"Damn." She looked at the paper, then at the row of mail slots. One was slightly ajar. Apartment 204.
She was supposed to be at a client meeting across town. Instead, she was stranded outside a labyrinthine apartment complex she didn't recognize, watching the world turn into a watercolor blur.
Rina felt a pang of guilt. But the cold was winning. She climbed the concrete stairs, found the frayed mat, and retrieved the brass key. heyzo heyzo-2002 part1
He held up his own key. "I'm the one who lost the rental agreement," he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. The rain drummed a frantic rhythm on the window. "The question is, Rina… why are you in my apartment?"
The Key to Apartment 204
An impulsive, stupid idea bloomed in her damp head. "That's my landlord," she lied, holding up the paper. "He lives in 204. He's expecting me. I must have dropped the address."
He knew her name.
Apartment 204 was sparse. A fold-out couch, a stack of photography magazines, a kitchen counter with a single coffee cup. But it was warm. And dry.