"Lady, I don't know what you-"
"I'll pay," she said quickly, hoping he wasn't going to hang up on her. "And my building's just around the corner, so it won't be too far out of your way. Do you know the Baxter?"
"Wait a minute," he said slowly. "This isn't the writer, is it? The one having the bet with that rich fella?"
"Lacey." She relaxed a little. At least now she'd have less explaining to do. "Hi."
"My wife's a fan. Hang on a sec, I want to tell her you're on the line." There was some muffled talking she couldn't quite make out, and when he spoke into the phone again, he was chuckling. "Live rats, huh? My wife's in fits. You going to put that on Twitter?"
She winced. "Maybe after it works, and Bronson loses the bet."
"Just one problem. We don't deal with live rats. Well, they're live until we get to them. But then we're only collecting bodies."
"Oh." She chewed on her lip. What now?
"Listen, I'll see what I can do." He chuckled again. "We do have a rat job scheduled, and come to think of it, I might have a trap somewhere. No promises, but seeing as it's you, I'll try and get you some. I'll look for the ugly ones."
"Great. Thank you."
"We've got a cockroach job scheduled for tomorrow too. Want me to grab a few dozen of the crawlers while I'm there? They're the German ones, so they'll breed like … well, like cockroaches. You'll be knee deep in no time."
"That sounds perfect."
"You want me to bring them over tomorrow night?"
"I'm apartment 304. If I leave the door unlocked, would you sneak in and let them go in the hall? I'll distract Bronson so he won't hear you do it."
"My wife wants an autograph."
"Anything she wants," promised Lacey. "How about a T-shirt too?"
"Even better. And you'd better keep my number on hand, for when this is over and you need your rat and cockroach problems taken care of."
"I will." She hung up and gave her reflection a satisfied nod. Now that was sorted, it was time to go check on what Bronson was doing. Last time she'd left him alone, he'd managed to transform her apartment. If she stayed in the bathroom too long, he might install a jacuzzi.
She found him on a camping bed he'd squeezed into the living room by moving her couch to one side. He was propped on a pillow, working on a laptop. His torso was bare, and after an initial sympathetic wince at his bruises, she couldn't stop her eyes from lingering over the stylised sun tattoo on his chest, pausing to admire his biceps, then flicking down to the hint of rippled abs peeking from above the bedclothes. With his skin glowing in the firelight, he looked ready for a photo shoot. If she posted a picture online, camping bed sales would probably soar.
In spite of her visit to the electrician downstairs, their power hadn't gone off yet. When it did, Bronson would still have the fire's warmth, unless she could block the chimney somehow. Go out on the roof and drop something over it, perhaps? Too dark now, but definitely something to consider for tomorrow.
"Goodnight," she said sweetly, her mind searching for more ways to make the next few days pure hell for him.
He glanced up with a smile that shot straight into her body and made her insides dissolve into a quivering bundle of nerves.
"Sleep well."
Yeah, right. Like she'd be able to fall asleep now that her lady parts had jolted to attention and were singing the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah.
The most intelligible response she could manage was a grunt as she escaped to the safety of her room. Maybe she'd better give herself some sexual relief tonight. Ease the pressure, so to speak. Otherwise, given a few more sips of that delicious Baileys, she might start considering the ways he could help with her sexual frustration problem. And that would be the last thing she needed.
Eleven
Bronson watched Lacey disappear into her bedroom, admiring the curve of her ass and the way it swayed. Admiring everything, in fact, from the tips of her irrepressibly curly hair to the soles of her lace-up Doc Martin boots.
She was nothing like Michaela had been, with her willowy figure and slicked-on pout. Nothing like any of the women he'd dated, back when he was used to having a different woman in his bed most nights. His memories of what had happened with Michaela were so painful, he might never be tempted by a woman like her again. But he was definitely tempted by Lacey.
When Lacey had sung Original Sin, her voice had been so unexpectedly lovely he could have listened to her all night, in spite of the fact she kept getting the words wrong. Which about summed the whole situation up. Yup, there was definitely a metaphor in there that described this whole crazy situation. Something about finding an unexpected harmony while they were singing totally different lyrics.
And somewhere there had to be an explanation for why he hadn't been able to stop staring at the pink lushness of Lacey's lips. And why he'd been so determined to keep making her smile, just to see the tiny dent that appeared in one of her cheeks. A dent so small that he hadn't spotted it until he'd really studied her smile, and which he now couldn't seem to stop thinking about.
If the whole sorry mess with Michaela had never happened, he'd have kissed Lacey by now. Hell, he'd got turned on just watching her walk into her bedroom.
A patter of rain sounded against the window, fat raindrops streaking the glass. It would be freezing out there, but in here it was warm. The fire was starting to die down, but small flames still danced.
He'd got his laptop out to do some work, but he couldn't concentrate. Instead, Bronson looked up Lacey's blog. He'd checked it out before, glancing over the scathing articles that detailed his selfishness in throwing all the tenants out of the Baxter. But now there was something new on the site. On the sidebar was an ad that showed a T-shirt. When he clicked on it, an order page came up for a whole range of shirts, mugs, and caps.
Bronson grinned at the designs. Perfect. He ordered a T-shirt in his size and paid extra for express delivery. With luck it might arrive tomorrow.
Then he opened his email and typed a message to Carla.
Carla, I know this is a tricky request, but I want you to track down some books Lacey sold. They would have been non fiction, probably political, and valuable. Maybe first editions.
He paused to look over at the empty shelf, estimating how many books there must have been. The sensible thing would be to ask Lacey about them, to get some details that would make the task easier. But she might think he was trying to bribe her with them, or that he had an ulterior motive.
You're probably looking for about a dozen books, sold after she started the blog, but before it took off. Try calling around the second hand dealers in the area first. If you need help, try and get hold of the private investigator who's looking for Christof and see if he's got some extra time to take over the search, or if he can recommend someone.
He signed off, then put his laptop away and turned off the light. The rain was coming down harder, drumming against the window. He'd always liked that sound, especially at night. It could make even a camping bed in a run-down living room feel cosy.
It'd feel one hell of a lot better if he was in bed with Lacey.
Closing his eyes, he let that thought run through his head, taking his imagination with it. He moved one hand down to his insistent cock, working it up and down while he thought about her naked body rubbing against his. About those pink lips gasping his name, and that little dent in her cheek-
Cold water splashed on his head.
Bronson struggled up, almost tipping the camping bed over in the process. Another drop hit his pillow, narrowly missing him. The dying fire didn't give enough light to see where it was coming from, but it was pretty obvious the roof was leaking.
Cursing, Bronson got up, pulled on a T-shirt and jeans, and strode into the kitchen to find something to catch the drops. Now he could hear more drip-drip-dripping sounds that were getting louder. He found some bowls in the kitchen cupboards and walked around the house putting them under the worst of the leaks. The place was a sieve. The ceiling had to be rotten and soggy. Lacey was lucky it hadn't collapsed on her head.
The bedroom door opened. Lacey had switched the light on and was silhouetted in the doorway. In just a tank top and pyjama pants, the sheer beauty of her body made him instantly hard again. His hand-relief session had been interrupted at just the wrong moment, and his balls were so heavy they ached.
"This place is dangerous." Frustration made his voice harsh. "Wanting to stay is the definition of insanity."
"Then leave."
He dragged in a breath, forcing his attention away from the drape of thin cotton over her obviously bra-less breasts. "Do you have a flashlight? I want to take a look at the roof."