Page 13 of These Shoes Weren't Made for Stalking

“How did you know it was impromptu?” I raised an eyebrow at him. My words carried more bite than intended, but something about this guy rubbed me the wrong way.

The elevator chimed, announcing our arrival at the lobby.

“I’m his executive assistant—Marcus Cretch.” He extended a manicured hand. “I schedule all his meetings. I’d know if I put you in his calendar. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.” I grasped his hand, noting the softness of his palm against my callused fingers. “Leo Sterling-Hart. I run Cobblers’ Corner down in the Historical District.”

I cleared my throat, aware of the contrast between us. The scent of leather and polish clung to me while Marcus Cretch exuded the crisp aroma of expensive cologne deliberately chosen to complement his natural alpha pheromones.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said, as we stepped out of the elevator. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths again.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Mr. Cretch,” I replied. I watched him stride away. A niggling feeling settled in my gut, but I brushed it aside, chalking it up to the stress of the day. I had bigger things to worry about than some nosy executive.

I needed to follow up on another lead.

The bus carried me to Jake’s side of the city, where rent prices dropped and graffiti decorated the brick walls. The weathered apartment building where Rosie said Jake was renting a room hunched against the gray sky. It had seen better days. Water stains streaked down the once-red bricks like dirty tears, and chunks of mortar littered the ground at my feet. A rusty fire escape zigzagged up the wall, its metal groaning with each gust of autumn wind.

“You should have seen Steele’s face when I walked into Vertex,” I said into my phone, stepping over a broken piece of concrete. “All cool and collected behind that mahogany desk of his.”

I opened the main door and the musty hallway air pressed in around me, thick with the scent of someone’s overcooked dinner and the metallic tang of rusted pipes.

“No, Penny, I didn’t cause a scene. Just told him straight up that we won’t let them turn our neighborhood into another soulless shopping district.”

Well, that was kind of what happened…

I knocked on Jake’s door. No answer.

An elderly woman poked her head out of the neighboring apartment. “You looking for Jake?” she asked.

“Hold on,” I whispered into the phone. “I’ll call you back, Penny.”

I ended the call. “Yes, ma’am. Have you seen him recently?”

She frowned. “Not since the other night. He was arguing with some fancy-looking fella outside. Suit probably cost more than this whole building.”

My pulse quickened. “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

“Nah, but Jake looked scared. Real scared. Haven’t seen him since.”

“Thanks for letting me know, ma’am,” I said. “If you see Jake, tell him to call Leo. It’s important.”

“Sure thing, honey.”

My boots clicked against the stairs as I descended. Jake, arguing with a man in an expensive suit?

Jake knew something—and whatever it was, it scared him enough to disappear. This case was getting more complicated by the minute.

6

My next stop was Wilson’s Bakery. Sunlight reflected off the storefront window, highlighting its freshly painted lettering, but the cheerful atmosphere felt forced, like a smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes.

“Leo, dear!” Rosie’s face lit up as I stepped through the door. “What brings you by?”

I perched on a worn wooden stool at the counter. My fingers absently traced the edge of a repurposed shoe display case, now filled with golden croissants. “I wanted to ask you about Jake. Did he seem... off to you lately?”

Rosie’s smile wavered. She wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron, leaving ghostly handprints. “Now that you mention it, he did seem nervous these past few weeks. Jumpy, like a cat near a rocking chair. Said he had a ‘big problem,’ but wouldn’t tell me more.”

My eyebrows rose. “Did he give you any hints?”