color drained from her face as fast as it had flared red in her cheeks. “Do I know you? And even if I do, I’m about two seconds from screaming bloody murder for the doorman and getting the cops out here.”
He believed her. A woman who would risk sailing the dangerous Gulf of Aden just to get a story wouldn’t fear some creeper in New York City—not that he was a creeper.
“Sorry about the mail.” He fanned out some bills and a few ads. “I’m not very good at this.”
“Good at what?” She inched past him and the row of mailboxes until she had one foot in the lobby.
“Skulking, I guess.”
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing, or am I going to call the NYPD?” She jabbed her cell phone into the space between them.
“You see? I suck at this.” He bundled her mail, which he hadn’t had a chance to look at, and held it out to her. “I’m Slade Gallagher, the US Navy SEAL sniper who saved your life eighteen months ago off the coast of Somalia.”
She blinked, licked her lips and edged closer to him. “Is this some kind of trick?”
Trick? What kind of trick would that be? He stuffed his free hand into the pocket of his sweatshirt and withdrew his wallet. He flipped it open with one hand, his other still gripping the mail she’d refused to take from him.
“Take it and look at the card behind my driver’s license. It’s my military ID. Hell, look at my driver’s license, too.”
She reached forward to take the wallet from him between two fingers, as if stealing something from a snake ready to strike.
“And if my ID isn’t good enough for you, I can tell you what you were wearing that day.” He closed his eyes as if picturing the scene all over again through his scope. “You had on army-green cargo pants, a loose red shirt and a khaki jacket, with a red scarf wrapped around your neck.”
His lids flew open, and Nicole was staring at him through wide green eyes. She might be surprised, but he’d pictured the woman on the boat—Nicole Hastings—many times over the past year and a half. Some nights he couldn’t get the picture of her out of his head.
“We never knew your names. The Navy wouldn’t tell us.” She traced a finger over his driver’s license picture behind the plastic, and his face tingled as if she’d brushed it. “But while we were in the infirmary getting checked out, we saw you walking toward the helicopter before you boarded it and left the boat. I do recognize you.”
Her sculpted eyebrows collided over her nose. “But what are you doing here? Why have you been following me?”
“Following you?” A pulse hummed in his throat. “I just got here two days ago.”
“Last night?”
“I was watching your building.” He shook his head. “Damn, you noticed me out there?”
“Yes. Why are you watching me?”
“I hadn’t planned on having this discussion with you so early, but it works out better for me if we do.” He jerked his thumb at the ceiling. “Can we continue this conversation in your apartment?”
Her gaze shifted toward the lobby and back to his face.
“You can introduce me to the doorman and tell him we’re going up to your place. In fact, that’s the smart thing to do.”
She snapped his wallet closed and thrust it at him, and then spun on her heel. He followed her, still clutching the mail.
The doorman leaped into action and swung the door open for her before she reached it. “I didn’t see you come in, Nicole.”
“Came in through the back door.” She leveled a finger at Slade. “This is a...my friend. He’s coming up to my place, Leo, in case you see him wandering around the building.”
Leo tilted his head. “Okay. Nice to meet you. Any friend of the Hastings women has gotta be good people.”
Slade swept the hood from his head and held out his free hand. “Slade Gallagher.”
“Leo Veneto.”
Slade glanced at the tattoo on Leo’s forearm. “Marine?”
“Yes, sir. Tenth Marine regiment, artillery force. Served in the first Gulf War.”
Slade pumped his hand. “Hoorah.”
“Hoorah.” Leo gave Slade the once-over. “Navy, right?”
“You got it—SEAL sniper.”
“You boys saved our asses more than a few times.”
Nicole broke up the handshake and the mutual admiration. “We’re going to go up now.”
Leo grinned. “I’ll be right here.”
Slade followed her to the elevator where she stabbed the call button and turned to him suddenly. “I never knew Leo was in the Marines.”
“Has Semper Fi tattooed right on his arm.”
She finally snatched the mail from his hands as the doors of the elevator whisked open. “See anything interesting in my mail?”
“You didn’t give me a chance to go through all of it, but it looks like Harvard’s hitting you up for a donation.”
“They wouldn’t dare. I’m not even an alumna, and my father already funded a library for them.”
“So why’d you go to NYU instead of Harvard, where I’m sure they would’ve found a spot for you?”
“Film school.” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not all family connections, you know.”
“Doesn’t hurt.” He should know.
They rode up to the tenth floor in silence, but he could practically hear all the gears shifting in her head, forming questions. He didn’t blame her. He just didn’t know if he’d have any answers that would satisfy her—rather than scare the spit out of her.
The elevator jolted to a stop on the tenth floor, and he held the door as she stepped out. “No penthouse suite, huh?”
“My mom didn’t want to be too ostentatious.” Her lips twisted. “And I’m being serious.”
Still, there seemed to be just two apartments on this floor. The size and location of this place must’ve run her mother, Mimi Hastings, more than five mil.
Nicole swung open the door with a flourish and watched him out of the corner of her eye as she stepped aside.
His gaze swept from one side of the opulently furnished room to the other, taking in the gold brocade sofas, the marble tables, the blindingly white carpet, the curved staircase to another floor and the artwork he could guarantee was worth a fortune. “Impressive.”
“This
