Asylum

Chapter 4: I'll Think About That in the Morning

The doorman finishing up the graveyard shift at Ivan's building was neither Sammy nor Joey, so I was forced to produce ID and wait while he reluctantly called up to check if I was a legitimate guest.

I checked my watch – 6:27 – and and leaned my elbows on the counter, covering my eyes in sheer exhaustion. I knew the guy was just doing his job, but in my current state, every minute standing in the lobby was torture. Work had really only been the usual level of weeknight Asylum crazy – with that little extra wind-up from Ivan mid-shift – but the chewing out from DiMarco had taken my spirits down several notches.

That had been followed by a dash to my apartment to change out of my distinctive oversized army jacket and into the hoodie I'd borrowed from Ivan – OCCB was probably sitting on his apartment building at this very minute, and I didn't need them recognizing me from my cover at the bar.

Then during the frantic cab ride here, my tired brain kept bouncing from concern that I was taking too long and the Russian mobster would start to wonder how long it took for the neighbor's dog to do his business, to fear that I would not be able to mollify Mormor enough to keep her out of DiMarco's hair and out of the mayor's office, to panic about the possibility of being yanked away from Ivan, to worry about what that panic said about my increasingly-ridiculous-to-deny feelings about him.

"Mr Alkaev says you can come up, miss."

I gave the doorman a wan smile. "Thank you, ..."

"Frank."

Of course. Joey, Sammy, and now Frank. It made them easy to remember, at least; Mormor loved the Rat Pack. I shoved my wallet and hands back inside my pockets and went to lean against the elevator's call button.

In a moment the brushed metal doors opened to reveal Ivan standing inside, still wearing the black dress shirt and pants he had sported at Asylum. He'd waited up, I thought; how could he do what he did for a living, work for the people he worked for, and still be so perfect?

He pulled me into his arms and pressed his lips to my hairline, taking my weight as I sagged against him. "Let's get you into bed," he murmured, sliding his key into the elevator panel and hitting the button for his floor. He kissed me, firmly, deeply, probing my mouth with his tongue and slipping a hand inside my hoodie. Amazingly, energy from some heretofore undiscovered reservoir flooded my exhausted limbs.

I smiled up at him. "Somehow, I'm suddenly not thinking of sleep anymore."

He laughed. "That's because you're insatiable."

"Huh. No one's ever described me as 'insatiable' before."

"Good." He grabbed his keys and pocketed them just as the doors swished open again. "For some reason you inspire a kind of caveman possessiveness in me."

That sentiment – weirdly – struck me not as misogynistic and creepy, but as really kind of sweet. It must be the exhaustion, I thought as I allowed Ivan to half-guide, half-carry me down the hall from the elevator to his apartment door.

Ultimately, I decided, it didn't matter why I felt so comfortable with him, really – I was determined to enjoy this feeling as long as it lasted. At least until I reluctantly came to my senses, or Ivan did, or perhaps most likely, Lt DiMarco did. Or until Mormor escalated her worries to the mayor and this whole thing blew up in my exhausted face. I would really have to talk to her as soon as possible, right after I caught just a few hours of desperately needed sleep. Ivan planted another kiss on my temple as he opened the apartment door. I smiled. Of course, sleep could wait just a little while ...

I would deal with Mormor this afternoon. As for the rest of the myriad of tiny details that could go wrong with this suddenly much-more-complicated assignment, I would deal with them if and when they reared their nasty little heads.

And unless and until that fated moment arrived, I would definitely not think about what it would mean to never see – never be with – Ivan Alkaev ever again.