He trailed three car lengths behind the silver Aston Martin One-77 as it dipped and weaved smoothly through traffic. Fucking Steele, leave it to him to drive a limited edition car through the streets of Brooklyn as if he was out for a Sunday drive. He glared at the taillights of the fancy car he'd been following for the last half hour.

Slamming on the horn of his shit brown Buick LeSabre, he flicked off another fucking taxi as it tried to cut him off. The 2005 piece of shit had seen better days and smelled like mothballs, but it had the one feature he was looking for. A nice, big, roomy trunk. The kind you could store a body in. If that fucking cunt ever showed up for work again, he'd be able to find out just how nicely it would accommodate one.

The old lady had wanted way too much for it, but, in the end, he managed to sweet talk her into giving him a deal. His resources were dwindling and buying the car hadn't helped, but it was essential. It was also inconspicuous as fuck, which allowed him to tail Steele for the last few days unnoticed by his goons and to be able to sit parked outside the Kit Cat Club without drawing attention from the asshole bouncers. It also provided a big enough backseat for him to sleep in, saving him the expense of having to retain a motel room every night.

He pumped on the squeaky breaks for another stoplight. The POS shuddering and convulsing under his ass as if it was in death throws, while Steele sat in luxurious comfort a few cars in front. He snorted. Taking a small bottle of Wild Turkey out of the glovebox, he unscrewed the cap and tilted it back. He let a good portion of the vile whiskey coat his throat while he continued to scowl at Steele's brake lights.

Steele sipped expensive liquor while he swigged down bottom rung gut rot. He took another mouthful of the swill before twisting the cap back on and throwing it in the passenger seat, wincing as he swallowed. It didn't matter. If he succeeded in his plans, he would not only have his revenge, but he would also be able to afford the finest booze on the planet.

Stepping on the gas, he eased back into his place behind Steele. Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into a side street which lead straight to suburbia hell. Traffic was lighter here, so he would have to be careful not to be noticed. He laughed harshly, as if the fucker would ever notice anything.

If there was one thing he had learned over the past few days, was the arrogant asshole was as predictable as hell.

Mr. I'm On Top of the Fucking World, lead a very boring life and he could set his watch to Adam's schedule, thanks to a chance encounter with his PA's assistant. He had followed the dumb shapely blond from work one evening to a bar downtown. It was a known watering hole for secretaries, assistants, accounting, IT guys...basically the lowest members of the totem pole of any corporation where they could bitch and complain about how unfair their pathetic lives were and how poorly their bosses treated them.

It had been fucking easy to infiltrate their little group and after several drinks, he convinced the her to accompany his back to his motel room. The sex had been a drunken slobbery affair, especially after he slipped her a couple roofies, but the information he downloaded off her PDA was worth it. He possessed a copy of Steele's calendar for the next two months. He was so pleased with his find, he had fucked the girl two more times while she was passed out just for the hell of it before he snuck out into the darkness. He grinned as he jumped a lane. I bet the bitch felt that in the morning, he thought cutting off a delivery truck.

Thanks to the blond whore, he knew when Steele went to work, when he went to lunch, what meetings he was attending...hell...he even knew when the fucker went for his run. He knew every fucking detail, except this one. When Steele hadn't taken the normal route back to his penthouse, it peaked his interest and he was willing to waste the cost of the fuel to find out what the son of a bitch was up to.

The One-77 pulled into a metered parking spot about four blocks up and he eased the LeSabre into a handicapped spot on the opposite side of the street. He laughed. Buying this craptastic car was beginning to pay off, it still had its handicapped plates, making parking a breeze. Scrunching down in the driver's seat, he watched through the side mirror as Adam messed with the meter and started back towards an older brownstone walkup across from where he was parked.

After Steele disappeared inside, he snagged a smoke. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his zippo and lit the end. Dragging in a lungful, he cracked the window and exhaled slowly. Settling his ass into the seat, he kicked back and waited. Whoever lived there had to come out some-fucking-time, he thought as he reached into the seat next to him for his bottle.

********************

Finally finding a parking spot, Adam slid the One-77 smoothly into the space. Easing himself out of the car, he looked around. Row upon row of older brownstone apartments lined the city street, broken up by the occasional tree or store front. A couple of towheaded kids laughed and ran past him to join their friends a few blocks up in a rambunctious early evening game of kickball.

He grimaced at the thought of a stray ball bouncing off his car and regretted bringing his baby. He should have brought the SUV. It could take a hit from a land to ground missile, surly it would survive an errant strike from a rubber ball kicked by an eight year old. His Aston Martin...not so much.

He sighed. At least it seemed to be a nice neighborhood, he thought as he fed the meter. Turning, he strolled leisurely down the tree lined sidewalk back to the apartment building he had passed, doing a little window shopping along the way, until he came to the address Jonathan had sent him.

Jogging up the dozen or so cement steps, Adam frowned. No doorman greeted him, only two sets of glass doors which appeared to have not a hint of security leading to a bank of post office boxes met him when he entered.

"Any jackass off the street can walk in here," he mumbled under his breath as he looked around the tidy, proficient space.

It was spotless and smelled vaguely of pine scented cleaner. He scowled when he noticed no elevator or security cameras, only a set of carpeted stairs leading up. How the hell had she managed to traverse those stairs with an injured ankle?

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and snorted. The same way she escaped down yours, Steele. He shook his head and started the climb up to the sixth floor. It at least it had plenty of lighting, though it gave him little comfort. For a woman who was worried about safety, she lived in a pretty fucking low security building, he thought to himself. When he reached the landing on the sixth floor, he glanced down at his phone and went to the door to his right.

Adam stood outside the entryway of apartment number 182 and fidgeted nervously with the car keys in his slacks. What seemed like a good idea only a few short minutes ago, now didn't appear to be all that brilliant and he hesitated, frowning at the green industrial carpeting beneath his leather Gucci's.

He hadn't been himself for days now and it was beginning to show in his work. Nothing overly important, it wasn't like he was losing millions of dollars, but he could no longer fight the anxious feeling gnawing away at him. He needed to know she was alright. It was turning into a vexing preoccupation and Adam Steele didn't obsess over women.

He was confident and on occasion, had been known to be arrogant...but lately...he sighed. Lately he was losing his focus more and more which resulted in strange looks from his colleagues and a sense he was letting down everyone who relied on him to excel. He worked damn hard to not only have the lifestyle he had become accustomed to, but he also worked to support the thousands of employees who relied on him for their living as well.

He didn't have time for remorse or whatever this feeling was he'd been inflicted with. When he wanted something, he took it and if he couldn't...then he made damn sure it happened one way or another. If having her was the resolution to what he was suffering from, then nothing was going to stand in his way. Not even the woman herself.

"Well, you started this shit, Steele," he muttered. "If you want her, you'll have to find your balls and knock." For the first time in his life, he felt the uneasiness of rejection looming as he raised his fist and rapped briskly on the door.

He rocked back on his heels as he waited for a response which came a few short seconds later by a muffled squeal followed by an inaudible tense conversation behind the door. Curiosity got the better of him and Adam leaned down, peering into the peephole.

He couldn't make out much except a blurry, darkened image of somebody wrestling with a giant...chicken?

Adam backed up quickly when he heard the turning of the lock, his mind registering there was only one. Putting his boardroom face on, he waited for the door to open, but lost his swagger for a moment when he was met by a man wearing an Indian headdress.

"Hello there handsome," he purred, leaning against the door frame, twirling a beaded feather.

Adam reached up to adjust his tie before he realized he wasn't wearing one and rubbed the back of his neck instead. What the fuck did he just walk into?

"You're Jo Jo Mayfield I presume?" Adam asked, cocking his head to the side taking in the guy's appearance.

Remove the Indian garb and he was around 5'6", approximately 135 pounds, blue eyes and 26 years of age. The only difference between the young man in front of him and the copy of the driver's license he'd memorized from the file Jonathan sent over, was the hair. The male in the photo had brown hair and this guy had bleach blond, but that was easily obtainable thanks to Clairol.

"I'll be whoever you want me to be, Poppy," he smiled salaciously, fluffing his feathers.

"Yes...well...right now, I need you to confirm you are Jo Jo," Adam answered stiffly, not amused.

"You're in luck then, Poppy. I'm Jo Jo Terrance Mayfield the third, at your service." He bowed gracefully sending a cascade of feathers brushing Adam's loafers before straightening. "But, I have a feeling you already knew that didn't you big boy." He winked conspiratorially.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Adam shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Of course you don't." He flicked a feather at Adam's chest. "How can I help you, Poppy?"

Adam grimaced at the nickname which apparently was going to stick like gum to his shoe. "I'm looking for a woman."

"Aren't we all," Jo Jo sighed, examining his cuticles.

Adam rolled his eyes at his theatrics. "I'm looking for a woman who goes by the name of Trixie. She works with you at the Kit Cat Club. She's about your age, has dark hair, grey eyes and stands approximately this tall." Adam lifted his hand to a little shy of chest high.

"I don't know anyone who would willingly call themselves that," Jo Jo hollered over his shoulder before turning and grinning mischievously at Adam. "But I do know somebody who fits that description."

Adam waited for him to say more, but when the guy only kept smiling at him he was forced to ask, "Is she home?" through clenched teeth. The fun and games of this conversation was over and his annoyance was bleeding through.

"Let me go check." He looked Adam up and down one more time and made a little happy humming sound. "You stay right here, Poppy."

The door slammed in his face, forcing Adam to step back. What the hell? Adam paced back and forth in front of the door, impatient for it to open again. Cursing under his breath, he leaned against the doorframe and ran both hands through his hair, tempted to pull a handful or two out. It was eerily silent in the corridor until raised mumbles of an argument on the other side caught his attention. Pushing his ear to the door, he listened.

"No! I told you to tell him I wasn't home!" A female voice snarled.

A male laughed. "He already knows you're here, baby doll."

"Then tell him to go away."

"Not going to happen, sweet cheeks. This is your second chance at a fairy Godmother moment."

"Fuck your fairy Godmother and her moments!"

"Hide your crazy and answer the damn door woman."

"You are so dead for this Jo Jo."

Adam didn't hear the footsteps approach and about toppled headfirst into the apartment when the door jerked open. He caught himself before he fell into a very pissed off Trixie who cocked an irritated eyebrow at him. She was wearing black yoga pants and a purple camisole which he could clearly see the outline of her gorgeous breasts as they heaved up and down from her aggression causing his cock to twitch. He'd never been so affected by a woman in his life. Even though her hair was piled up on top of her head with only a few tendrils curling around her flushed face and there wasn't a trace of make-up, she was more lovely than he remembered and he stood entranced by her beauty.

"What do you want," she snapped angrily.

"It's good to see you again, Trixie," Adam said dryly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at her with censor. Her waspish reply splashing cold water on his stupor.

He had imagined this meeting going a multiple of ways, but resentment was not one of them. Shock, maybe...pleasure, he had hoped...but out and out malice, no. Ever since he had that damn phone call from Jonathan, he had been preoccupied with seeing her again and it irked him she did not seem the least bit pleased to see him.

"I would like to say the same thing, only I wasn't planning on seeing you again." She narrowed her beautiful eyes at him. "Ever."

Her sultry voice still intrigued him, even if it was spitting bitterness at him. "I think it was you who once informed me I needed to get use to the disappointment," he said flatly. He leaned into her personal space. "Are you going to let me in, Trixie?" he drawled softly.

"I wasn't planning on it." Her snarky response was weakened by her sudden unsteady inhale of air. So...she wasn't totally immune to his presence, he thought as his lips quirked into a little grin.

"Of course she was." Jo Jo reappeared, wiggling his way between Trixie and the door pulling her away from it. "You are such a little jokester," he laughed, as her eyes turned to granite and threw darts at him. "Come on in, Poppy. Mi casa es sue casa."

Adam held back the chuckle at Trixie's scowl, but he was grinning from ear to ear as he strolled into the apartment while she and her roommate hissed quietly back and forth behind him.

The place was small, but lavishly decorated in crushed red velvet, reproduction French furniture and a surprisingly large amount of cat figurines. Adam stepped into the middle of what appeared to be the living room, the space being shared with the kitchen and separated by a small dining table.

Looking down at a red upholstered futon, he recognized the embracing couple on the front cover of the book he had found in her backpack. Smiling, he picked it up and flipped through the pages.

"That's mine." She grabbed the book out of his hands and tossed it back down on the futon.

"Interesting reading." He arched a brow, smiling at her slyly as she continued to give him dirty looks.

"What do you want, Mr. Steele?" she said, exasperation clear in her tone.

"Adam," he corrected.

He longed to reach out and take her hand, to brush his fingers along her flushed cheeks or to simply touch her in some small way, but he knew she was already fuming and doing so would only ruffle her feathers further. To keep himself in check and to ensure he kept his hands to himself, he walked over to the bookshelf and plucked off a porcelain cat batting at a ball a yarn and pretended to inspect it.

She rolled her eyes and continued to glare at him. "How did you find me?"

"Perhaps we can take this somewhere more...private?" Adam glanced over at Jo Jo who was trying without success to act as if he wasn't listening while he busied himself in the kitchen. "Like your bedroom?" he suggested, careful to keep his tone flat and dry though a surge of excitement coursed through him at the prospect of being alone with her in a intimate setting.

She swooped her arms around the room and snorted. "You're standing in it."

"Excuse me?" Adam frowned, carefully placing the figurine back on the shelf before he dropped it. She slept here?

He looked more closely at the futon and realized it was her bed. Her backpack was leaned up against the side, underneath the coffee table and there was a plethora of pillows and neatly folded bed linens.

She smiled a shy uncomfortable smile and flopped down on the couch, clutching a pillow to her midsection. "Congratulations Mr. Steele, you've made it to my bedroom," she said quietly. "Now, how about you tell me a bedtime story about how and why you are here before you go?"

"Trixie..." he growled her name, taking a few steps towards her.

Her face flushed and he could see he'd inadvertently embarrassed her. He wanted to kick himself for his senselessness. He needed to try and soothe her in some way, but was at a loss as to how. Adam ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Dammit! It was more than wanting to calm her, he wanted her to fucking talk to him so he could help. Do what? He didn't know, but he at least wanted the chance to try.

"Trixie, I..." Adam was about to try a softer approach when a whirlwind of commotion interrupted him.

"Oh my God!" Jo Jo exclaimed walking into the living room with his hands over his ears. "I can't take it anymore. That name makes me feel like I am at a stripper convention and I'm gay, so you can imagine my horror!" He tossed a feather over his shoulder and looked at Trixie. "I'm sorry, baby doll, but if you're not going to tell him...then I will." He turned and faced Adam. "Her name is Abby. Abigail Maddison Lane."

"Jo Jo!" Trixie...or....Abigail jumped off the futon, gasping in shock at her friend's betrayal.

"It needed to be done." Jo Jo huffed, ignoring his seething friend. Picking up a gym bag next to the door, he looked at Abby. "Bippity-boppity-booyah!" With two snaps of his fingers, he rushed out as Abby threw a pillow, threatening retribution when he got home to his retreating back.

She stood seething at the door, her back to him and her shoulders lifting up and down with her rage.

"Abigail." The sound of her real name rolled easily off his tongue and he like the way it felt. He found himself wanting to say it over and over again. "Abigail, look at me."