“Yes. Much better,” she whispered, but she tightened her fingers so he wouldn’t let go. Just a minute more. “I know you think when I touch you, I’m divining all your secrets,” she said.
“You are.” His voice was mild, but she could feel the tension in his grip.
“I’m not. I don’t read skin, and I don’t hear your clothes when you’re wearing them. I tried to explain when . . . when we argued.” Better to say “argued” than “kissed.” “You said I was touching your shirt, so I knew everything.”
“And you don’t?” he murmured.
“I can’t hear the cloth against . . . living . . . flesh. It’s like the warmth and heat of the real thing—of life—is too loud. It’s rather nice, really.” It made fittings a pleasure when every other aspect of her profession was fraught with snags and the pinpricks of private thoughts.
He cocked his head, turning toward the door, her hands still clutched between his. She’d expected a different reaction.
“Michael?”
He stepped forward suddenly and clapped his hand over her mouth, sliding his other arm around her waist as he did.
“Shh, Dani.”
She jerked in affront, and then she heard it too. The groaning of the stairs beneath a heavy tread and the rattle of keys. Malone was suddenly moving, running, pulling her behind him down the hall. He yanked at the dangling chain hanging from the bulb in the bathroom and pushed her toward the first bedroom. He dove after her, shutting the door behind him as the front door screeched and swung open, indicating they had company.
Whoever it is has a key, she thought. He belongs here. We are the trespassers.
Malone was rigid against her, hardly breathing, his cheek against her hair. She heard the snick of Malone turning the lock on the door. She flinched, certain the stranger had heard it too.
Whoever had entered the apartment proceeded through the space without hesitation, the tread heavy and slow but the steps sure, as if the darkness were of no consequence and the visitor was at home.
The footsteps stopped on the other side of the door they stood behind. A hand slapped against it, as if the stranger was surprised to find it closed. The knob turned and held. The stranger grunted, confused. He rattled the knob, insistent, and Dani bit back a scream, burying her face in Malone’s chest. His heart drummed and his arms tightened, but he didn’t move.
The person on the other side of the door grumbled again, but he didn’t tarry. Three footfalls and a tug later, the light from the bathroom seeped through the crack beneath the door and touched their feet. The slap of water hitting water came seconds later and continued for a solid minute. The stranger was making use of the facilities. The whoosh of the toilet and the footsteps retreating down the hallway were followed by a long groan and the scrape of clawed feet against wood floors.
He’d settled on the sofa.
Flatulence, belching, another scrape, and a series of squeaks as the couch protested the weight of its occupant. Then all grew quiet.
Malone spoke directly into her ear, his voice a rumble instead of a hiss. “He’s drunk. We’ll wait.”
Wait till what? she wanted to ask, but she just nodded, and they stood straining to track the stranger’s breaths, their arms around each other. Malone’s pocket watch ticked away the seconds that turned into minutes, and still they waited, uncertain whether the man slept or simply sat as silently as they stood. Was he waiting for them? And why had he tried the locked bedroom door? There was nothing in the space but a bed frame. Did he know they were there? He had not moved cautiously or with obvious awareness, and he had urinated like he had a belly full of booze. But they had to get past him to leave.
Malone shifted her away from the door and turned the lock, one hand on the knob, one hand on the frame. Then he listened. He took her hand, swung the door wide with a swift, smooth movement so the hinges had no time to whine. He waited again, standing in the opening.
He touched her mouth with the pad of his thumb and leaned in until his lips touched her ear. “Stay behind me.”
She nodded once, just a brisk jerk of her chin, and together they moved down the hall, the shifting floorboards tattling on them, but Malone didn’t stop or even hesitate. He walked straight to the door, tucking her in front of him as he disengaged the lock.
The sofa moaned, and Dani darted a look at the shadowy figure sprawled across it. His face was turned into the back, his legs and arms tucked close. The couch was too small for him and his hind end jutted out over the edge, tempting gravity. Should he shift, he would find himself on his back on the floor. Nothing about him was familiar, but she hadn’t made a regular study of the male backside. His face and his head were obscured. Even his hands and his shoes weren’t visible, though he appeared to be wearing a dark suit and not the clothes of a laborer.