Fear came to her eyes the moment she saw the mark on my forehead. “God have Mercy, what did you do?” She clenched me in her bony arms, the scents of Pine-Sol and Clorox wafting off her.
“Your life will be better without me,” I said, prying myself from her embrace.
“You are my life,” she replied, her voice frail and desperate.
A terrible hollowness spread through me. “I’m sorry,” I said before I dashed into the kitchen.
As I started to open the back door, heavy pounding came from the other side. “Police!”
A second officer had come through the alley. I raced back the way I had come, past my grandmother, and up the stairs.
“Lord Jesus,” my grandmother moaned, not answering either door, though knocking on both drummed through the house. She collapsed on the steps behind me, falling into prayer, beseeching Jesus to enter my heart and guide me.
In the upstairs hallway, I caught the rope to the trap door and tugged the ladder down, then scaled the rungs to the attic, where I pulled the ladder up after me. I locked it in place and darted off, zigzagging around dusty boxes to the wall where Satch’s father had hammered a hole. With plaster and broken laths scrunching under my feet, I scurried into our neighbor’s attic. The smells of breakfast changed as I stumbled through three more.
At last, I balanced on the ladder above Satch’s home and gave a slight jump. The ladder descended faster than I had anticipated, falling out from under me. I leaped to the floor and crashed against the wall, the ladder banging down at the same time. I listened to the silence that followed, hoping no one was home.
“Blaise,” Satch’s voice came from behind me.
I spun around.
On the other side of the ladder, Satch stood in his briefs, blinking as if the noise had startled him awake, his beautiful, muscled body blocking my way to the stairs.
“I’m glad you got away last night,” he said too quickly.
Bitter resentment tightened my chest. I edged forward, swinging my purse, wishing I still had my hammer, and paused.
“I believed Trek last night when he said he didn’t know who shot him,” Satch said. “I swear I didn’t know you were the shooter.”
I wondered if he could see the doubt in my eyes, the anger, as I eased around the ladder, closer to the stairs.
“Please believe me, Blaise. Trek was the one who told Dante about the escape route through the attic, not me.”
“So what? You didn’t stop him from driving down to your house, did you?” I glanced over the banister at the stairs. If I tried to jump, I’d probably break my neck.
“You know I saw you,” Satch continued, still trying to dispel my distrust. “I spoke loud enough for you to hear me. I wanted you to get away.”
“You locked me in the shed,” I blurted. “So you could take me to Trek yourself.”
“Come on, Blaise. The door was rickety. It would have swung open the moment I let go and Dante would have seen you. I’ve been protecting you.”
“Like hell.” I plunged forward and swung my purse at his crotch. He jumped back, dodging my hit, then bounded forward and caught me before my foot hit the top step. He trapped me in his arms, forcing me to face him, his eyes intense with anger.
I shoved against him, trying to break free, but he only tightened his grip. “I love you, Blaise.”
I stopped struggling and looked up at his enticing smile, those captivating eyes that held me transfixed.
“You’re so good at charming girls,” I rasped. “You’re just amazing. You knew the exact words to say to make me stop fighting, but you should know those words hurt when they’re a lie.”
“It’s not a lie. I couldn’t tell you before because Rico was already in love with you, and no way could I disrespect him by going after you, not after all the things he’d done for me. All our lives Rico and I only had each other to count on. That’s why I tried to keep away from you.”
I searched his eyes. The sincerity in them gave me hope.
“That night in your garage after Trek shot Rico, I was trying to tell you, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words with Rico just killed.”
Sadness flowed through me. “Did Rico know how you felt?”
“Of course he did. We never kept anything from each other.”
Finally, I understood why Rico was afraid I would hate him for being selfish. He had watched me falling in love with Satch and hadn’t stepped aside so that we could be together. But I couldn’t hate Rico, not for loving me so deeply.
I smoothed my hands over Satch’s chest, relishing his warm skin. As he leaned down to kiss me, a sudden worry shot through me. “Is Trek after you?” I asked.
“No,” Satch said, lazily stroking my back, his breath mingling with mine. “He believed me when I told him that I’d trapped you inside the shed so I could take you to him myself.”
“Are you sure?”
“Relax, Blaise,” Satch whispered. “I can handle my own.”
The pleasant ache that I remembered from before stirred inside me. This hadn’t been part of my plan and, though I knew I should run, my feelings for Satch were making me careless.
As he led me into his bedroom, his cell phone sounded. He ignored it and pressed me against him.
I startled when his lips finally touched mine. Breathless, I clasped his back, pulling him closer, my heart quickening.
I was about to force myself to pull away when his cell phone pinged again. Annoyed, Satch grabbed it from his nightstand, glanced at the screen, and froze. “What?” I asked.
“Trek’s at the front door.”
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35
“I’ll handle this.” Satch pulled on his jeans and rushed headlong into the hallway.
When I grabbed my purse and raced after him, he wheeled around, his voice low and angry. “Do you still think I’m going to hand you over to Trek?”
I shook my head.
“Then prove to me that you trust me by waiting here.”
“I can’t,” I said, panic setting in as I realized how incautious I had been. “I have to leave. Cops are down at my house.”
Astonishment and disbelief flashed over his face before he brought his emotions under control. “You’re as crazy as Rico. Why’d you let me kiss you?”
“For the memory,” I whispered. “I’m running away.”
“You can’t. Too many girls from our neighborhood have tried and they always end up dead.”
“I don’t have a choice,” I said.
Looking crazed with sorrow, Satch pressed his lips against my forehead, and then abruptly pulled back and touched the side of my face, his gaze lingering, as if he was trying to get a picture of me to hold in his heart.
“I’ll give you cover,” he said, his expression hardening, before he charged down the stairs.
When I heard the front door open, I eased onto the landing. Though I couldn’t hear their conversation, Satch nodded in agreement to whatever Trek was saying and stepped out on the porch, closing the door behind him.
With quick, jittery steps, I hurried down to the living room. In the kitchen, I broke into a run, slammed out the back door, and dashed into the alley. I glanced over my shoulder at the police car still parked behind my grandmother’s home, then darted onto the street.
The bus had stopped and people were boarding. I shoved into the line, jumped on, and paid my fare. As the bus pulled away from the curb, I stared straight ahead and let my silent tears fall.
Near Gallery Plaza, I got off the bus and rode the escalator down into the Metro station. The moldering smells in the entrance tunnel filled my lungs as I stepped into the dingy light and inserted an old ticket into the slot. I looked up to where the security cameras recorded me, certain I appeared distraught, a terrified girl on the run.
I rode the second escalator down
to the platform and let the crowd pull me to the safety line, where I stood amid the red flashing floor lights.
The train stopped and passengers mobbed around me, coming and going, their bodies hiding me from the cameras. I took the hat from my purse, set it on my head, the floppy brim covering my eyes, then yanked off the pink sweater and swaddled it around my purse, which I cradled in my arms.
As the crowd thinned, I walked away, pretending to be a young mother leaving the Metro Station, carrying her baby and grinning wildly. My grandmother and Satch were telling everyone that I had run away, but I had no intention of leaving. I wasn’t going to let Trek destroy more lives. He was a dead man.
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36
I hid in Chinatown, sunlight streaking into the alley, where I sat on a crate of bok choy while sipping coffee that I had purchased inside the restaurant. I should have tossed my cell phone, but even with the risk that the police could use it to track me, I kept it clutched in my hand, anxious to hear from Satch. I couldn’t risk calling him, because I feared Trek would be watching him closely. Satch had taken a terrible risk to protect me, and I wasn’t as convinced as he was that Trek had believed his deception.
By nightfall, I could no longer control the impulse to go to Satch’s house and find out if he was all right. Though I had planned to wait until the streets emptied, I stood and, walking into the winds of an approaching storm, headed home.
As I neared my neighborhood, lightning crackled across the sky. The streetlights flared, then dimmed to an orange filament glow before brightening again. Seconds later, thunder rocked the night and, when the rumbling quieted, the downpour began. Rain spattered the ground, releasing the lush scents of wet earth and grass.
Within the barrage of pattering rain, I became aware that my phone was sounding. The caller ID read Satch. Relief flooded through me. I answered without thinking. “Satch, are you all right?”
“That’s an odd way to answer the phone.” Trek’s voice came over the connection. “Why are you worried about Satch when he was part of the posse that was hunting for you?”
I froze, my stomach sick with panic.
When I didn’t say anything, Trek added, “If Satch had turned on me, I’d want him dead, five bullets in his head.”
The words twisted into me, bringing forth the memory of how easily Trek had killed Rico. I slumped against the nearest car, an old Ford with deflated tires. Did Trek know that Satch had deceived him?
“I got Satch,” Trek answered as if I had spoken the question aloud. “But you’re the one I want.”
“I’ll trade,” I said, grateful that Satch wasn’t dead.
“Where are you?” Trek asked.
“An hour from the neighborhood,” I lied, listening. I could hear wind chimes in the background, which meant Trek was standing near the stairs in his house. Hope raced through me. If Satch was hostage in one of the rooms, then maybe I could free him without a trade.
“I’ll come get you,” Trek offered, interrupting my thoughts.
“I’m at Dulles,” I embroidered my lie as lightning raced across the clouds and split into jagged seams. Simultaneously, thunder shattered the night, rocking the ground. The electricity went out.
“Dulles?” Trek laughed. “Were you taking a plane somewhere?”
“I’ll meet you near Tulley’s in an hour.” I ended the conversation, certain the thunderclap had revealed my true location. Trek would have listened to my background noise just as I had listened to his, but even if he knew I was in our neighborhood, would he suspect that I would be brazen enough to steal into his house again? I thought of the weapons stored in the closet under the stairs and broke into a run, the flutter of sheet lightning guiding me down the street.
By the time I reached Trek’s house, people had begun setting out candles and hurricane lanterns, but no light glimmered in his windows. I glanced in the garage. The Mercedes was gone. Maybe Trek was already waiting for me near Tulley’s, intent on catching me the moment I arrived.
I turned off my phone ringer, the sky ablaze with lightning. While thunder shook the house, I tried the back door. Left unlocked, either carelessly or purposefully, it swung open. The effortless way I had broken inside caused doubt to worm into my thoughts. More cautious now, fearful that I had walked into a trap, I crossed the back porch, opened the door to the kitchen, and eased into deeper shadows.
The linoleum creaked beneath my feet and, immediately, Pixie and Bonnie began barking. Shut inside the laundry room, they scratched at the closed door. Had Trek penned them in the room to keep them out of his way? If he was in the house and not waiting near Tulley’s as I supposed, then the dogs had alerted him to my arrival.
I sensed movement and hunkered down as the laundry room door burst open. Pixie and Bonnie raced toward me, mewling. I tried to calm them, brushing my hands over their wet snouts, my concentration on the dark behind them. Had someone opened the door for them, or had an old latch given way to the persistent beating from their paws?
With the dogs licking my face, I cupped my hand around my cell phone, scrolled down to Satch’s number, and pressed Send. If Trek still had Satch’s phone, the ringtone might give me his location. When I heard only the ringing in my earpiece, I ended the call, confident that Trek wasn’t near. He could still be upstairs, or perhaps, like me, he had turned off his ringtone, but even if he had, he would have checked the caller ID and, in the dark, the display glow would have given his presence away. For the moment, I felt safe enough to stand.
I pulled out the bag of dog food from under the kitchen sink and dropped it open on the floor. Kibble scattered across the linoleum, the meaty smell rising in the clammy air. Pixie and Bonnie ate, chuffing and snorting. Now that their barking had stopped, I heard the wind chimes. Someone must have left a window open. The loud clattering would camouflage the sound of anyone sneaking up on me while I searched for Satch in the bedrooms and attic.
Intent on stopping the noise, I opened the drawer near the stove and drew out the scissors. I slipped them in my pocket, blades pointed down, and stole forward through the dining room and into the living room, where I entered the closet under the stairs.
The smell of gun cleaner sunk deep into the back of my nose, the harsh scent leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. I glided my hand over the empty nails, surprised that so many guns were missing. For a moment, I panicked, fearing Dante had removed all of them, and then my fingers swept over three guns that hung upside down, their trigger guards hooked over nails. I chose the one whose weight assured me that it had the power to kill.
After testing the balance, my fingers worked over the gun to make sure it was loaded. I clicked off the safety and eased back into the living room as a car drove past the house. The beam from the headlights swept across the walls. A man-size shadow stood near the TV, a gun aimed at me. I fell to the floor, the point of the scissors digging into my thigh, and held my gun with both hands, then stared at the dark, waiting for a muzzle flash and an explosion of bullets.
When lightning lit the room again, the phantom shadow had disappeared. Even so, for one horrible moment, I wondered if Trek was following me, ghoulishly waiting for me to discover Satch’s body. I listened for his footsteps, a sigh of breath, but the irritable discord of wind chimes made it impossible to hear anything other than thunder. I waited for another lightning strike.
The eerie glow burst across the night, lighting the room, and proved to me that I was alone. Relief and bewilderment flooded through me. The spectral figure must have been an illusion, a trick of light and shadow and my nerves.
I stood and edged up the steps, my back pressed against the wall, the wind chimes unsettling me as much as my inability to see. I had almost reached the landing when Pixie and Bonnie, finished with eating, bounded up after me. They whimpered, nosing my legs, their bodies shivering—from
cold or fear?—and continued up with me.
In the upstairs hallway, I set the gun down, then took out the scissors and cut the strings that moored the wind chimes to the railing. Seashells, glass cutouts, and metal tubes fell into the blackness below. When only strings glided over my fingers, I listened to the wind-thrashed trees brushing against the house, the rain clicking at the windows. Though I heard no sound of another person, something felt wrong.
After a moment, I realized that the dogs were no longer with me. Their sudden disappearance nagged at me, but I didn’t have time to search for them. I needed to find Satch. I picked up the gun as lightning zipped across the sky, its pale light stuttering into the hallway. When thunder pealed, I heard a yelp, cut off midway through the cry. I froze, listening, terror becoming an icy lump in my stomach.
In the silence that followed, a whisper of stealthy footsteps came from downstairs. The front door opened, then slammed with a bang that rattled the house. I hurried to Trek’s bedroom window and looked down at the street.
His Mercedes was parked at the curb, the dome light on, headlights beaming. Trek sat behind the steering wheel, his hair shaved off in a neat square above his temple, where a row of butterfly stitches pinched his swollen scalp.
While he gazed back at the house from the open car window, I calculated the angle, the line of fire, and saw my opportunity: the perfect shot from the front door.
I took off and rushed blindly down the stairs, seashells and glass crunching under my shoes. I had almost reached the bottom when I stepped on something soft and slipped. I lost my balance and tumbled down, landing flat on the floor, my concentration on holding the gun barrel pointed away from me.
I sat up and, with pain still rotating in my neck, used the display light on my cell phone to see what had tripped me. A cry escaped my lungs. Bonnie lay limp on the floor, pink belly up, forepaws splayed, with Pixie, not moving, on the step above her. I dropped the gun and phone and picked up Bonnie, cradling her still-warm body against my chest. Her head lolled to the side, her neck broken.