Page 21 of Choosing Stella

By the time the doors opened, I knew the obvious route from her apartment to the elevator, the location of the service stair at the opposite end of the hall, and which direction would take us toward the garage.

I didn’t expect trouble, but expecting nothing was how trouble got close.

Stella’s door had a camera above the frame. I knocked once and stepped back far enough that she could see all of me.

Nothing happened for several seconds.

Then a woman’s voice came through the door.

“Hold your ID up.”

I did.

The silence lasted long enough for her to read it.

“Who sent you?”

“Bancroft Risk Group. Locke Stonebridge contacted my boss.”

The deadbolt turned.

A second lock turned.

The door opened only a few inches.

Stella Moon looked at my credential first, then at me.

She was smaller than I’d expected, maybe five-four, with pale skin and a chin-length black bob cut blunt around her face. A white streak near one temple broke through the dark hair like someone had dragged a brush of paint through it. Most of her makeup was gone, leaving only a faint shadow of black around dark brown eyes that looked like they hadn’t closed for more than a few minutes all night.

She wore black leggings, a charcoal shirt, and socks, but no shoes.

She wasn’t smiling either.

Her gaze moved over my face, my jacket, my shoulders, then met my eyes.

She didn’t look frightened of me, which would make the job easier.

I looked at her face a second longer than I needed to, then checked the door locks.

“Geo DiNero?” she asked.

“That’s me.”

“Locke said you were coming.”

“He said you agreed to protection.”

“I agreed to having someone with me. Whether it’s you depends on this meeting.”

It was a fair distinction.

“Then meet me first.”

One corner of her mouth moved.

It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close.

Stella opened the door wider.