“Hold on,” he said simply, then turned back into his apartment to get her plate.
Cybil had no intention of holding on, and finally found her key where it had decided to hide in the narrow inner pocket of the bag—where she’d put it so she’d know just where it was when she needed it.
But he beat her. He strode out of his apartment, letting the door slam at his back. He carried his saxophone case in one hand and her plate in the other.
“Here.” He wasn’t going to ask her what had put that sulky look on her sea-fairy face. He had no doubt that she’d tell him, for the next half hour.
“You’re welcome,” she snapped, snatching it from him. Because her head was throbbing after two hours of listening to Jody’s cousin Frank’s monotone account of the vagaries of the stock market, she decided she’d give Mr. Mysterious a piece of her mind while the mood was on her.
“Look, buddy, you don’t want to be friends, that’s just fine. I don’t need any more friends,” she said, swinging the plate for emphasis. “I have so many now I can’t take another on until one moves out of the country. But there’s no excuse for behaving like a snot, either. All I did was introduce myself and give you some damn cookies.”
His lips wanted to twitch, but he controlled it. “Damn good cookies,” he said before he could stop himself, then immediately regretted it as the temper in her eyes switched to amusement.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah.” He walked away, leaving her reluctantly intrigued and completely baffled.
So she followed impulse, one of her favorite hobbies. After unlocking her door quickly, she stuck the plate on the table inside, locked up again, then, trying to keep her footsteps muffled, set off to follow him.
It would be a great strip gag for Emily, she thought, and, handled right, could play out for weeks.
Of course she’d have to make Emily wild about the guy, Cybil decided as she tried to tiptoe and race down the steps at the same time. It wouldn’t just be normal, perfectly acceptable curiosity but dreamy-eyed obsession.
Breathless with the excitement of the chase, her mind whirling with possibilities, Cybil rushed out the front door, looked quickly right and left.
He was already halfway down the block. Long stride, she thought, and, grinning, started after him.
Emily, of course, would be sort of skulking, then jumping behind lampposts; or flattening herself against walls in case he turned around and—
Nearly yelping, Cybil jumped behind a lamppost as the object of the chase sent an absent glance over his shoulder. With a hand over her heart, Cybil dared a peek and watched him turn the corner.
Annoyed that she’d worn heels instead of flats to dinner, she sucked in a breath and made the dash to the corner.
He walked for twenty minutes, until her feet were screaming and her initial rush of excitement was draining fast. Did the man just wander the streets with his saxophone every night? she wondered.
Maybe he wasn’t just rude. Maybe he was crazy. He’d been recently released from the asylum—that’s why he didn’t know how to relate to people in the normal way.
His filthy rich and abusive family had caught him, locked him up so that he couldn’t claim his rightful inheritance from his beloved grandmother—who had died under suspicious circumstances and had left him her entire fortune. And all those years of being imprisoned by the corrupt psychiatrist had warped his mind.
Yes, that would be exactly what Emily would cook up in her head—and she’d be certain her tender care, her unqualified love, would cure him. Then all the friends and neighbors would try to talk her out of it—even as she dragged them into her schemes.
And before it was over Mr. Mysterious would—
She pulled up short as he walked into a small, dingy club called Delta’s.
Finally, she thought, and skimmed back her hair. Now all she had to do was slip inside, find a dark corner and see what happened next.
Chapter 2
The place smelled of whiskey and smoke. Not really offensive, Cybil thought. More … atmospheric. It was dimly lit, with a pale-blue light illuminating a stingy stage. Round tables hardly bigger than