But a Chiefs parka was common enough this time of year in a football-crazed city like K.C. When the two bar patrons turned north away from the diner, Kit wondered anew where Matt could be at 12:00 a.m. on a Thursday night. She was going to have to do the tough-love thing and ground his tardy ass for being out so late on a school night.
Shivering at the pending sense of loss she couldnt quite explain, Kit looked up and down the street one more time. She couldnt see much else through the steel scaffolding and plastic sheeting that framed the buildings facade and curved into the side alley. Though the work on her own first-floor apartment and business had been completed three months ago, the construction team renovating the twenty-nine floors above her in the Depression-era Sinclair Building never seemed to run out of projects.
The workers were the diners best customers for lunch. But, along with the handful of tenants on the second and third floors whod stuck it out through first one construction company, then another, she suspected she wasnt the only one tired of her absent landlords penchant for historic perfection. Heavy equipment had blocked the sidewalk and torn up the street for more than a year now, turning three lanes of traffic into two, and giving petty thieves, gang-bangers and the homeless plenty of places to hide at night. She suspected some unwanted squatters had even found their way into a few of the unfinished apartments above her.
Though she could admire the unseen Sinclair heir for trying to make this block of downtown Kansas City the same tourist-and-young-professional draw that Wesport or the Plaza to the south were, Kit feared that the working-class locals would be forced to move before any new influx of business could save them.
Kits parents hadnt owned any pharmaceutical empires like the Sinclairs did. They couldnt pack up and go to a second home in the islands when the weather turned bitter and the construction got in the way. Theyd toughed it out and had paid the ultimate price in the fire that had taken everything. This block of Kansas City had been their home. True, Kit had gone off to college to pursue her science degrees, and had dreamed of working in a criminology lab in New York City or Chicago. But shed returned when she was needed. To find out why her parents had died. To rebuild their diner and maintain their dream.
This was her home now. And her brothers. Along with the countless castoffs from society like Germane and the handful of loyal workers she employed. They all needed her to succeed. She didnt have time to want or dream.
Kit tilted her face and squinted up into the falling snow. The ominous shadows of the Sinclair Buildings Art Deco carvings and dark rows of high-tech replacement windows towered above her. The far-removed penthouse apartments on the top floors were completely swallowed up by the raw night sky. If the construction delays didnt end, and the troubling rise in neighborhood crime didnt
Watchin isnt gonna make that boy come home any sooner. Germanes sympathetic warning stirred Kit from her thoughts. This is the second night this week Mattys missed his curfew.
At eighteen, six years her junior, Kits brother looked more man than boy. And legally, she supposed she didnt have any right to set boundaries and expectations for him. But even if he wouldnt accept her hugs, she intended to protect him. From gangs, drinking, crimefrom himself. He could hate her guts if he wanted, but Matthew Snow Jr. was going to make it to adulthood and make something of himself. Shed sworn that promise at her parents graves.
She couldnt quite raise a smile. You noticed, huh?
Hes giving you worry lines beside those pretty gray eyes.
Hell be here. She hoped. The worry that was never far from her thoughts cut through her like the bite of the winter wind. Doing had become a lot easier than feeling lately. That was how she dealt with the loss. She pushed Germane through the diners front door and locked it behind her. Shed wait until Matt showed up before pulling down the cage that shielded the front windows. Cmon. Weve got work to do.
TEN MINUTES LATER Kit jumped at the scream from the alley. Elbow-deep in hot, sudsy water, she chilled at the words she heard through the kitchens back door.
You?
Shut up and let go, you hag!
Take it. Please, just take
She preferred screams to the muffled thud and sudden, eerie silence.
Germane! He was mopping out by the tables. But she was just a few feet away from the shouts and scuffle in the alley. Kit tightened her grip around the iron skillet shed been washing and ran to the exit. Call 911!
Kit! Dont you
But she was already out the door at the top of the loading dock. Not Matt. Please dont let it be Matt. The crunching of snow drew her attention to the steel scaffolding beyond the light over her back door. She spotted the groceries scattered across the ground and hurried down the concrete steps toward the torn sack they belonged to.
Next time, old lady, youll shut up when I tell you to.
Kits eyes adjusted to the sight of two young men in saggy jeans and hooded parkasone bearing the distinctive arrowhead of the Chiefssquatting beside a womans still form in the slush near the garbage cans. Matty?
The bigger of the two stopped digging through the womans purse and swung around. Black hair and little else was visible above the scarf hed tied over his face. Not Matt.
Blood boiled in Kits veins, overriding both relief and fear. Get away from her. Get away!
Kit charged before the startled man could rise. She smacked him in the shoulder, sending both purse and attacker flying. Unfazed by his fluent foreign curses, she jumped over the womans skinned-up legs and raised the skillet to go after the smaller man.
But a third pair of arms grabbed her from behind and slung her against the building. The skillet banged against the wall, stinging her fingers and popping her grip. It clattered to the ground as the man shed struck lurched forward, wanting his own retribution. Nobody hits me, bitch!
He shoved her before she had a chance to react. She smacked into solid limestone. The air whooshed from her lungs and her head spun from the dizzying contact.
Get out of here! Now! Blurry hands pulled the man in the Chiefs parka back and urged him to run.
Kit sank to her knees as the three men scattered. By the time she could fill her lungs with cold air and clear her head, they were gone. Along with the womans purse.
Kit didnt waste time pursuing them. The older woman, groaning but not moving, was a greater concern. Kit crawled over and knelt beside her, quickly assessing that her unfocused eyes were open and her pulse was beating. Recognizing the snowy cap of hair and slight build beneath the thick wool coat and knitted scarf, she asked, Helen?
Recognize was a generous term. The woman came into the diner for an occasional cup of tea, but usually just nodded and smiled when they passed each other on the sidewalk or in the parking garage. She seemed friendly enough, but very private. Shed probably been a resident around here for years, and was being cautious about the alarming changes in her environment.
Any wonder? The dangerous proof was the fresh tracks in the snow, exiting the alley between the parking garage and the Sinclair Buildings side entrances.
Helen? Thats your name, right? The woman gasped as Kit peeled the wool scarf away from the bloody wound at her temple. Shed had enough training in her forensic classes to identify the long, round indentation of the wound. Those greedy bastards had hit this fly-weight woman with a pipe, or maybe shoved her into one of the scaffolding bars. But this wasnt the time for Kits innate curiosity to kick in. The woman was going into shock.