it,” she muttered as she sat back.
Instead of resuming the job search, she went over to the CCJ website and browsed through the articles that had been posted in the previous five hours. Was Bill doing that now? It had to be him. No one else was in the newsroom and God knew Dick wasn’t good for anything other than being a dick.
Eventually, she ended up going into the archives and re-reading the articles and updates she had written. She also looked at the photographs of Gigante and his son together, and then Johnny Pappalardo dead in that alley. And mourned the dreams she’d enjoyed for such a short time.
She was still sitting at her kitchen table when the people upstairs came home from work at six.
And she was still sitting there when the sun went down and night came.
And still sitting there when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up at attention.
Without knowing what her instincts were picking up on, she rose to her feet and went over to the front window. She had closed the venetian blinds flat after the butler had left that morning, and she didn’t want to tip off whoever it might be that she was on the alert. Angling herself awkwardly, she tried to see out the gap next to the window frame. Yeah, nope. Plus with the lights on in the apartment, she couldn’t really see anything in the darkness outside.
Walking backward to her bedroom, she snagged her gun from her purse on the way. The lights were off in there, so she went right to her window and looked through the slats—
There was a figure.
Standing right there.
Jerking back against the wall, she fumbled with the gun, taking the safety off. Then she went for her phone, even though she wasn’t sure who to call. The FBI? No, McCordle. Unless . . . 911? But what was she reporting exactly—
The cell went off in her hand and she jumped. When she saw who it was, her heart pounded.
She was still trying to make up her mind whether or not to answer when voice mail kicked in. But instead of leaving a message, the caller texted her.
I’m outside. Can we talk?
Syn had felt like it was important to approach Jo’s window by himself. He didn’t want to frighten her, and more than that . . . he didn’t want anyone seeing how emotional he might get. He’d listened to the voice mail she had left him earlier in the day about a hundred times, and each replay had carved another piece out of the inside of his chest.
She had sounded so alone. So scared.
He had tried to call her every hour, on the hour, and failed to press send each time. He had no clue what to say to her, and now that he was standing outside her bedroom window like a stalker, he discovered that physical proximity had not improved his vocabulary.
The scent of her registered first, that fresh meadow perfume entering his nose and running throughout his body. Then he heard the soft footfalls.
The latter stopped. The former continued to ride the air currents to his nose.
Syn turned and faced the female who had stolen his heart. “Hello, Jo.”
“What are you doing here?”
There had been no way of knowing what his reception was going to be, but he hadn’t anticipated so much anger.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you—”
“What do you want.”
Not a question.
Syn frowned. “Are you okay?”
She walked forward, coming down the side of the apartment building, closing in on him. Actually, she was outright marching.
“I’m great,” she said as she halted in front of him. “And I’m also armed, in case you’ve come here to earn your money.”
As she pegged him with hard, hostile eyes, he took a step back. “What?”
“I saw the videotape.” Before he could ask for a better explanation, she snapped, “The one where you agree to kill me for Carmine Gigante Sr.? To make up for the fact that you didn’t do what you said you would to Johnny Pappalardo? Tell me something, how does a vampire like you manage to become a mob hit man without getting into trouble with the Brotherhood? It strikes me as a risky side gig, given the whole keep-us-a-secret thing.”
“I didn’t hurt you,” Syn said.
The laugh that came out of her was the very definition of sarcasm. “You didn’t shoot me—for sure. But the night is young, isn’t it. And you’re here to check and see whether I’m