He wouldnt know. But he did recognize a load of BS when he heard it. Jillian
I need to sign out ASAP so I can get Troy home before dark. Ill be right back so you dont have to keep Mike waiting.
Miles of long legs and the graceful athleticism of her walk quickly carried her down the hallway and around the corner. Conversation over, old man. Take the hint.
For a moment, Michael debated between trusting his instincts about people and minding his own business. But hed spent too many years as a cop, training his mind and body to pay attention to the warning signs people gave him, to let her behavior go without an explanation. It was always easier to stop trouble before it got started.
Pretty, sassy, make-his-son-smile Jillian Masterson was in trouble.
Making sure he was alone in her office, he plucked the paper wad shed tossed out of the trash can and unfolded it, smoothing it open against his thigh. He read it quickly. Read it again. Frowned.
A love letter.
One that made a healthy woman go pale, jump at his approach and toss the missive away with a flippant excuse before bolting from the room.
Right. Nothing suspicious about that.
Chapter Two
Can you get it, Troy?
Yeah, Im good.
Jillian closed the passenger-side door of her dark blue SUV, pressed the automatic locks and turned a slow 360 to take note of the traffic, parked cars and local residents up and down both sides of the drab, run-down city block. There were patches of brightness and warmth here and there where hope and promise tried to shine through. A freshly painted window box waited for spring flowers to be planted. A trio of preteen girls sat on the stoop across the street, chattering in laughing voices under the rosy glow of the setting sun. Construction signs promised a condemned building was about to be razed and replaced by something clean and new.
But she was just as aware of the weary posture of the shopkeepers locking their doors and pulling down protective cages, the curious glances and quick dismissals from workers climbing off the bus at the corner and hurrying toward their respective homes before any kind of trouble found them. And she couldnt miss the homeless man, dragging a filthy backpack behind him as he turned into an alley and disappeared.
Thankfully, though, there were no pimps, no gang-bangers, no visible dealers she recognized from those lost days a decade ago when the dark corners and hidden secrets of this Kansas City neighborhood had offered her a false escape from the sorrows and stress of her teenage life. Of course, night hadnt fallen yet. Shadows and moonlight were usually the only invitation the cockroaches needed to come out of their holes.
A shiver of remembered nightmares rippled across her skin, leaving a sea of goose bumps in its wake.
Youve moved beyond this place, she reminded herself with a mental nod, shaking off the sudden chill. She was older, wiser and ten years clean without a fix of coke. To her dying day, shed atone for that wasted part of her life by helping youths like Troy Anthony move beyond the sucking trap of No-Mans Land the way she finally had. So do it, already.
Wait up. Zipping the front of her sweatshirt jacket, Jillian hurried to catch up to Troy as he maneuvered his chair over the curb onto the sidewalk. She grabbed the handles and steered him up the concrete ramp that zigzagged beside the stairs leading to the apartment buildings double doors. I promised front door service, and that means apartment 517.
Troy turned his key in the lock of the inner lobby door. Aint nothing wrong with these magic hands. I can get up to the fifth floor by myself. Youd better head on home before dark.
Is everybody my big brother today? Thisll take like, what, five minutes max? Jillian rolled him across the cracked tiles of the lobby floor, and waited while he pushed the elevators call button. The numbers over the elevator doors didnt light up, but she could tell from the grinding of gears and cables that the car was descending inside the shaft. I dont want your grandmother to worry about you getting home safely. Shes got enough on her plate.
Youre sure youre not coming upstairs to snitch one of her chocolate chip cookies?
Hey, if somebody offers me homemade cookies and theres chocolate involved Jillian waved her arms out in a dramatic gesture. Ahh!
Their shared laughter ended abruptly when the light beside the supers door clicked on. Jillian clutched her fists back to her chest and she masked the catch in her throat with a cough. Great. Since when had she gotten so skittish?
Stupid letter. Stupid flower.
She smoothed her hair into her ponytail and tried to ease her paranoia by taking stock of her surroundings inside the lobby. She and Troy were alone. The supers light must be rigged with some kind of motion sensor that she had inadvertently set off, because no one else had entered the building behind them or come out of the apartment. She should be relieved the light had snapped on because it dispelled the evening gloom gathering in the lobby, although the corridor beyond the supers apartment remained in shadows. She was relieved. For a moment. Deliberately focusing her senses also gave her a whiff of a pungent odor that was decidedly less pleasant than the aroma of freshly baked cookies she imagined coming from Troys apartment.
Jillian wrinkled up her nose. What is that smell?
Probably Mrs. Chamberss cats in 102. She cant say no to a stray. You all right?
Yeah, Im fine. I think somebody needs to change the litter box.
You sure? You seem a little rattled.
Just tired. Its been a long day. A final ding of the elevator gave her the perfect excuse to brush aside Troys concerns. As the steel doors parted, she grabbed the handles on Troys wheelchair. The Jillian Masterson chauffeur service is ready to
There you are. Where have you been? Youre late. Way late. A sharp voice from inside the elevator greeted them before the tall, stout black woman braced the doors open with her thick, gnarled fingers.
Grandma
Dont you Grandma me.
Jillian pulled the chair back as LaKeytah Anthony stormed out. The older woman with the purplish-dyed hair reached out to her grandson to give him a tweak on his chin and a light cuff on his ear in one smooth motion. Dex is upstairs by himself, doin his homework. You were supposed to have him here forty minutes ago. Now Ill be late gettin to my shift at the Winthrop Building.
Im sorry, Mrs. Anthony. I got held up at the office for a few minutes. Troy called.
An hour ago!
Its rush hour, Troy defended. Jillian drove as quick as she could. You know theres construction and stuff.
LaKeytah wouldnt hear it. I thought the whole idea of you drivin him was to get him home early. You know what Im fearin when I dont know where my boys are.
The idea was to get Troy to therapy, period. Saving the Anthonys time, money and concern was supposed to be the bonus. It wasnt my intent to worry you.
I cant get to work if he isnt here.
Dex is fourteen, Troy argued. He can be by himself for half an hour.
How old were you when you got shot?
Mrs. Anthony!
The older womans fatigue was evident as she finally paused to catch her breath. Maybe if Id been here to walk you home that night