Ethan gave a nearly imperceptible nod over his shoulder. A second man, as large as a refrigerator and dressed in a similar dark suit, had emerged from the elevator and was now striding down the hall. This was Leo Grant, Ethan's aide-de-camp and general problem-solver.
Leo's eyes, flat and emotionless, registered the scene in a fraction of a second. He understood his orders without a word being spoken.
He walked directly up to Brandon, his sheer bulk blocking out the light. Brandon, who had been staring dumbly at the black card on the floor, looked up and physically flinched. He stumbled backward, his bravado completely gone, replaced by raw terror.
Leo didn't speak. He simply reached out, grabbed a handful of the back of Brandon's shirt, and lifted him to his feet as if he were a child.
"Leo," Ethan said, his voice calm and conversational, "ensure this gentleman understands that he is no longer welcome within a five-mile radius of this building. Ever."
"Understood, sir," Leo grunted. With one hand still holding Brandon aloft, he efficiently frisked him with the other, pulling a set of keys from his pocket.
Brandon tried to yell, to protest, but Leo's hand shifted slightly, a precise application of pressure to a nerve cluster in his neck. The sound died in a choked gurgle.
Leo walked over and presented the keys to Ethan with the deference of a courtier offering a tribute to his king. Then, he turned and began dragging the semi-conscious Brandon toward the service elevator at the end of the hall.
Ethan took the keys and, with a casual flick of his wrist, tossed them to Alice. The metal made a soft clinking sound as she caught them out of pure reflex. Her fingers closed around the familiar cold weight. She looked from the keys to the man beside her, her mind racing. Who was he?
Her thoughts were interrupted as Ethan's gaze shifted to the neighbors, who were still lingering in their doorways. His eyes landed on a young man in his twenties who was trying, and failing, to discreetly hide his phone behind his back.
Ethan's expression hardened. He released Alice's waist and took two long strides toward the young man, who immediately began to sweat.
"Phone," Ethan said. It wasn't a request.
The neighbor, trembling, handed it over. Ethan's fingers moved over the screen with practiced speed. He navigated to the gallery, deleted the video that had just been recorded, and then accessed the cloud backup, wiping it from there as well. The entire process took less than fifteen seconds.
He tossed the phone back to its owner. "Have a good night," he said, his voice a silken threat.
That was all it took. The doors to apartments 3B, 3D, and 3F all clicked shut in rapid succession. The hallway was suddenly silent and empty, save for the two of them.
Alice finally found her voice. She rubbed her temples, a familiar gesture when a headache was brewing. "Look, I appreciate the... assistance. But I don't know who you are, and I don't..."
Her own phone, tucked in the pocket of her slacks, began to ring, its cheerful, upbeat tone a jarring intrusion. She pulled it out. The screen read: Kailee Rojas.
Her best friend.
She hesitated for a second, then answered, turning slightly away from Ethan. "Kailee, now's not a great time."
"Not a great time? Alice, I just got the text from Megan's little sister! That scumbag Brandon cheated on you! Are you okay?" Kailee's voice was a whirlwind of frantic energy.
Alice squeezed her eyes shut. Of course. The gossip network was already in full swing. "I'm fine. I'm handling it."
"Handling it is not enough! You need to get back out there. The best revenge is living well, and that means a new man. I have the perfect guy for you. A banker from New York, super cute, loaded, and not a complete piece of human garbage. I'm setting it up for tomorrow night. No excuses!"
Ethan leaned against the opposite wall, his arms crossed, an expression of detached amusement on his face. But Alice knew he was listening. His stillness was too focused, too intent. His training allowed him to pick up the tinny sounds from the phone's earpiece with perfect clarity.
"Kailee, I'm really not in the mood for a blind date," Alice whispered, her frustration mounting. The man a few feet away was radiating a dangerous energy that made her skin crawl, and she just wanted him gone.
"Nonsense! It's happening. Seven o'clock, Le Diplomate. Wear the red dress. I'll text you his name. You have to go!"
To end the conversation, to make Kailee stop, to get this stranger to stop looking at her like she was a fascinating new puzzle, Alice gave in. "Fine. Okay. I'll go. I have to go now."
She hung up and took a deep breath. She turned back to Ethan, forcing a polite, dismissive smile. "Thank you again for your help. I can take it from here."
She turned, inserted her key into the lock, and opened her door. She stepped inside, ready to shut it firmly in his face and block out the chaos of the last hour.
But as the door swung shut, the toe of a polished black shoe appeared in the frame, stopping it cold.
Alice looked up, startled.
Ethan leaned forward, his face close to the opening. His blue eyes bored into hers, holding her captive.
"Good luck on your date tomorrow," he said, his voice a low, intimate murmur.
Then he retracted his foot.
Alice slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the empty apartment. She leaned against the solid wood, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Outside in the hallway, Ethan Morrow smiled. It was the cold, satisfied smile of a hunter who had just watched his prey walk directly into a perfectly laid trap.
