CHAPTER 1

Preoccupied and a little nervous, Matt Sinclair locked his apartment door behind him and walked down the ninth-floor hallway of the LaCroix Building to the elevator. It opened with a thunk and an off-key chime after a brief wait, and Matt stepped inside.

Tonight’s the night. Tonight’s the debut.

He knew he was ready for it. Still...his stomach had been uneasy all day, and he had a few hours to go yet before sundown.

A pair of college students already stood in the car, a boy and a girl sharing each other’s personal space, and he nodded to them neutrally. They didn’t respond except to stare at him, so Matt watched the red electric numbers until the doors opened again on the ground floor. He suspected the students had stared at him the whole way down; they moved past him toward the entrance, and he deliberately turned his head to avoid any further eye contact. The girl started giggling as the couple left the building.

Matt stopped outside the office door and pulled his rent check from his shirt pocket. He was dressed as he usually dressed: frayed loose jeans, running shoes, a hugely baggy button shirt. His only jewelry, aside from a wristwatch, was a simple silver cross on a steel chain around his neck.

He rubbed a hand self-consciously across his pale scalp, which was covered with dark brown stubble. “I was born with more hair than this,” he’d said to the barber after the man clicked off his shears.

“It suits you,” the barber had replied. “Ten bucks.”

He couldn’t deny the functionality of his new hair style—this way it looked the same whether he’d been wearing the mask or not—but he still felt a little self-conscious about it. Not that he was in any danger of becoming a male model in the first place.

At his first showing he’d overheard a buyer talking about him, so he ducked behind a faux Greek column and listened. The buyer, a woman in her fifties with skin baked into leather by years of tanning beds, said, “Not exactly what you’d call a handsome man, but he’s got a lot of character. In his face. With those striking hazel eyes, especially—a very strong face.”

Matt had oozed away in embarrassment.

He put his hand on the office doorknob and began to turn it when a voice from inside stopped him. A young woman’s voice. Through the door he very clearly heard her say, “It doesn’t matter what’s on your work order. I’ve got two tenants ready to move in tomorrow.”

Matt stayed outside and listened, thinking lightly of his behind-the-column eavesdropping at the show. A long pause stretched out, presumably as the owner of the voice paid attention to the speaker on the other end of the line.

“Look. Mr. Hayes. Our check has already cleared. Do you understand me? We have already bought those refrigerators. They are on your truck right now, and I want you to bring them here. To me. Today. All right?”

Another long pause, then a few terse monosyllables, then the sound of a handset slammed back into its cradle.

Matt cautiously pushed the door open.

At the main desk, normally occupied by an affable middle-aged Indian matron named Kay Shikari, a young Indian woman in her mid-twenties sat with her elbows on the desk and her face buried in her hands. Reams of paperwork almost hid the desktop from sight, and the woman’s slim, nut-brown arms disappeared behind the stacks.

Matt said, “Um...”

Then she looked up at him, and he forgot why he was there.

She wore her thick black hair cut to just below her ears, and several slightly wavy locks fell forward to frame her face. He stared at her, and couldn’t stop even as he realized he was staring, and that she saw him staring, and still he stared.

Irritably, the woman said, “Yes? Can I help you?”

Matt said, “Uh...”

Immense liquid brown eyes, full dark lips, perfect white teeth.

“Um, I...”

The woman stood up from the desk. She wore form-fitting white jeans and a sleeveless sweater, both of which favorably accented her slender, gently curving body. Matt tried one more time to speak, and managed to say, “The, uh...I...”

“I guess that’s your rent check?” The woman moved around the desk toward Matt, who still stood in the doorway. She seemed less irritated now, and held out one hand—just as amazing as the rest of her, small and delicate and perfect, and with a greater effort of will than it should have taken Matt didn’t stare at it.

“Yes...uh. Yeah. Yes it is. Who, uh...where’s Mrs. Shikari?”

The woman rotated her outstretched hand, a shift from taking his check to offering a greeting. He shook her hand dazedly.

“I’m her daughter. My name’s Diedra. Mom had to leave for a while, so I’m filling in for her.” She grinned a lopsided grin. “I guess you must’ve heard part of that conversation before you came in. Mom would’ve handled it better.” She paused, then carefully took the envelope out of his hand.

He said, “Oh, sorry.” He thought he felt his cheeks burning.

She went back to the desk. “Do you want a receipt?”

“Uh...sure, yeah.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tried to find a place to put his hands, and finally shoved them in his pockets.

She took his check out of its envelope, and when she read his name her whole face changed. She dropped the check on the desk and said, “You’re Matt Sinclair!”

Matt’s forehead wrinkled up. He said, “Uh...”

She bounded around the desk and again stuck out her hand. When he took it, she clasped it with both of hers as if it were something valuable. “I’ve been dying to meet you! I saw your name on the tenant list when I got here a couple of days ago, and I couldn’t believe it! Matt Sinclair, living right here in our building!”

“Wuh...um. Yeah?”

She let his hand go and stepped back, as if to get a better look at him. “I saw your paintings! At the Slade Gallery, last week! You’re amazing. That one, that one you did with the little mice? You know which one I mean?”

“Um...yeah—‘Mind of a Field Mouse.’”

“Yes! That was so incredible! I took some art appreciation courses in college, so, y’know, I sort of know a tiny little bit about it, probably just enough to make some horrible mistake and sound like a moron when I’m talking about art, but I told the guy I was with your painting reminded me of El Greco. Y’know, ‘View of Toledo?’ That guy? With those deep blues and greens?”

Matt started sweating. Suddenly sensing his discomfort, Diedra said, “I’m sorry. You must have people bugging you about your work all the time. I didn’t mean to attack you like that.”

Blood rushed through his ears. “No...no...actually you’re the first. Outside the gallery, I mean.”

“You’re kidding! Wow.”

Matt started edging toward the door. His face did feel hot. Blazing, in fact.

She followed him.

“Listen, you may not go for this at all, and I don’t mean to be a nuisance or anything, but I’d love to talk with you more about your work. Would you like to maybe go get a cup of coffee, or a drink, or maybe a milkshake or something after the office closes? And talk?”

Matt’s hand trembled as it closed around the doorknob.

“Um, you’re not being a nuisance, don’t worry, but, I really can’t, I’m sorry, I really need to go now.” He opened the door, quivering like a rabbit.

Diedra hesitated, then said, “What?”

Matt darted out into the hallway, and he couldn’t look back at her, wouldn’t, would not. As he walked swiftly away, trying not to break into a run, he said over his shoulder, “It was very nice meeting you.”

Diedra came out into the corridor after him, but he’d already pushed open the glass door to the street. Lamely, she called out, “Hey! You didn’t get your receipt!”

“Please leave it in my mailbox,” he called back, and then he was gone.

# # #

Diedra stared after him for a while, even after he’d rounded a corner and disappeared. Then she went back into the office, dropped into the chair behind the main desk, pulled a compact out of her purse and looked in the mirror. She frowned, snapped it closed, then shut her eyes and covered her flushing cheeks with her hands.

“Milkshake,’” she muttered. “Gee whiz, Diedra.”

# # #

Matt walked very quickly down the street, almost running. Running from her? Better believe it, running from her. He clamped his teeth together and shook his head, appalled at himself. What was that? Flirting?

Shame built up on his shoulders.

Still...

How long had it been since he’d actually sat down and talked with someone? How long had it been since he’d had any significant human contact at all?

He knew how long. He could count it out in years, months, days, hours, minutes. And it could go on longer. Would have to. For Glory’s sake. Still...

With hardly any effort he could see her. Diedra Shikari. Her ghost image flashed on the insides of his eyelids.

He’d have to drop his rent checks in the mail from now on. Avoid the office if he could. ...Maybe take some cold showers.

Matt stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet as he shuffled down the sidewalk. He didn’t need this. He couldn’t afford the distraction, so soon before his first...what? First foray? First time at bat? He tried to concentrate on his checklist for gear and ammunition. It wasn’t easy.

Matt clenched his fists together a few times, and the thick, steely muscles in his arms bunched and rolled under the skin.


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