House of Payne: Styx Page 2

  “So you work as a secret shopper slash undercover cop—”

  “Oh, no. I’m not a cop. I mean, I don’t carry a gun, or anything like that.”

  “I’m thinking you should.” Putting her firmly in the corner of the vestibule and out of sight, he bent to pick up his scattered mail, all the while keeping a sharp eye on the door. “So you work way the hell and gone down south, and these assholes chased you all the way up to Old Town?”

  “I usually work at the Market Place store a few blocks from here.” What she didn’t mention was that was where she’d secretly perved all over him whenever he showed up on his frozen pizza shopping days. “I was subbing for another secret shopper who was out sick at a Market Place store over in South Loop. That’s where I finally caught the Brisket Bandit a couple hours ago. I did everything by the book, and I even had the police there waiting for me to run him out of the store right into their waiting arms, so he’s officially wrapped up and taken care of. Little did I know he had a crew watching and waiting for me in the parking lot. They saw me chase their guy, and decided to go after me on the freeway. I don’t even get why. I mean, I’m not the one who tackled him, slapped the handcuffs on him and carted him off to jail. The police did all that. What’s more, taking their anger out on me isn’t going to change anything. Why go after me?”

  “Because they’re stupid, but not stupid enough to go after cops. A secret shopper like you is easy pickings. That pisses me off.”

  “Sorry.” Belatedly she bent and gathered up the last of his dropped mail. “I’m really sorry I’m bothering you like this.”

  “Stop apologizing, you haven’t done anything wrong. You got a name?”

  “Sydney. Sydney Bishop.” She handed him his mail and tried to smile when all she felt like doing was bursting into freaked-out hysterics. “Hi.”

  “Hi, Sydney Bishop. Terrance Hardwick, though everyone calls me Styx, except my mother.” His eyes never left hers as he took the mail from her. “You live in this building, Syd?”

  Syd. That was cute. “I actually live across the street, in the red brick building with all those gorgeous big industrial windows. See?” Carefully she peeped through the glass door and pointed at her second-story window. “I just didn’t want to lead them right to my doorstep.”

  “So you thought you’d lead them to mine? Kidding,” he chuckled when his statement filled her with such horror she gasped. “If they come here, they’ll get a helluva lot more than they ever bargained for. Not only do I know how to take care of assholes who like terrorizing women, but my family’s lousy with cops.” Rising from his crouch, he held out his hand to her. “One phone call, and I’ve got just about every hard case with a badge over here ready to defend you. That’s how my family rolls.”

  “That’s great.” Sliding her hand into his, she slowly rose to her full height, and all the while she couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. Which wasn’t unusual when it came to her grocery store guy. From the moment she’d spotted him tossing frozen pizzas into his cart by the armload, she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off him. “My family’s not at all like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Supportive. If you’re not figuring out a way to make space travel fun and convenient for the masses, or winning a place on the Olympic team, then you’re ignored because you’re failing at life.” Too late, she bit her lip. Since when had she decided that sharing the pitiful low points of her life was a good way to flirt? She wouldn’t blame him if he ran for the nearest exit.

  His dark brows shot up. “Your family’s into space travel… and the Olympics?”

  “According to my parents, a goal isn’t worth aiming for unless you’re aiming for the very top.”

  “And I thought my family’s expectations were bad.” He cocked his head toward the sweeping lobby beyond an interior set of automatic glass doors. “You wanna come in and take a load off while I make a couple calls? You could say I’ve got the heart of Chicago PD on speed dial.”

  “Um…” She looked into the lobby, not sure if he was inviting her into the building, or up to his place. At first glance, being invited up to her grocery store guy’s place was all sorts of awesome, but the fact was he was a stranger. He might be her idea of yummy, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an ax murderer. “I’ve been too much trouble already. I’ll just hop across the street, get myself calmed down with a nice cup of tea, and call the police from there. At the very least, I’ve got to get them out here so they can take a look at the damage that was done to my poor Pokey and make a report.”

  “Pokey?”

  “My car. I name cars,” she added, then wondered if she had survived I-90 only to die of embarrassment at the feet of her grocery store guy. “I think it’s clear at this point that I’m easily amused.”

  He took this in with a shake of the head. “You’re not walking across the street alone, Syd. Anything happens to you, that’s on me.”

  Like that, the fear and dread flooded back in. “I can’t let you do that. For all I know, they’re right outside, waiting to run me over.”

  “Calm down.” To her surprise, he reached out and hooked a strong hand around the nape of her neck. “What’d the car look like?”

  “It, uh…” For some reason, it was hard to think with that warm, strong hand branding itself into her flesh. “A dark Cadillac sedan, dark gray or black. No license plate. It should have front-end damage because they rammed poor Pokey when we were on the freeway. If that car is waiting outside, we’re all going to die, so you are definitely not going out there with me. I’ll chance it alone.” She could dash across the street without getting hit. Probably.

  Again, he shook his head as he let his hand drop. That’s very brave of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And unbelievably stupid.”

  “Um…not thank you?”

  “We’re not going to go playing in the street when there’s someone out there using their car as a fucking murder weapon.” With his mail clenched in one hand, his free hand grabbed hers. Before she was over the oddly delightful shock of his hand holding hers, he was dragging her through the automatic glass doors that led into the lobby. “I don’t have tea, but I make a mean cup of coffee, and I can get any number of cops you want here within the next five minutes. I’m not letting you go out there until I know you’re safe.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Elevators are over here around the security desk—”

  “Look, I just need to know one thing. Are you an ax murderer?”

  That stopped him cold. “What?”

  “I’ve had a hell of a day,” she said on a sigh, and she wasn’t surprised to see her free hand shake before she dragged it through her hair. “Catching the Brisket Bandit, nearly dying at eighty miles per hour on I-90, and then crashing headlong into you…” My crush for the past couple of months. “I just need to know I’m not jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, because that’s pretty much how my luck has been today.”

  “Ah, got it. You want assurances that I’ve never killed anyone with an ax.”

  “Or any other implement. I’m not picky about details.”

  “Uh-huh.” Without letting her go, he turned to the security desk, a good twenty feet away, sucked in a breath, and bellowed out, “Yo, Marty! Vouch for me, yeah? Lady here is worried I’m an ax murderer. Am I an ax murderer?”

  An older man who strongly reminded her of Stan Lee leaned over the desk to get a good look at them. “Not that I know of. Why? Is she an ax murderer, and maybe she wants to meet like-minded people?”

  “That’s a good question.” Turning back to her, the man known as Styx lowered his voice while Sydney gaped at them. “Are you an ax murderer?”

  She shook her head, amazed that the majority of the people in the lobby ignored them, casually going about their business as if having a yelled-across-the-lobby conversation about ax murderers was a perfectly normal event. “You just yelled about murder in public.�
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  “It’s cool. Marty’s a retired badge and has seen it all when it comes to this city. Not to mention he used to be my dad’s partner when they were both in uniform, so he knows to just roll with whatever impulsive shit I toss his way. So? You an ax murderer?”

  Wow. “I once killed a spider when I felt it crawling on my arm, but I swear it was an accident. I still feel guilty about it.”

  “Spiders get my boot, with no guilt, but that’s about as scary as I get. That’s a promise, Syd. Okay?”

  She took a deep breath, held it a moment, then took a leap of faith. “Okay.”

  Chapter Two

  Sydney’s heart was pounding by the time Styx—honestly, how did anyone wind up with a name like Styx? —opened the door to his place. Before she could move, he placed a hand at her back and ushered her inside. As he closed the door behind them, she tried not to let her jaw drop all the way to the highly polished floor when she took in her surroundings.

  Somehow, she’d assumed her frozen pizza guy lived in a place that resembled a frat house the morning after a raging kegger.

  She couldn’t have been more wrong.

  His thirtieth-floor corner apartment had breathtaking views of Chicago’s famous Gold Coast, The Loop and the vastness of Lake Michigan beyond. A wall of windows showed it all, with thick glass going from the blonde hardwood floor all the way up to the cathedral ceiling. It definitely outclassed her view, which was the bottom portion of his building, and a Korean barbecue takeaway.

  At least she now knew what she was missing.

  Within minutes, Styx placed a call to one of his relatives in the police department—he was fuzzy on the details—and the scent of brewing coffee perfumed the air. Now that she was safe, the events of the morning sank in, and she had to hug her arms around herself to keep from rattling to pieces.

  Someone had tried to kill her. Seriously tried to kill her. The reality was that she’d lived through it, and that was great. Yay for her.

  But…

  Someone had honestly tried to kill her.

  What if they tried again?

  What if they didn’t use a car next time?

  What if they came at her with a gun or a knife? Didn’t that mean they could get at her at any time, any place?

  Where were they now?

  How was she supposed to ever feel safe again?

  “So, Syd. You like cream and sugar, or do you take it straight?”

  The sound of her host’s voice close to her ear made her jump halfway out of her skin.

  “Sorry.” She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. He took a quick step back, clearly taking care not to spill the mug of coffee he had in hand. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, I’m still a little, uh… freaked.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting that.” Watching her as if he feared she might be rabid, he approached more slowly and held out the mug. “You apologize a lot, don’t you?”

  “Do I? I’m sorry.” It popped out of her mouth on its own volition, and she sucked in both her lips to keep it from happening again while accepting the mug with nod of thanks. “Ugh. I did it again, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “I guess I might have a little stress-apology habit. For instance, it’s killing me right now to not apologize for all the apologizing I’ve been doing.”

  “Uh-huh.” With a half-smile that probably meant he was trying not to laugh at her, he turned his attention back to the mail he’d carried in, pausing to rip open a large, cream-colored envelope. “Where do you think that comes from?”

  “I’m sorry?” Crap.

  “The stress-apologizing habit you’ve got going on. Especially when you haven’t done anything wrong. Where do you think it comes from?”

  She stared at him while her mind emptied of every word she knew. “Uh…”

  “I’m thinking it comes from someone who made you feel like you had to apologize. Like, in a big way, and over a long period of time. Does that sound like anyone you know?”

  “I don’t think so.” That wasn’t true. Her mother had never made it a secret that Sydney had turned out to be the greatest disappointment in her life. Since no one in the family had ever taken issue with it, obviously there must have been a heck of a lot of merit to how her mother perceived her.

  “Damn,” he muttered, scowling down at what looked to be heavy cardstock that he’d pulled out of the envelope.

  “Something wrong? Sorry, none of my business.” Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. “And I didn’t just say sorry. That didn’t happen. Your ears totally lied to you just now.”

  “They did, huh?” Tossing the offending piece of mail onto the kitchen island, he nodded at the mug she still held. “So, any judgment on the cream and sugar? You should know I made it extra-strong. I’m going to have family over here in about a minute, and the Hardwicks run on caffeine and red-hots from Jim’s Original.”

  “Hot ‘G’ Dogs is better.” As a fellow hot dog fan, she felt obligated to let him in on the secret.

  “Babe, those are fighting words right there. Jim’s Original is the reason why Chicago is historically known as the world’s greatest location for hot dogs.”

  “They’re great historically, sure. That’s a given. But on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, Hot ‘G’ Dogs has duck-fat fries. I’ll take you there myself and make you a believer in the greatness of Hot ‘G’ Dogs.”

  “It’s a date, just as long as I get to return the favor, and make you see that Jim’s is the best dog money can buy on any day, not just on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. Cream and sugar’s on the island, along with the spoons,” he added without missing a beat, while she tried to decide whether or not he was serious about going on a date. Probably not. Then the doorbell rang, and he headed for the door before she could figure out a non-embarrassing way of asking.

  No way had he meant it, Sydney decided as she headed toward the kitchen island, a large white square in the open-plan kitchen-dining area. Styx Hardwick was all kinds of hot and dangerous, with beautiful eyes and edgy ink all over a body that would have made a nun drool. Just being this close to him was enough to make her want to fan herself.

  But hot, dangerous guys never went for ordinary women like her. That was why she’d never bothered approaching him whenever she saw him in the store. Dreaming about impossible things was fun, but whenever she tried making those dreams a reality—like her lifelong dream of becoming a dancer—the world always found a way to teach her a harsh lesson.

  Dreams were just that—dreams. No matter how hard she tried, she could never make dreams become reality. So, somewhere along the way, she’d stopped trying.

  After a while, she’d even stopped dreaming.

  Which was just as well, she thought, spooning sugar into her coffee. Life had gotten better without the disappointment of broken dreams cluttering up her headspace. Up until two months ago, her reality had been landing a decent job in the digital marketing department for Market Place Corporation. Then, without even applying for anything, she’d been placed as a secret shopper in Old Town with a raise that still boggled her mind. She’d been chosen out of the corporation’s ranks, she was told, because she was small and unassuming.

  Or, to put it bluntly, invisible.

  And she’d gotten it all by living in reality and refusing to even think about dreams.

  “There he is, Mr. Artiste himself.” A tall, lanky cop in a short-sleeved summer uniform came through the door, arms wide for a bearhug. His dark brown hair, the same shade as Styx’s, was cut even shorter than her rescuer’s, and his arms were equally muscular and sleeved out in colorful ink. Intrigued by the startling level of sameness, her attention wandered up to the man’s face and she almost gasped out loud.

  Holy shit.

  Twins.

  Just when she thought the world couldn’t handle the epic hotness of a man like Styx Hardwick, Mother Nature went ahead and made the sassy decision to make two of them.

  Well done,
Mother Nature. Well done.

  “Thanks for getting here so fast, man.” Styx—thank God they were dressed differently, otherwise things would have gotten confusing in a hot minute—stepped out of the hug to clap his brother on the shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

  “When I first saw you lighting up my phone, I thought you were calling to bitch me out about the wedding invite. You get it yet?”

  She watched as Styx’s gaze bounced to the piece of mail he’d left on the kitchen island before he glanced back at his brother. “Yeah, I got it. I guess that means it’s for real, then? This is really happening.”

  “Maeve and I are as real as it gets. I’m putting a ring on her finger before any other swinging dick comes along and thinks they can steal my treasure away from me.”

  Styx was quiet for so long Sydney began to worry she was making too much noise stirring her coffee. “And this doesn’t seem sudden to you?”

  “Dude, I don’t expect you to get this now, but one day you will, because one day it’s going to happen to you.”

  “What will? Madness?”

  “Kinda. When you meet your other half, you just know, and in that moment you’ll wonder how you ever lived without her.”

  Styx’s gaze again headed in her direction, but instead of looking at the wedding invitation, he looked right at her. Realizing he couldn’t possibly be comfortable with discussing family matters with her as an audience, Sydney cleared her throat and smiled when Styx’s brother looked her way.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she began, then made a little sound of irritation when she realized she apologized again. Man, she really did have a problem with that. “The reason Styx called you was because of me. I need some police officer kind of help.”

  “Sydney Bishop, this is my brother Trey. His beat is Old Town, so I figured he could get here the fastest. Syd’s my neighbor,” he went on, and to her surprise Styx came over to where she stood and put an arm around her shoulders. “She’s had a helluva day, so be nice, yeah? If you’re not, you’re going to have to deal with me.”