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Andrew hesitates a moment, his gaze switching between Nick and me. His expression is a mixture of insult and injury. I’d like to be the kind of person who doesn’t enjoy seeing him hurt. I’m not.
“The door’s right there,” Nick says, pointing the way out. “In case you’re confused.”
“Bye, Andrew.” I give him the weakest of waves. “Have a nice life.”
With one last regretful look, Andrew slips out the door and, hopefully, out of my life. Once he’s gone, I pull away from Nick, humiliation burning my cheeks.
“I amsosorry about that. I didn’t know what else to do. I needed him to leave and couldn’t think of a better way to make that happen.”
“I think it worked,” Nick says while absently touching his lips. They’re probably still warm from our kiss. Mine certainly are. “I’m guessing Andrew is an ex-boyfriend?”
We make our way to the elevator, cramming ourselves inside. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Nick, I’m exposed once again to his cologne. That woodsy, citrusy scent.
“He is,” I say as we begin our ascent. “Unfortunately.”
“It ended badly?”
“That would be an understatement.” In the confines of the elevator, I realize how bitter I sound. I wouldn’t blame Nick for wanting to stay far away from me after this. No one likes bitter. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this—”
“Hurt?” Nick says.
“Vindictive.”
The elevator reaches the top floor. Nick moves the grate aside, allowing me to exit first. As we walk down the hall, he says, “I’m glad I ran into you. And not just because of the way you greeted me down in the lobby.”
“Really?” I say, blushing anew.
“I wanted to know if you’d heard back from Ingrid.”
“Not a peep.”
“That’s disappointing. I was hoping you had.”
I could tell Nick about the gun. Or the note Ingrid left that I try not to think about, because thinking about it is too frightening.
BE CAREFUL
Instead, I don’t mention them, for the same reasons I didn’t tell Chloe. I don’t want Nick to think I’m being overly worried, even paranoid.
“I know she’s not in the homeless shelter I just returned from visiting,” I say.
“That was some smart thinking to look for her there, though.”
“I can’t take credit. It was Greta Manville’s idea.”
Nick’s brows lift in surprise. “Greta? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of you are becoming friends.”
“I think she just wants to help,” I say.
We reach the end of the hallway, pausing in the wide space between the doors to our respective apartments.
“I’d like to help, too,” Nick says.
“But I thought you didn’t know Ingrid.”
“I didn’t. Not very well. But I’m glad she has someone looking out for her.”
“I’m afraid I’m not doing a very good job of it,” I say.