The air in the dreary hallway was filled with the strong smell of a tenant's popcorn. I tightened my grip on the strap of my overnight bag, following Joey toward the exit. He insisted on checking around every corner to see if anyone was waiting to ambush us. I tried to tell myself he was just being paranoid.

As we descended the rusty metal staircase, I started to rethink living in that apartment complex. It really was the equivalent of a roach motel. The only reason I'd settled on it was because it was very affordable and I wasn't making that much.

I jumped at the sound of the metal creaking beneath my shoes. Joey halted me to peek around the corner, keeping his hand parallel to his hip. When he leaned forward to survey our surroundings, the back of his shirt rode up revealing a shiny black revolver in a holster fixed to his belt. My nerves were instantly heightened. I studied the way his fingers brushed against the pistol as he looked around for anyone that shouldn't be there. When he didn't see anything, he nodded to me, signaling it was safe to walk down the next flight of stairs.

Once we reached the ground floor, I waited for Joey to tell me what to do. He'd probably have flipped shit if I went ahead and walked outside like a normal person who had nothing to worry about.

"Wait here," he said, glancing around the lobby before slipping out the side exit door that only maintenance workers were supposed to use.

"Miss Turner?" Lydia, the woman who managed the front desk called my name from across the room.

I froze. I didn't know what to do. Was it okay for me to talk to her? Should I tell her what was going on? What if someone came in and grabbed me while Joey was gone?

Now I was the paranoid one.

A million questions whirled around in the tornado of emotions that my mind had become. I didn't want to do anything stupid or risky. I didn't want Joey to yell at me if I happened to say the wrong thing because I didn't have a clue how to handle a situation like this. It wasn't every day that an attractive police officer practically kidnapped me to save me from a hitman. Could you blame me for being discombobulated?

I smiled casually as if there wasn't a single dilemma in the world. "Hi, Lydia."

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked in her sweet grandmotherly voice.

"Of course." I continued to smile at her. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just used to you using the elevator. I know you hate the stairs. Your bag there looks like you're going somewhere. Are you leaving, dear?"

What the hell was I supposed to tell her? I couldn't very well say "I'm running away with some random cop that said I'm going to get killed otherwise." That would probably be suicide on its own.

I felt my blood pressure escalate as I anxiously awaited Joey's return.

"Just a couple days," I said vaguely.

"Oh," Lydia smiled, probably assuming I was taking a well-deserved vacation. "Where are you going?"

I wish I fucking knew.

"I'm visiting a friend," I lied, busying myself with adjusting my shoulder strap.

I wish I was visiting a friend.

"That sounds lovely!" she grinned. "Does your friend live in Boston?"

I liked Lydia. She was a nice older woman. But at the moment, the mix of my frustration and her long list of questions was making me want to strangle her.

I assumed Joey was taking me out of Boston, but I doubted he'd make me leave the state. That sounded too drastic. He'd probably just take me to a suburb for the time being. Maybe he could talk some sense into the department and get them to put me in witness protection or some sort of program where I wouldn't have to look over my shoulder every other minute.

"No." I shook my head, praying that that was the end of her questions.

"Where does your friend live?"

"Miami."

As if on cue, Joey waltzed in like he owned the place, sporting a black leather jacket and a navy ball cap that had NY on the front in big white letters. He looked good. No. He looked great.

"Oh, Jessica, who is this handsome young man?" Lydia chimed, grinning like she'd just won the lottery.

Like I said, Lydia was a nice woman. I liked her. But she never shut up. Ever.

"He's... um..."

"Steve Barnett," Joey smiled as if nothing was wrong and he was just another man introducing himself to someone in a perfectly normal setting.

If his law enforcement identification was real, then Steve Barnett was a fake name. But I couldn't help wondering if Joey actually was his name, or if he'd faked his ID to get me to trust him.

No matter which way I analyzed the situation, it seemed like I always came out on the losing end. Either I could stay in Boston and possibly meet Richard Lux. That would undoubtedly be an unpleasant experience. Or I could run off with Officer Joey, thinking I can trust him, and potentially find out the hard way that I can't. I felt like I'd just dove headfirst into the lion's den and nobody was there to pull me to safety.

"Jessica, he's quite the looker," Lydia beamed. "Is this your boyfriend?"

Now it was downright awkward. Joey and I exchanged a bewildered look.

"We actually need to be going," he said, putting a hand on my arm to guide me out the door.

"When will you be back?" Lydia called, but neither of us answered.

"Christ, that woman needs to put a sock in it," Joey huffed, hastily walking across the parking lot with me beside him.

"She's just trying to be friendly."

"She's just nosy as fuck," he retorted, pressing a button on the black remote in his palm.

A silver BMW's headlights flashed.

"This is your car?" I asked as we reached the small sedan.

"This is a spare we use on stakeouts sometimes," Joey answered, taking the overnight bag off my shoulder and tossing it in the backseat.

We climbed in the car and I released a heavy sigh, finally feeling like a had a chance to breathe. I looked at Joey who was buckling his seatbelt and once again admired the way his hair fell in front of his face as he looked down.

"Can I help you?" he asked, not even looking at me.

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. "Sorry," I said quickly.

Potential bad guy or not, he'd definitely been blessed with good looks.

Joey turned the key in the ignition and I buckled my seatbelt as he started to leave the complex. I noticed his eyes locked intently on something and followed his gaze to a black Cadillac slowly passing us.

The vehicle had tinted windows, so we couldn't see who was inside. It felt like they were purposely creeping passed like they were analyzing us. I tried to ignore the thought, hoping it was all in my head.

I turned my attention back to Joey once the Cadillac had passed us. We were waiting to turn onto the main road which just so happened to be loaded with traffic. He'd picked rush hour to drag me away to safety. What an Einstein.

Joey absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the bottom of the steering wheel to the beat of the rock song on the radio. He looked lost in thought but I knew he was keeping a close eye on me in his peripheral vision.

For whatever reason, I couldn't seem to take my eyes off the man sitting next to me. I was surprised if he was really a cop. He didn't fit the usual visual expectation. Generally, cops looked a little older, had shorter hair, and weren't as friendly. At least that had been my experience thus far. Joey reminded me of some of the older college students at UMass who were in their mid-twenties. If I didn't know who he was, I never would've figured him for a cop.

"You're doing it again," Joey mumbled, staring at the line of vehicles in front of us.

"Huh?"

"You're staring at me." He finally looked at me.

I felt my face heat up and looked away. It occurred to me that he had really pretty eyelashes. I stole glances at him until we made it to the next intersection. He removed his ball cap and set it on the dashboard.

"Is your real name Steve Barnett?" I blurted out. "Or is it Joey?"

"My real name, if you must know, is Joseph Cavannaugh," Joey answered. "I'm sure there's plenty of dudes named Steve Barnett in the world, but I'm not one of them. I pulled that name out of my ass so what's-her-face wouldn't know who I actually am."

"I doubt she'd care." I shrugged, but I understood his reasoning.

"She probably wouldn't give a flying fuck, but other people will. I don't need someone paying her several grand in exchange for information on you, me, or both of us, and her telling them my name. So far, no one has any idea that I'm helping you, and I'd like to keep it that way. I've got one more day of work until I take two weeks of vacation to try to figure this out."

I felt a nervous pit form in my stomach at his words. I didn't want to believe Lydia could be the type of person to be bribed for information. I hoped she wasn't like that. I'd tried so hard to keep my private life private since moving to Boston, but there were a handful of things Lydia knew about me that I'd rather no one did.

"Please tell me we're not really going to Miami," I groaned, remembering he'd told Lydia that the friend I was visiting lived there.

"Fuck no." Joey looked at me like I was an idiot.

"How am I supposed to know?" I threw my hands up. "You wouldn't tell me where we're going."

"Alright," he sighed. "For tonight and tomorrow, you're going to stay at my place until I get off work. I'll decide from there what we're going to do."

I was glad to finally have a little insight into what the hell we were doing, but I wasn't exactly jumping at the chance to spend the night at a stranger's house, even if he was a hot police officer. It was an uncomfortable situation. My mind started spinning with questions about when I could take my next shower and if I could trust him not to walk in on me, where would I sleep, and what was I supposed to do without any cash? He hadn't given me the opportunity to visit the ATM or anything. Was I supposed to rely entirely on him for this little vacation through hell?

I decided against quizzing Joey until we got somewhere that I could attempt to relax. The rest of the drive to his house was silent except for the quiet rock music in the car. I wondered why he never turned the volume up. I couldn't stand to drive with the music so low I could barely hear it. If I was driving, the stereo was blasting. No exceptions.

We pulled into the driveway of a small brick house somewhere in the suburbs of Boston just as the sun was starting to go down. The sunset cast a rainbow of red and pink in the gradually darkening sky. I looked around at the middle-class neighborhood surrounding us. There were probably thirty houses altogether. Each one had its own unique design and color pattern. Joey's yard was in desperate need of a hot date with a lawnmower, but otherwise, his house was cute. It looked inviting, as least from the outside. Who knew how messy it might be inside.

I watched as Joey opened the car door, hopping out and sticking his arms up in the air and then bending over, stretching for a good ten seconds. He reached back inside the car, grabbing his phone from one of the cup holders.

"You coming?" He gestured toward the house.

"Yeah," I mumbled, unbuckling my seatbelt and slowly getting out of the car.

By the time I set both feet on the pavement, Joey had already grabbed my overnight bag from the backseat and was standing on the porch, unlocking the front door. I closed the car door behind me, jogging up the narrow path to the porch.

"Took you long enough," he said sarcastically, opening the front door to what was a seemingly spotless house, contrary to my expectations.

I raised an eyebrow as I stepped inside. "Are you sure this is your house?"

"Last time I checked," he frowned. "Why?"

"It's clean," I stated the obvious, surprised at the lack of underwear or rotten pizza lying around.

He cocked an eyebrow, shutting and locking the door. "And?"

"And you're a guy," I started to giggle.

Alright, I know not everyone is insanely messy, but since when were guys this good at picking up after themselves? Joey didn't seem like the type of guy to have such an orderly house.

"Thank you for confirming I have a penis," Joey said dully.

I'd successfully embarrassed myself. Way to go, Jess.

"Follow me," he said, lugging my bag up a small carpeted staircase.

I followed him to a decent sized bedroom at the end of the hall. The walls were painted a lackluster off-white with no picture frames, posters, or decorations of any kind. There was a queen size bed with white sheets and a black comforter in the corner of the room against a large window that didn't have any curtains. A small nightstand with a glass top sat beside the bed. On the opposite side of the room stood a five-shelf bookcase and a dresser with a lamp on top. Judging by the layer of dust on the dresser, it didn't appear that anyone had used this room in a long time.

"This is my so-called guest room," Joey said, tossing my bag on the bed. "My room is down the hall at the end. The bathroom is the second door to the left. If you get hungry, there's a lot of microwavable shit in the freezer downstairs."

With that, he left the room. I stood there awkwardly, blinking at my unfamiliar surroundings. It felt more like I was in a bedroom at the hospital's psych ward, rather than in someone's home. I finally sat down on the bed. It was softer than it looked and I instantly craved sleep. I'd only gotten one full night's sleep in the last week, thanks to finals. My eyelids grew heavier and I was tempted to call it a day right then, but my stomach argued otherwise. I realized I hadn't eaten since the previous night.

I explored what little of the room there was to look at, and found all the dresser drawers empty. I decided against putting my clothes in the drawers since I wasn't staying long, and I didn't want to feel like I was intruding.

I rifled through my bag, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a red tank top. My plan was to get comfortable, grab something to eat, and then catch up on some much-needed sleep, assuming I could actually get any rest. I made sure to close the bedroom door before changing clothes, imagining how awkward it would be if Joey walked in on that. Then I made my way downstairs to find Joey also wearing sweats. He'd ditched the jeans for some red sweatpants and he wasn't wearing his Yankees shirt anymore. He wasn't wearing a shirt at all, actually.

I couldn't very well deny the fact that I found him extremely attractive, much to my dismay. I knew that any attraction I had to Joey would only complicate things more. I shuddered at the thought of the last man I'd allowed myself to become attracted to. Still, I couldn't keep myself from stopping and staring at the handsome young police officer shirtless in front of me. My eyes darted from his biceps to his chest, down to his abs that he was clearly working on defining more. The man was utterly gorgeous, and the butterflies that I hadn't felt in my stomach in what seemed like years started throwing a fucking party.

"You're doing it again," Joey muttered, flipping over a grilled cheese in an old tarnished pan on the stove.

"I... well... you..." I struggled to find something to say that didn't imply I'd been shamelessly checking him out.

"Well, that's a speech for the books," he chuckled, shoveling the sandwich onto a plate. "I don't know if you like grilled cheese or not, but if you want it, there it is."

My stomach made a bizarre sound in response to the smell of food. I guess I was hungrier than I thought.

"Grilled cheese sounds amazing," I said, carrying the plate over to the small kitchen table. "Thank you."

I watched Joey whip up another sandwich while I ate mine. I couldn't help noticing – and admiring - the way his muscles flexed when he reached for something, flipped the sandwich, or opened the refrigerator. His bangs were messy and some crazy part of me wondered what it would be like to run my fingers through his hair.

"I don't usually do this," Joey said, sitting down across the table from me with his sandwich. "Actually, I've never done this. So don't get used to it."

"The cooking or the kidnapping?" I joked.

"This whole setup." He eyed me for a long minute and I felt like those piercing blue eyes could see through to my soul. "And I didn't kidnap you. You came willingly. Sort of."

"Sort of," I repeated, nodding.

Joey rolled his eyes, biting into his sandwich while I sat there, playing with my fingers and trying to look anywhere but at him until he finished eating. He leaned across the table, grabbing my plate full of crumbs and taking both plates to the sink. I watched him wash them off before placing them neatly in the dishwasher.

"So should I just leave you alone now?" I asked, getting the idea that my presence wasn't wanted.

"What?" Joey closed the dishwasher and turned to face me.

"I mean... I'm probably just bothering you and getting in the way so-"

"No," he shook his head with a soft smile. "Stay."