He called Zoots early the next morning. “Can you fit in a run?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ll pay you extra for last minute. I just need to burn off some shit.”

She was silent for a beat. “I have an idea. Meet me at the usual place in a half an hour.”

Ben dressed and jogged to catch the train. By the time he got to Hell’s Kitchen, the sun had risen over the buildings and it was hotter than their usual running time.

Zoots was sitting on the swings at the playground. She rose when she saw him. “You want to get out of your head?”

“Yeah.”

“Then come with me.”

She took him down an alley and up a fire escape. Within minutes they were beyond curious eyes, standing on top of a building bordered by two taller brick factories.

“This one used to be taller,” Zoots said. “I always wondered, so I looked it up at the library.” She pointed to the buildings on either side. “All three of these were factories, but this one had a big accident or something. The top two stories were demolished and they built a new roof. But see? No windows on either side.”

“Huh.” Ben squinted at the two stories of solid brick that surrounded them. “Weird. But these are too high for a wall run.”

“I know.” Zoots clapped her hands together. “We’re going to work on climbing.”

Ben stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”

“’Cause I regularly joke about this shit?” She looked annoyed. “I lose you on the walls. Every time. You’re fast as hell, especially for being so tall, but you gotta work on climbing or you’ll never be fast enough for… whatever it is that makes you run.”

“You lose me on the walls ’cause you’re a freaking spider monkey.”

“You think this shit comes naturally? I’m faster than you because I practice.” She dragged an old mattress to the base of one wall. “Every wall is different, but practice helps. You can learn technique. Teaching yourself to look for the right kind of grips, understanding your balance when you’re vertical. All that stuff.”

Ben was still gaping at the wall.

“Trust me,” Zoots said. “I watched a lot of rock climbers on YouTube. Those free climbers are fucking insane.”

“Yeah. Are you listening to yourself? They’re insane.” Ben stared at her.

She shrugged. “But not really. There are tricks to it you can learn. This is just… urban rock climbing. Didn’t you say you rock climbed in South America or something?”

“Zoots, I can’t climb straight up a building. There aren’t any windows; there aren’t any fire escapes or pipes—”

“Yeah, you can. It’s not flat; it’s brick.” She backed away from the wall, started the ascent as a typical wall run, but didn’t reach the top. Instead, she stuck to the wall, paused a moment, then reached up and started climbing the surface like a spider. Ben was left gaping. She clung to invisible perches and swung from seemingly flat surfaces. When she got to the top, she pulled herself up, turned, and sat on the edge, swinging her legs. “See? Your turn.”

* * *

Days later, Ben was still bruised from falling but feeling carefree as he sat at a low table at the Indian restaurant on West 8th Street. The sitar player was winding down in the corner, and he and Emilie had finished the tandoori chicken and saag paneer. They were sharing a pistachio ice cream, finishing their wine, and talking about cities they’d lived in. Ben regaled her with stories about Rome, while she offered playful childhood memories of Paris.

“Did you think about going back?” he asked her.

Emilie smiled. “To Paris?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re an artist—”

“Designer,” she said. “My sketches are hardly art.”

“Fashion design is art. Plus, fashion and Paris? It’s a natural combination.”

She smiled. “There’s no fashion in New York?”

“Of course there is. I just mean… You know what I mean.”

Emilie laughed as she poured more wine into his glass. “I could have gone back. I have a French passport and can work there. But New York is home. And the fashion houses in Paris… They are more traditional, in my opinion. I want to do something new. I think the opportunities in the States are easier to come by if you work hard. In Paris, it’s all about who you know. What your connections are.”

“You don’t have anyone left there?”

Emilie shook her head. “Not in fashion. There are a few cousins. Some distant great-aunts and uncles. No one close.”

“So you’re a New York girl.”

“For now.” She coyly sipped her wine. “I am open to life and whatever comes my direction.”

“That’s a good attitude to have.”

“And you?” she asked. “You haven’t said what it is you do. I know you mentioned something to do with art, but you weren’t specific.”

Ben was always wary about giving too much information, but the public story wouldn’t be enough for Emilie. Not if he wanted to get more information about Midnight Labyrinth.

“Well, I grew up with my uncle, who is a rare-books dealer.”

“That sounds interesting! I love books.” She blushed. “I don’t have any valuable ones though. I mostly read e-books now.”

“With Manhattan apartment sizes, I don’t blame you. I love books too, but not as much as my uncle.”

“So you don’t work with him?”

“I do, in a way. I’ve always had an interest in art and antiquities. So what I do is kind of an offshoot of his business. If his clients are looking for a specific artifact or object… an Incan idol from Peru, for instance—”

“Wouldn’t that belong in a museum?” Emilie asked with wide eyes.

“Not necessarily. Most countries have prohibitions on taking antiquities out of their territory, but that still leaves room for objects that are already on the market in private hands.” He took a sip of the crisp Rhone white he’d ordered to complement the food. “I simply connect a buyer with the right seller. It’s aboveboard.” Some of the time.

“That sounds interesting.” She frowned. “But I think there are some people who might try to take advantage.”

“Of who?”

“Of buyers. Aren’t there a lot of fakes out there?”

“Absolutely. You have to know your art and know the right experts to ask when you don’t know.”

“So you must know a lot about art history.”

“I do. I love art history.”

“Was that your major?”

“No. Political science actually.”

Emilie laughed. “What?”

“Believe it or not, it comes in handy.” He took her hand and played with her fingers. She wore a ring on her right hand, a single pearl surrounded by small diamonds and rubies. “This is beautiful.”

“It belonged to my great-grandmother.” She pulled her hand away and put it on her lap. “Family heirloom.”

“From the Samson side?”

“No, from my grandfather’s side.” She sipped her wine. “I think you must be interested in my family, Ben.”

He let her see the rueful smile. “Hard not to be in my line of work.”

“Is that why you asked me out?”

“No. I asked you out because you are stunning in yellow.”

She laughed. “And I didn’t wear it tonight. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He glanced at the blue blouse that draped over her delicate cleavage. She’d paired it with a tangerine pencil skirt and heels that made her legs a mile long. “You look great in blue too.”

“And orange?”

He glanced at her legs. “And orange. And purple. And every other color I can think of. I have a feeling you’d make a paper bag look good.”

“I hope so. I hear that’s a common challenge on Project Runway.”

She was adorable. And clever. And fun.

Ben ignored the last of the ice cream melting in the bowl. There was something far sweeter he wanted to taste. He reached for Emilie’s hand. “Come here.”

He kept the kiss light, fit for a dimly lit corner of the restaurant, but with just enough heat to have the color rise to her cheeks. He pulled away, licked the flavor of sweet pistachio off his lips, and went back for seconds. This time, the tip of her tongue touched his, and he tasted the acid bite of the wine and the heady flavor of Emilie. Her taste. Her scent.

With a happy murmur, Ben pulled away, keeping her hand in his, rubbing her knuckles as he hooked his ankle around hers. “That was nice.”

Her red-painted lips turned up in the corners. “Yes, it was.”

“You taste delicious.”

“It must be the wine.”

“The wine is good, but not as good as you.”

“You are very charming,” Emilie said. “Did you know that?”

“Yes. Is it working on you?”

“It’s been working since the first night we met. I wouldn’t have met you for dinner otherwise.”

A discreet server brought the check, and Ben snatched it before Emilie could look. “Thank you for joining me. I really want to do it again. Soon.”

“Are you going to let me buy the wine like you said?”

“Not on your life.”

“Ben!”

He smiled and kissed Emilie’s knuckles before he glanced at the bill and grabbed cash from his wallet. He’d been raised by vampires, and cash was his habit. He’d never felt comfortable with credit cards. He didn’t like anyone knowing what he was spending his money on.

“Tell you what,” he said, sliding the leather check folder back to the server. “Meet me for coffee tomorrow and I’ll let you buy.”

“You’ll let me buy coffee?”

“Absolutely.”

She shook her head, but he knew she was thinking about it.

“Meet me at the museum,” Ben said. “There is something I want to talk to you about, but I don’t want to bring it up tonight.”

Emilie narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”

“I don’t want there to be any confusion.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss over the corner of her mouth before he whispered, “I am interested in your family. I am interested in your uncle’s work. But I’m more interested in you.”

* * *

He walked back to the loft after hailing a cab for Emilie. She lived on the Upper East Side with her grandparents and preferred to go home alone, even after he offered to accompany her. It was a first date. Ben didn’t push too hard. When he arrived back at the loft, it was nearly midnight. He expected Chloe to be asleep, but she wasn’t. She was standing in front of the mirror in the training area, holding on to the back of a chair as she went through a simple ballet routine.

“How’s the knee?” He leaned against one wall and watched her, making a mental note to install a barre along the mirrored wall.

“Feeling better than my ribs.” She stopped and turned to him. “How was the date?”

“Nice.” He grinned. “More than nice.”

Chloe smiled, her face still a cluster of bruises though the swelling had gone down. “Did you make her pretty-cry again?”

“Absolutely not. She was smiling all through dinner.”

“But you came back here?”

“Now, now, Miss Reardon. I am a gentleman and it was just a first date.”

“I don’t remember that slowing you down in high school.”

He winced. “Give me a little credit for personal growth.”

She laughed and started doing pliés again. “So, did you nail her down for a second date?”

“Coffee tomorrow at the museum.”

“I’m giving you a mental high five.” She lifted a slim arm over her head. “Good follow-through, Mr. Vecchio.”

“Thank you very much. I’m being nosy, but did you check with Dr. Singh about exercising?”

“He said as long as I don’t bend my torso, working on my knee wouldn’t be a problem.” She lowered her arm to bring it even with her shoulder and swept it to the side. “My shoulder is stiff, and lying in bed isn’t doing it any favors.”

“Just don’t push if your body says stop.”

“You sound like Tenzin.”

Ben walked around the sparring area where Chloe was practicing. “We’ve trained together for a lot of years.”

“As long as I’ve known you, I think.”

“Probably.”

Chloe stopped, a small frown forming between her eyebrows. “How old is she? I’m too embarrassed to ask.”

“Join the club.” He removed his jacket and tie, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he toed off his shoes. “I don’t know how old she is either.”

“Crazy.”

“Yeah, she’s a little crazy. We like her anyway.” He tried to divert Chloe’s attention. “You ever do tai chi?”

“Every now and then.”

Ben moved into a slow tai chi routine next to Chloe. Both of them watched their forms in the long line of mirrors along the wall. It was soothing. Ben had a hard time not getting angry when he saw Chloe’s bruises, so he focused on her knee. It was stiff, but it appeared she had full range of movement.

“This is a great area,” Chloe said. “You’re lucky to have this kind of space. Not too many lofts like this anymore.”

“I am really, really lucky my uncle is rich.” He smiled when Chloe laughed. It was good to hear her laugh. “But seriously, we looked for a long time before we found the right one. We both train a lot, so space was a priority.”

“Still doing jiujitsu?”

“Jiujitsu. Judo. Tai chi. Wing chun. Tenzin works primarily in tai chi and wing chun, so that’s what we practice down here. I go to a studio for judo and jiujitsu.” They also practiced swords, daggers, and staffs in the training area, but Chloe didn’t bring up the rows of weapons along the wall. Maybe she thought they were for show.

They weren’t.

“I called my boss at the restaurant today,” she said. “Shockingly, they found someone to replace me.”

“Do you want to make an issue of it?”

She shook her head. “I’d rather not.”

“Fair enough.” He debated sharing Gavin’s offer. The Scotsman paid a good salary and was a loyal employer. It wouldn’t be fair not to tell Chloe a position had been offered. “I have a friend who’s looking for servers at his bar. When you’re ready to work again, let me know and I’ll talk to him. He pays pretty well.”

She let out a low breath. “It’s going to be a while. I don’t think anyone wants to buy cocktails from a girl with bruises all over her face.”

“Hey.” He waited for her to look at him. “When you’re ready, he’ll hire you. It’s not about that.”

She nodded.

“Besides, anyone who isn’t blind can still see what’s under there, gorgeous.”

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t her face he was worried about. It was the defeated look in her eyes.

“Thanks for cleaning the kitchen, by the way. Tenzin says I’m the worst about doing dishes.”

“It’s the least I can do for stealing your bed.” She glanced at him in the mirror. “Are you sure that futon was already ordered?”

No. “Totally. We’ve been meaning to create a sitting area down here for months.” Or days. Whatever.

“I wish you’d trade with me. I hate knowing that you’re sleeping on that thing.”

“It’s very comfortable. Don’t insult my futon.”

“If it’s so comfortable, why don’t you let me sleep on it so you can have your room back?”

He walked over and stood in front of her, putting both hands on her shoulders. “You’re staying here until you get on your feet,” he said. “You know my uncle and aunt. They’d kick my ass if I made you sleep on the futon, so don’t argue.”

“It’s just—”

“And I love that you help out around the place, but please don’t think you have to. You don’t. This is your home too, Chloe. For as long as you need it. I know Tenzin agrees with me, so you don’t even need to ask. As long as you replace the toilet paper when you finish a roll, we’ll be fine.”

He saw tears fill her eyes, but she brushed them away and nodded. “Only monsters don’t replace the roll.”

“Exactly.”

She sniffed and kept wiping her eyes gingerly.

“Can I hug you?” Ben hadn’t tried since she’d been beaten up. The thought of her cringing from him was too painful. “I really want to hug you right now.”

She nodded, and he enveloped her in a gentle and thorough embrace. She wrapped her wiry arms around him and squeezed hard. She was so strong. She was so tough. And Ben felt like he could draw breath for the first time in days.

“So what did you do today? Did you call your choreographer friend?”

She sniffed and relaxed her arms, but she didn’t pull away. “Yeah. He’s working on something right now, but it won’t be ready for a few more weeks. He was excited to talk to me though. He offered to let me try out for a part when it’s ready. If I’m all healed up.”

“That’s awesome news. Is a few weeks enough time?”

“I think so.” She wiped her eyes. “You know, right after Tom kicked my knee, I thought—”

“What?” His heart spiked and his voice went cold. “What… what did you say?”

Chloe’s eyes widened. “I thought you knew.”

“You told me you injured yourself training.”

Her cheeks went bright red. “I know. I told a lot of lies, and I’m sorry—”

“He kicked your knee?” The red was teasing the edges of his vision. “He purposely kicked your knee to keep you from dancing?”

Chloe’s mouth opened, but she didn’t speak. Ben didn’t need to hear her answer to know what had happened.

He didn’t know why her knee injury felt so much more hateful than any of her other injuries, but it did. Maybe it was because dancing wasn’t just a hobby for Chloe. Dancing was who she was. She’d fought to be taken seriously at the studio in LA. Dancing was what she’d sacrificed her relationship with her parents for. It was what she’d given up her scholarship for.

He’d never seen her shine like she did on a stage. Never seen her more herself than when she was moving to the rhythm and swell of music. Tom would have known that. Would have seen that.

Killing Chloe’s ability to dance would have killed the light inside her.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “He was jealous. I was dancing a routine with Henry, and he didn’t realize Henry has a boyfriend and—”

“It doesn’t matter how jealous he was,” Ben bit out. “He didn’t hit Henry, did he?”

“Don’t go there.” Chloe shook her head. “Ben, you’re scaring me.”

“Don’t be scared of me.” He put both hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “You don’t ever have to be scared of me, Chloe.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Chloe said. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of having you arrested. Because he will, Ben. He’ll report you and—”

“He won’t report me,” Ben said. “Don’t worry about me.”

Records can be expunged. His uncle’s voice was in his mind. Money can do many things, Benjamin. That is why we accumulate it. Money is a tool. Keep yourself and your loved ones safe. That is your most important assignment.

He unwrapped Chloe’s arms from around his waist and walked to the door.

“Please.” She was crying. “Ben, please don’t kill him.”

He paused and turned around, but he didn’t say anything.

“Promise me,” Chloe said. “If you have any love for me. Any respect. I know I can’t keep you from hurting him, but don’t kill him.”

Ben could kill him. He’d killed in the past to protect the people he loved. He’d kill again if it was necessary.

“Please.” Chloe’s bruised face pleaded with him. “Promise me, Ben.”

“I won’t kill him,” Ben said quietly. “I promise.”