Yes, I had. It was a massive king-sized black iron bed that looked heavy enough to fall through the floor.
“I ran into it face-first. Adam managed to catch me or it probably would have been much worse.”
If it were anyone else, I might have thought this story equivalent to the “I bumped into a door” story that’s the staple of battered women everywhere. But I believed Dominic, and that meant I could go off in pursuit of Adam without wanting to kill him.
I don’t know what was to stop Adam from dragging me right back to my civilized little prison cell the moment I found him, but I’d worry about that later. I smiled at Dom to let him know I bought his story.
“Do you happen to know where Adam stashed my Taser when he confiscated it?”
“No, but I’m sure we can find it.”
Picking up the tray, he led me out of my cell.
I can’t tell you how relieved I was to get out of that house, though I felt a little like I’d escaped under false pretenses. I’d promised Dominic I’d look for Adam, but I had no real hope of success. Philly is a big city, and I had no idea where he’d gone. Naturally, I tried stopping by Tommy’s place, but no one, not even his slimy roommate, seemed to be home. I then tried Adam’s office number, even though I doubted he’d officially gone back to work on his “sick day.” I was right.
Other than The Seven Deadlies, I didn’t know where else Tommy was likely to hang out. It was now three o’clock in the afternoon, and the club wouldn’t open until nine. I tried Adam’s cell phone on the off chance he’d turned it back on since the last time Dom had called, but no dice. I even tried calling Claudia, but she was in a meeting—not with Adam, because I asked—and couldn’t be disturbed. I declined to leave a message. I’m sure the kidnappers had commanded her to go about her day as if nothing were wrong, but I hoped the fact that she was in a meeting meant the children were okay.
It was almost five when I admitted defeat. Until The Seven Deadlies opened, I had no clue where to find Adam. I called Dom to let him know I was going back to my apartment, and he confirmed that Adam still hadn’t returned any of his calls. The worry in Dom’s voice was contagious, but neither one of us could come up with any brilliant ideas. I gave Dom strict orders to call me if he heard from Adam, then headed home.
My day was not improved when I found a reporter for the Philadelphia Inquirer camped out in the lobby of my building. Not the same reporter who’d been calling me on the phone, but I recognized her as press—perhaps because of the whiff of brimstone that clung to her—as soon as she sprang up out of her chair and strode toward me.
If I ran for the elevator, would I be able to get in and get the door closed before she caught me? With my luck, that would be a big no. So instead I turned to glower at her, arms akimbo, body language screaming “get the fuck away from me.”
She couldn’t possibly have missed the message, but I suppose reporters were used to ignoring hostility, since she came right up to me anyway and stuck out her hand.
“You must be Morgan Kingsley,” she said with a polished smile. “I’m Barbara—”
My smile was so polished the edges could cut through diamond. “I don’t care who you are. I have no comment, and I want you to stay out of my hair.”
Her shapely eyebrows rose. She held out a press badge for me to examine. I ignored it and turned toward the elevators. Barbara What’s-Her-Name followed, her businesslike black pumps making clicking noises as she tried to catch up. Naturally, both elevators were near the top of the building. I hit the Up button with more force than necessary.
“You know,” Barbara said as she settled in to wait beside me, “I’m from the Philadelphia Inquirer, not the National Enquirer. There’s no reason to be so skittish.”
I tried to pretend she wasn’t there. With all the crap I was going through in my life, you’d think the universe would give me a break once in a while! But no, why would anyone think that?
“So you have no comment about the death of Jordan Maguire Jr.?”
I stared at the blinking lights above the elevators, wishing the damn things weren’t about a hundred years old and slow as tortoises.
Reporter Barbie was undaunted. “What about Jordan Maguire Sr.’s threats to file suit?”
I blinked. This was the first I’d heard of it, and I groaned internally. Just what I needed—more trouble. One of the elevators was still at floor twenty, but the other one was making its way down steadily. Fifteen, fourteen, twelve—because this was an old building and had no thirteenth floor—eleven, ten. . And then the damned thing stopped, and I almost howled in frustration.
“Is there anything you’d do differently if you had a chance to do it all over again?” Barbie continued, as if I’d been answering her questions all along.
The elevator stayed on floor ten, and I decided enough was enough. I walked back into the lobby and caught the doorman’s attention. He was a big black guy built like a linebacker, but he was one of those gentle giants who wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’d talked to him just enough to know he was a starving artist who worked the door to keep food on the table while he pursued a career as a painter. Still, Barbie didn’t know any of that.
“Hey, Mike,” I said with a big smile, “is there any chance you can help me get rid of an unwanted visitor?” I jerked my thumb at Barbie.
He returned my smile. “Sure thing,” he said, then looked at Barbie. The smile gave way to a politely blank expression. “Ma’am, this is a private building. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Reminding myself to slip Mike a generous tip later, I pivoted back toward the bank of elevators. Barbie started to protest, but Mike was firm. I breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator doors closed behind me. I felt a little less relieved when I remembered the death threat on my answering machine last night. Great to know everyone and their brother was gunning for me!
I half-expected there to be another death threat when I finally let myself into my apartment, since the universe seemed to be piling it on right now. The fact that there were no messages made me practically cheerful. Yeah, welcome to my life.
I scrounged up a dinner, if you could call it that, of a toasted frozen bagel and dry cereal. I hadn’t had much chance to hit the grocery store lately. Then I spent the rest of the evening alternating between trying Adam’s cell phone number and checking in with Dom. I decided not to call Brian. He thought I was safely locked up in Adam’s house, and he’d probably feel it his duty as my knight-in-shining-armor to come “protect” me if he knew I was alone. I’m not very good at accepting help even when I need it, but I seriously didn’t think the bad guys were going to storm my building. I’m sure they could get past security if they wanted to—obviously, they’d done it once already—but they’d still have to get through my door. I kept my Taser in my pocket just the same.
I was really starting to get pissed off at Adam. If he was in trouble, I’d feel guilty about it later, but right now I figured he was probably just sulking over his little spat with Dom. I didn’t think members of Lugh’s council should be allowed to sulk. Except me, of course. I could sulk all I wanted.
When I still hadn’t heard anything from Adam by nine o’clock, I decided it was time for me to put in yet another appearance at The Seven Deadlies. Unless he was in trouble, he was bound to be there, staking the place out, looking for Tommy. We had never really discussed what would happen if he found him, but I felt pretty sure Tommy wouldn’t enjoy the encounter.
This time, I didn’t particularly care if I fit in with the crowd, so I dressed in jeans and a plain white button-down. The only nod I made to the Seven Deadlies crowd was to wear a single skull and crossbones earring with bright, genuine rubies in the eyeholes. Brian had bought it for me as a semi-joke, though it looked too expensive to be relegated to the junk drawer. I put an assortment of gold and silver studs in the remaining holes, then stared myself in the eye in the bathroom mirror and tried to convince myself I was ready.