Daring In The City. Jo Leigh

be the sleeping arrangements.

      Wes knew their relationship was and would remain strictly business. They’d actually been over for a while. April knew he’d hoped the break they’d taken would only be temporary, but she had to wonder if he wasn’t answering because he knew her mind was made up and he was pissed about it. Although he’d had plenty of time to tell her he didn’t want to move forward with their business plans. She figured there had to be a good reason why he hadn’t been in contact, and she couldn’t help but worry that he’d been in an accident, or the victim of a mugging—or worse.

      She stopped herself. No use sending herself into more of a tizzy. She’d find out what was going on soon enough.

      At their stop in Chicago, she ordered a croissant and a large double espresso venti from a kiosk in the bus terminal then added a double-chocolate brownie and a blueberry muffin. She’d probably gain ten pounds before she even got to the most amazing restaurant city in the world.

      The transfer to the new bus went smoothly, but it also meant the end of no neighbors. This time a lady wearing a Chicago Bears hat sat in the seat right next to her, pulled out a paperback book, then turned to face April. “I’m Lorene. Lorene Patrick. I’m going all the way to Toledo, and it’s my first time there. But I’ve got a job waiting for me. And my friend, Kiki, she’s letting me share her apartment until I can find a place of my own. Where are you headed?”

      April stuffed half her muffin into her mouth, just to give her time to adjust to this new situation. Her first thought was to move seats immediately, but then she thought that Lorene might be the distraction she needed.

      She was wrong. So very wrong. Lorene ended up talking her ear off for the next three hours before enough people had left the bus that April could finally claim a new seat. The first thing she did was call Wes. Of course he didn’t answer. She’d already sent three stealth texts while Lorene had been talking. And talking.

      By now April wanted to strangle him. “Goddamn it, Wes. Where are you? Why aren’t you answering? Do I really have to call every hospital in New York to make sure you’re still alive? You’d better have a damn good excuse for this bullshit. I’m giving you one more hour, and then I’m going to call the police.”

      The worst thing about cell phones was the inability to smash down a receiver. She made do by punching the disconnect button five times. It didn’t help.

      April turned toward the window and stared at the lights of South Bend, feeling disembodied. She was so incredibly tired. But closing her eyes just revved her mind up into a spiral of one terrible thought after another.

      When her phone actually rang, it made her jump so hard the thankfully quiet woman next to her jumped, too. Fumble-fingered, April finally saw that it wasn’t Wes calling. It was her mother.

      She pasted a smile on her face, a trick she’d learned working as a waitress. Smiling through terrible situations made them less terrible. And tended to disguise her voice enough that it might earn her a tip. “Hi, Mom.”

      “I hope I didn’t wake you,” her mom said. “You hardly got a wink of sleep the last couple of days.”

      “I’m awake now. Don’t worry. I slept all morning. Besides, I should be worrying about you. Did Cassie get all her stuff inside? Are the kids settled yet?”

      “It’s all coming together. I’ve put everyone to work, so we’ll be done by suppertime. But tell me about your trip. It must be so exciting. Is Wes calling you every twenty minutes?”

      “Yeah, sure. Wes is beside himself waiting for me to arrive. He’s got the apartment all ready and everything.”

      Her mother didn’t respond right away. “April Michela Branagan, are you telling me the truth?”

      “Mom, it’s fine. I’m just tired, that’s all. Too much excitement, not enough room to burn off my nervous energy.”

      April glanced at the woman next to her, who didn’t even pretend not to be eavesdropping. She turned to the window again and asked her mother to tell her about how the rest of the family was doing.

      Her mom and dad had a full house once more. With five kids—only two of them still in school—her folks never did seem to get any peace. Her sister’s husband had left her, and Cassie couldn’t take care of her kids and afford a place on her salary, so they’d gone where all the Branagan kids seemed to wind up. Back home. God knew where everyone was sleeping. What a mess. Four kids, plus two sets of grandkids meant there was no vacancy at the inn. Which was a little scary for April, considering her business partner wasn’t calling her back.

      But even if something bad had happened, she wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of this plan of theirs. She’d worked too hard, scrimped and saved every dime, to make her dream come true. Whatever was going on with Wes, she’d handle it. She’d make it work. She was good like that. Her dad called her the most determined girl in the whole Midwest. Which was true. Although it was easier to be determined when she wasn’t dizzy from not sleeping and she knew what the hell was going on.

      “Listen to me, sweetheart,” her mom said. “I know how much you want this, and how hard you’ve worked, but if things don’t turn out like you planned, you know you can always come home. New York can be overwhelming. The goal you’ve set for yourself isn’t as simple as finding a job. Don’t listen to your father and your brother. Coming home doesn’t mean you’re a failure. So please promise me that if it gets to be too much, you’ll come back.”

      Tears collected in the corners of her eyes. It would be a failure. She believed that with all her heart. She was going to be the first in her family to actually make it. On her own. She’d do whatever it took, no matter what—after she strangled Wes, of course. She’d make it in New York, all right. “Of course, Mom,” she said, her voice a little rougher than she would’ve liked. “I promise.”

      * * *

      APRIL STARED UP at the Mercury Building and then at the apartment key in the palm of her hand. Wes had mailed the key to her at the very last minute and she hadn’t thought to question it. How could she have been such a fool? Why would she need a key if he had intended to meet her at the bus station?

      After she’d arrived at the Port Authority and saw Wes wasn’t there waiting for her, she hadn’t bothered to call him again. She’d simply slipped on her backpack, collected her heavy rolling suitcase and her enormous nonrolling duffel bag and managed to navigate the subway without bursting into tears.

      She double-checked the address to be sure she was at the right place before lugging everything through the building’s darkened entranceway, praying the whole time that the key would actually fit the lock of apartment 4A. The first thing she saw was an out-of-order sign taped to the elevator door.

      With a small whimper, she started up the stairs. The next problem—she couldn’t possibly take both bags at the same time. She’d fall and kill herself before she’d tasted a single slice of real New York pizza.

      Making sure no one was watching her, she stashed the duffel in a tight shadowed alcove. She figured it would take her five minutes to get everything else upstairs and then she’d race back to get the bag. It was her only option at this point.

      What felt like several hours later, she finally made it to the fourth floor.

      Thankfully, the key worked. It was actually someone else’s apartment, unoccupied and filled with construction equipment. Soon enough she found the staircase that led to the room Wes had rented.

      Her last shred of hope that this was all one great big misunderstanding disappeared when she entered the room.

      Of course Wes wasn’t there.

      She could tell because the room wasn’t very large and the closet door was open. There were no clothes in it. None. Zero. In fact, the only things in the room were an unmade mattress with a mess of sheets balled up in the middle, a pillow with no case and a microwave on the window ledge sitting next to a coffeemaker.

      Sticking