regardless of the consequences. Curiosity killed the cat and all that—except his cat always seemed to land on its feet and came running back for more. The teeny-tiny studio was far enough away from Jake’s precinct and girlfriend that it had struck Rufus as odd at the time of learning about it, but after meeting Sam—well, it made sense. Jake had a thing for guys and he hadn’t wanted anyone to know.
With Sam’s buff body shielding his actions from any curious passersby on the street, Rufus used the lock tools he carried in his jacket to unlock the building’s front door. He stepped into the vestibule, rapped his knuckles against the mailbox marked J. Brower 9F, bypassed the elevator that he knew had a security camera inside, and led the way up the winding stairs. After picking the lock on 9F, he opened the door enough for them both to slip inside, then shut it. There was a loft directly above their heads with a ladder near the couch at the opposite wall. The ceiling wasn’t terribly tall, which could make for an uncomfortable situation for anyone flirting with six feet—which both of them were. The studio was impersonal and sparsely furnished. A small desk and chair, a micro kitchen, and bathroom, all in a 20x20 box.
Rufus threw the deadbolt. “We should be fine here. Only Jake had a key to this place.”
“The unit’s in his name; I saw the mailbox.”
“So?” Rufus asked, making for the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and rummaged through the contents.
“Heckler could find it.”
“Do you know how much paperwork she’d have to do before finding this place?” Rufus opened a box of crackers, removed a sleeve, and stuffed a few in his mouth. “Pretty sure this was Jake’s hookup pad, if you catch my drift.”
Maybe Sam did, because his eyebrows went up once, but all he said was “I’m going to rack out for a few hours. That’s the only bed?”
“Nah, there’s a foldout under the sink. I’ll take that one, Prince Charming.”
Sam honestly looked like he didn’t know what to say to that. Point, Rufus. After another of those annoyingly ambiguous shrugs, Sam lumbered into the living room, dropped onto the sofa, and was snoring lightly in thirty seconds.
Rufus finished the sleeve of crackers, returned the box to the cupboard, and spent a few minutes poking through the contents of the desk and bathroom cabinet. He didn’t find anything of interest, though, and after giving Sam a brief look, Rufus climbed the loft ladder and passed out on the bed.
There were a few different directions Rufus considered in order to reach the Ramble inside Central Park. Some easier, some more direct. But when evening came and Rufus hadn’t felt like a microwaved burrito upon stepping foot outside, he opted for the long way. The long route included passing through Cherry Hill and walking across Bow Bridge as the sun set over the horizon of The City That Never Sleeps.
It was, of course, absolutely not romantic. Not one bit.
Rufus hung his sunglasses from the collar of his T-shirt. “Once we reach the other side, it’s not very far,” he explained to Sam, motioning toward the opposite side of the bridge.
Looking back, Sam said, “Did we walk around the park to get here?”
“The scenic route,” Rufus corrected. He looked sideways at Sam. “Why?”
“Trying to get my bearings.”
“Oh. Over there is Strawberry Fields,” Rufus said, motioning with one hand. “And that way is the Alice statue. Ahead is the Ramble.” He made a quick step to the right, brushing against Sam, in order to avoid a couple who’d stopped short to take a selfie.
Sam seemed to move away automatically, his gaze sweeping across the bridge, then the water, away from Rufus. “Do you come here a lot? Good spot to hook up, I mean.”
Rufus sighed audibly. “No, I don’t.”
“Too bad.”
Which could have meant just about anything.
“If you say so.” Rufus quickened his pace, took the lead, and reached the other side of Bow Bridge first. He turned, his hands in his jacket pockets, waiting for Sam.
“This is the Ramble?” Sam asked, joining him.
“It gets more foresty a bit farther in,” Rufus explained. “And there are lots of different paths. It’s not as overwhelming in winter, of course, but the rest of the year? There’s a reason it’s been such a good working spot for so long.”
“Will it be hard to find Juliana?”
Rufus flashed Sam a cocky smirk. “Nah. My Juliana GPS pings whenever I’m within five hundred