take them.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your wife,” I say. “Will she be all right?”

His eyes skitter away from mine. “I certainly hope so.” His chest fills with air as he sighs. “She’s at a nursing home temporarily.” He smiles. “I saw her at lunch, and I’ll go there to sleep tonight.”

I squeeze his shoulder. If there were ever a man who needed a hug, it’s Henry. In Bro Code, a shoulder squeeze is the same as a hug. “You should go home. You might rest better there.”

He smiles and says, “I can’t sleep without her, so I might as well sleep at the nursing home. I’d rather sleep in a recliner holding her hand than sleep in the biggest, softest bed in the world.” He shakes his head. “Someday you’ll know what it’s like to wake up with one woman every day for almost forty years.” He points toward the elevator. “You’ll have the pitter-patter of little feet in the early years.”