The next time Lena saw him wasn't at the bar.
She was at the laundromat three blocks from her apartment. It was a Saturday morning, and the place smelled like industrial soap and burnt lint. One of the dryers was screeching like a dying bird. Lena sat on a plastic chair that had one leg shorter than the others, trying to read a paperback with a cracked spine.
She looked up because the bell on the door rang.
Adrian was there. He wasn't wearing a suit. He had on a dark hoodie and jeans that looked worn out. He looked like a normal person, except he was too big for the room. He was carrying a small bag of laundry.
"You're stalking me," she said. She didn't even say hello. She just felt a sudden, sharp fear that he'd finally decided to stop playing the bar game.
Adrian didn't look surprised to see her. He leaned against a washing machine that was vibrating violently. "My building's laundry room is flooded. A pipe burst on the third floor. This was the closest place."
"Right. In this neighborhood? You live in a penthouse, Adrian. There's a dry cleaner on every corner in your part of town."
He shrugged. He looked around the dingy room. "I like the smell of this place. It reminds me of being poor. It's a more honest kind of dirt."
Lena went back to her book. Her hands were shaking. She could feel him watching her. Not like a predator, but like he was trying to figure out if she was going to scream.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Lena," he said.
"That's what everyone says right before they do," she muttered.
She stood up to check her laundry. The clothes were still damp. She shoved them into a dryer and dropped three quarters into the slot. The machine started to tumble with a heavy thump-thump sound. Her old sneakers were in there.
"I found out about your brother," Adrian said.
Lena froze. She didn't turn around. She kept her hand on the warm glass of the dryer door. "I told you. He's gone."
"I know how he died. I know he was in prison."
"Everyone knows that," she lied. "It was in the papers."
"No, it wasn't. Not in this city. You've done a good job of burying the name Vance."
She turned around then. Her face was pale. "What do you want? Is it the money? Is that what this is? Because I don't have it. I swear to God, I don't have a cent of it."
Adrian stepped closer. He didn't look angry. He looked sad. "I don't want the money, Elena. I have plenty of my own. I wanted to see if you were okay."
"Don't call me that," she hissed. "That girl is dead."
"She's not dead. She's just hiding in a laundromat in Queens. And she looks exhausted."
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers were warm this time. Lena didn't pull away. She was too tired to fight. She felt like a balloon that had finally run out of air.
"I'm so tired of running," she whispered.
"Then stop," he said. "Stay here. Let me help you."
"Why? Why would you help me? You didn't even know Julian."
Adrian looked away. He looked at a pile of discarded newspapers in the corner. "I knew him better than you think. We were in the same business for a while. Different sides of the fence, maybe, but the same dirt."
"You're a criminal?"
"I'm a man who's done things," he said. "But I'm trying to do one good thing before I'm finished. Julian asked me to look after you."
Lena felt a sob catch in her throat. She pushed it down. "He... he mentioned me?"
"Every day. He had a picture of you in his cell. The one with the pigtails. He said you were the only reason he kept breathing."
She sat back down on the uneven plastic chair. She felt like the room was spinning. Adrian sat on the floor in front of her. He didn't care about the grime. He just sat there, looking up at her.
"I'm not here for revenge," he said. "I'm here because I'm the only person in this world who knows who you really are. And I think you're lonely."
Lena looked at him. She saw the scar on his eyebrow. She saw the way his eyes softened when he looked at her. She didn't know if she could trust him. He was a stranger with too many secrets.
But he was right. She was lonely. She was so lonely it felt like a physical ache in her chest.
"I like the way you make a Rye," he said, trying to change the subject.
Lena gave a small, shaky laugh. "It's mostly ice."
"It's perfect," he said.
They sat there in silence for a long time, listening to the dryers spin. It wasn't a romantic moment. It was just two broken people in a bright, ugly room, trying to find a way to stay upright.
"I have a cat," she said suddenly. "A stray I found in the alley. His name is Barnaby."
Adrian smiled. It was a real smile this time. It made him look younger. "I'd like to meet Barnaby sometime."
"He bites," she warned.
"I'm used to being bitten," he said.
He stood up and offered her his hand. Lena looked at it for a second. She thought about the suitcase under her bed. She thought about the name on her mailbox.
She took his hand. It was solid. It felt like a promise.
"Let's get your laundry, Lena," he said. "I'll give you a ride home."
She didn't argue. She let him carry the heavy bag. She let him open the door. She walked out into the cold morning air, and for the first time in three years, she didn't look over her shoulder.
She wasn't safe. She knew that. But as she watched Adrian load her damp clothes into the back of his car, she felt like the world had stopped tilting, just for a second.
And that was enough.