Page 119 of Penny For Your Thoughts
“I pay money to rent storage space, and I have a fucking right to know if my shit’s on fire. What unit?” I asked the terrified man in the U-Stor polo.
The cop approached—looking prepared to escort me off the property—but I held my ground and continued to glare at the employee.
I chose a name and number at random and barked, “Was it Knightly? Eighty-six?”
The guy shook his head. “I… I don’t know. I saw smoke and called it in. Fourth row from the west fence.”
“Find me a number, or I’m going to march over there and find out for myself.”
But the guy didn’t have time to respond. The cop grabbed my arm and steered me toward the street, his tone light and placating. “Sir, this isn’t the time. I realize you’re upset, and I’m sure things will get sorted out soon, but this guy doesn’t have the answers you’re looking for. It would be best to address your concerns with management on Monday. Let us do our job. The fire is contained to one unit, so chances are, your things are fine.”
One unit.
I didn’t fight or yank my arm from his grasp—even though I wanted to. The employee likely wouldn’t have had a clue who rented the unit anyhow, not without looking it up. Even if he did, he wouldn’t share it with some Joe Stranger off the street.
After delivering me to the curb, the cop retreated, returning to his conversation with the employee. Since I had marked myself as an angry customer, I marched the perimeter of the fence to see what I could see as I called Tallus.
The phone rang until voicemail picked up.
I tried again.
He still didn’t answer, and something in the pit of my stomach clenched.
What now?
26
Tallus
The apartment complex Lukyan Andrich owned in Brampton was vacant and under construction, or so I had been led to believe when researching online. The abundance of warning signs and temporary metal fencing erected around the structure seemed to support that theory. The illumination bleeding around the edges of a few covered windows on the lower levels negated it and piqued my curiosity.
No contractors were on site on a Saturday, so I was interested in knowing who was in the building or if the lights had been left on by accident—it didn’t explain the randomly placed heavy curtains that gave the impression of occupancy.
Lukyan got out of the Bentley, unlocked a section of fencing, pulled it aside, and drove in. He secured the gate behind him, parked near the main entrance, and let himself into the building with a key.
I kept a reasonable distance, parking across and down the road. The complex sat on a corner lot surrounded on two sides by busier streets.We blended well with our surroundings, and Lukyan didn’t seem to notice us before vanishing inside.
I scanned the building, counting stories. Eight. The top seven showed dark windows. The main floor showed possible habitation.
My inner spy wanted to sneak beyond the fence and look around. I wanted to peer between the cracks in the curtains and see what they hid, but I couldn’t do that with Darcy in tow, and I doubted the kid would stay put. I didn’t have Diem’s threatening presence, and the brat went out of his way to piss me off.
“What’s he doing in there?” Darcy asked, squirming in the seat.
“No idea. I would have thought the place was empty.”
“But there are lights on.”
“Thanks, Sherlock. Didn’t see that.”
“Shut up. Do you think someone’s in there?”
“I don’t know.” But the urge to investigate was too hard to resist. “Can you be subtle and sneaky?”
“Hell yeah.” He unbuckled his seat belt and was halfway out the door when I snagged the sleeve of the jacket he’d borrowed.
“Whoa. Slow down. I said subtle.”
Darcy glared like he didn’t know what he’d done wrong.
