When He Was Bad... by Anne Oliver Page B

working yesterday. The garden shed. The back porch.
    No sign of her.
    She’d be here, he told himself; she wanted the job. Still, he felt oddly disappointed she hadn’t arrived yet. He wanted to see that glimpse of sunshine turn her hair to old gold and watch the jaunty, carefree way she had of moving.
    He folded his arms across his chest as chilly air prickled his skin. Yeah, right. Watching her while he stood here naked. Scowling, he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Lucky for you, you’re not here yet, Ellie Rose .
    Meanwhile he needed a cold shower and he needed it fast.
    While he shivered and soaped up under the spray, he made a decision. This thing between them needed serious attention. Tonight. Get it out of their systems—two rational, consenting adults—then they could move on.
    He turned off the taps, reached for his towel. Satisfied with his plan, he lathered on shaving cream and reached for his razor.
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    He checked his emails over fruit and toast. Coffee in hand, he made a follow-up call to last night’s meeting with Cole. Then he phoned the office to inform Joanie he’d be in before ten and took the next little while to look over a new project.
    When Ellie still hadn’t turned up by nine o’clock he grew annoyed. He paced to the window. The devil of it was, he had no good reason to be so ticked off. Ellie kept her own timetable and Belle hadn’t expected him to wait around. But he was here now, and in Belle’s absence he felt he was entitled to know Ellie’s plans for today. Keep an eye on things. Keep his finger on the pulse.
    He swung away. No, not Ellie’s pulse . Although if she didn’t get here soon he might have to throttle her.
    He was a busy man. He didn’t have time to… He checked his watch. Nearly nine-fifteen. …Didn’t have time to waste .
    At ten o’clock he rang Joanie to tell her he’d been detained, that he’d phone again when he was on his way.
    Responsibility. They’d talked about it. Ellie had worked two days and been on time. Perhaps that was her limit. He tapped in her phone number. Swore when her phone was switched off. She had no answering service so he couldn’t leave a voice message.
    He paced to the window, glared at the front gate. When she arrived he’d tell her his expectations: While he was here, he preferred—wanted—her to keep regular hours… Damn, why wait until she’d arrived? He’d go inform her himself. That way he could drive her here if she was running late.
    A short time later he parked and stared up at her sorry-looking apartment building. Daylight showed the dull facade in all its unspectacular glory. Grey peeling paintwork. Dusty windows.
    He climbed out of his car and walked to the door. In this instance he was relieved it wasn’t a coded entry—except that anyone could walk in off the street. He took the stairs two at a time and followed a dingy passage until he found apartment number four, then knocked on the door.
    No answer. Impatience snapped at him; he barely waited before knocking again, louder, longer. ‘Ellie, are you in there?’
    A scruffy-looking sort in a grey hooded jacket with straggly blond hair and teenage fuzz above his upper lip exited an apartment down the hall. Mid- to late teens, Matt figured. The odour of sweat and dirty sneakers preceded the guy as he approached.
    Matt’s nostrils flared in distaste. But Ellie had no choice; she couldn’t afford anything better. Matt understood that all too well.
    â€˜She ain’t left yet,’ Scruffy said as he passed Matt.
    He studied the youth through narrowed eyes. ‘And you’d know this how?’
    Scruffy popped a wad of chewing gum in his mouth. ‘See everyone from my living room window. You dropped her off last night. Night before too. Black Ford, right?’
    A twinge of concern jolted through Matt. ‘Do you watch everyone’s comings and