face. Hers was unique, with wide-set green eyes and high, sculpted cheekbones. He wouldn’t describe her as beautiful, though her full lips and the tilt of her nose added an interesting dimension to her face that sparked his interest as a photographer.
The way she’d seduced him last night sparked his interest as a man. He’d wanted to make love to her again this morning, but the gleam of fear he’d seen in her green eyes had held him back. Despite his taste for dangerous pursuits, Adam didn’t chase unwilling women. Or crazy ones.
With a sigh of disappointment, he walked back into his apartment, a dull throb in his head from too many beers the night before. Horatio was waiting by the door, his tail flicking impatiently behind him.
“You should have warned me,” he muttered, moving toward the kitchen. But even as he said the words, he couldn’t regret what had happened between him and his mystery lady. She’d touched his soul as well as his body, something no other woman could claim. Something he hadn’t thought possible.
He reached into the cupboard for the bag of cat food, then froze. The shelves were stocked full. Cans of soup and vegetables. Boxes of cereal and granola bars. Several bags of assorted pasta. His cupboards had been almost bare when he’d left home four months ago.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Horatio replied with a loud meow, pacing beside his empty cat bowl. Adam filled it, then placed the bag back into the cupboard as more questions filled his head. How had his dream girl gotten into his apartment last night? How did she know his cat’s name? How did she know his name?
Ten minutes later, he was fully dressed and ready for some answers. He knocked on the door directly across from his apartment, hoping Mrs. Clanahan was an early riser. His elderly neighbor had offered to feed and care for Horatio while Adam was out of the country. Before he’d left for Rio, he’d stocked up on cat food and kitty litter, then given her a spare key to his apartment.
Maybe Mrs. Clanahan could explain how all that food had magically appeared in his kitchen cupboards. And how that strange woman had magically appeared in his bed.
But when the door opened, it wasn’t Mrs. Clanahan who greeted him but a middle-aged man wearing a torn white T-shirt and a pair of baggy red shorts. An old game show rerun blared on the television behind him and the stench of rotting meat permeated the air.
“Yeah?” the man said, scowling up at him.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Clanahan.”
“She don’t live here no more.”
“Since when?”
“Since she fell down and broke her hip about three months ago. Her daughter lives in Florida, so she carted her down there and sublet this apartment to me.”
Mrs. Clanahan had often talked about how much she missed her daughter. Too bad she’d had to break her hip to spend time with her. He felt a moment’s concern about the sweet old lady’s injury, but he had another matter to deal with.
“And you are?”
“Clyde Buckley,” he replied, growing impatient. He craned his head over his own shoulder trying to watch his television show.
“So tell me, Mr. Buckley, what arrangements did Mrs. Clanahan make about Horatio?”
Buckley scowled as he turned back around. “Who the hell is Horatio?”
Adam hitched his thumb behind him. “The cat in the apartment across the hall. Mrs. Clanahan was supposed to feed him while…”
“Oh, yeah,” Buckley interjected, “that was part of the sublet agreement. But the guy came back early. Lucky thing, cause I’m allergic to cats.”
Apprehension skittered over Adam’s spine. “What guy?”
“The guy who lives there,” Buckley replied, scratching his belly. “Delaney. He picked up the key and even gave me twenty bucks for all my trouble.”
Adam didn’t want to believe the man, but Clyde Buckley seemed incapable of artifice. He seemed barely capable of walking upright. “Did you ask him for some kind of identification?”
“Why should I?” Buckley retorted. “He knew the name of the damn cat. Who are you anyway and why are you here asking all these questions?”
He clenched his jaw. “I’m Adam Delaney. You gave my key to the wrong man.”
Buckley stuck out his jaw. “So where’s your identification?”
For the second time that morning, Adam pulled out his wallet and flashed his driver’s license and passport.
Clyde Buckley leaned in for a closer look. “Okay, so it says your name is Adam Delaney. But you sure don’t look much like him.”
It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet and Adam wanted a drink, but his pounding head nixed that idea. “I think you mean he doesn’t look much like me.”
“Huh?”
Adam took a deep breath, trying not to lose his temper. It wasn’t Buckley’s fault that some jerk was trying to screw up his life. “Tell me what he looks like.”
His gaze drifted to the television set. “Who?”
“Delaney.”
Buckley looked back at him. “I thought you said you’re Delaney.”
“I am,” he snapped. “I mean the man who told you he was me.”
“Oh.” Buckley crinkled his brow. “I can’t really remember—I only saw him once or twice.”
“Try.”
The older man shrugged. “Maybe about six feet. Skinny. Needed a haircut.”
“What else?” Adam asked, wanting specific details. “How about the color of his hair? His eyes? The kind of car he drives? Anything at all you can tell me.”
Buckley snorted. “Hell, I don’t know. I mind my own business around here, you know?”
“Did you ever see him with a woman?”
“Like I said, I mind my own business.” Buckley paused for a moment. “There was a broad who showed up at his door once in a while, but don’t ask me to describe her, ‘cause she sure wasn’t worth remembering.”
Then it couldn’t be his dream girl. Adam mentally kicked himself for letting her go. He’d never find her again in a city of over two million people. She might be the only one who could answer all of his questions.
“I gotta go,” Buckley said. “They’re about to spin the big wheel.”
The door closed in his face before Adam could say another word. He stared at it a moment, tempted to kick it down in frustration. But that wouldn’t accomplish anything except alienating his new neighbor.
He turned around and walked back inside his apartment.
Adam
