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
Then maybe youd have got shot, too.
Dismissing the sad logic of Troys words, LaKeytah straightened and pointed a stern finger at him. Dinners in the microwave. Make sure Dex finishes his algebra. The accusatory finger swung toward Jillian. Im gonna be late to clean my offices now, thanks to you. If you want to help Troy, you get him home on time. With a grunt and a glare, LaKeytah stormed outside, letting the lobbys double doors slam shut behind her.
A beat of shocked silence passed before Troy leaned forward to open the elevator doors again. Sorry about that.
Still feeling a sting of guilt, Jillian summoned a wry smile. LaKeytah Anthony worked two jobs, raised two teenagers and had plenty of reason to worry about her family in this neighborhood. Though she didnt appreciate being anyones whipping post, Jillian thought she could understand the other womans anger. Your grandmothers stressed out about work, and like she said, shes concerned about you.
Shes concerned about Dexter. He rolled his eyes to punctuate his mocking acceptance that he was the grandson LaKeytah had already given up on. She just wants me home so I can babysit.
Troy. Jillian squeezed his shoulder. Its more than that.
He shrugged off her offer of comfort. Shes got no cause to jump your case like that.
Forget it. She wheeled him inside and let him position his chair while she pushed button number 5.
I can get upstairs on my own.
I know you can. But I promised to see you home, okay? Homes the fifth floor. The doors drifted shut. Let him be all tough and hide the hurt he must be feelingJillian was still going to care. Besides, if anything happens to you between here and there, I dont want your grandmother chewing me another new one.
I hear that. Troy grinned.
Jillian relaxed. He was going to be okay.
HE SILENTLY PULLED THE DOOR SHUT behind him and crept out of the shadowed hallway into the lobby, his senses finely tuned to the sweet scent of Jillian Masterson, despite the ammonia odor of soured kitty litter that left his eyes watering.
A terrible sense of right and wrong burned through his belly. What hed just overheard had been wrong. All wrong.
He needed to make it right.
The old woman in apartment 102 had generously opened her door to give him directions to Troy Anthonys place. It had probably been more foolish than generous for the old cat freak to unlock her door to a strangerbut not as foolish as the woman whod just reamed Jillian up one side and down the other for no good reason. Grandma Anthonys harsh words had upset Jillian, he could tell. She was worried about the boy, too.
She smiled and tried to apologize, even joked with the kid afterward, but he could tell.
Nobody upset his sweet Jillian.
And got away with it.
JILLIAN SWALLOWED THE LAST BITE of the rich chocolate chip cookie and laughed as the two Anthony brothers dutifully closed the cookie jar and reached for their dinner plates to cut up their chicken. Dessert first had lightened Troys mood, the sun was setting and it was time for Jillian to say her goodbyes and go home.
She plucked a stray cookie crumb from the sleeve of her jacket and popped it into her mouth before pushing her chair away from the kitchen table. Dont forget to study for your GED, Troy. She winked at his younger brother. Youll have to have Dex help you with the math.
Dexter laughed. I will if you teach me how to dunk.
Troy rolled his eyes and put his big hand over Dexters face, pushing the grin aside in a timeless gesture of brotherly annoyance.
Good. LaKeytahs lecture, the resulting guilt and the challenges of coping with his disability had all receded to manageable levels for Troy, and his attitude seemed fixed firmly back in the positive position. Jillian had trouble masking her own smile at his resiliency. Everything in Troys apartment seemed clean, relatively clear of obstacles to his wheelchair and safe. He would be okay. Call me if you need something. Otherwise, Ill see you Monday at the clinic.
Ill get the door, Troy answered, angling his chair to follow her. See ya.
Jillian waited to hear the door lock behind her before she went back to the elevator and pushed the call button. The doors opened immediately. She pulled her keys from her pocket and stepped into the empty car with a weary sigh. Short temper and paranoia aside, LaKeytah Anthony was to be commended for keeping her home in such good shape, and for putting square meals and a strong set of values on the table every day.
As she rode the elevator down, the musty odor of age and neglect screamed for some antiseptic and air freshener. But when she stepped out into the lobby, the smell turned more perfumey, more musky, like the scent of cologne on a man.
The subtle sweetness in the air was enough to pull Jillian up short and tighten her lips into a wary frown. She turned to her right, turned to her leftheld her ground as the security light over the supers door blinked on again. Hello?
Her breathing quickened a notch. Of course, no one would answer. The elevator had still been on the fifth floor where she and Troy had gotten out. There was no one in this lobby, no sounds beyond the usual creaks and moans of the old building, no reason for that little shiver of awareness to creep along her spine.
Get over it, girl. No one is in here spying on you.
Right, she agreed out loud, fighting to strengthen her resolve. Seeing nothing and no one, Jillian clutched her keys like claws between her fingers, pushed open the double glass doors and hurried straight down the steps.
Long shadows cast by the high-rise buildings cooled the sidewalk as she lengthened her stride to reach her SUV. The chattering girls from the stoop across the street had gone inside. The bus stop was clear. Traffic had trickled down to a few cars. Still, that buzz of hyperawareness refused to dissipate.
She was being watched.
Whether it was idle curiosity, or something much more focused and sinister, didnt matter. Jillian tilted her head to check the windows of the apartments and businesses on either side of the street. Nothing but curtains and blinds and emptiness. It was more night than dusk now, yet she still peered into the alley across the way, looked through the windshields of the parked cars she passed. No one.
Those stupid letters had her rattled, that was all. Shivering, despite the decent warmth of the early spring evening, she jogged the last few steps to her car.
Shed just beeped the lock open when a beige Cadillac Escalade whipped around the corner and screeched to a stop beside her car, blocking her in. Instinctively on guard, Jillian drifted back a step. Had this guy been waiting for her to come out of the building?
The drivers-side window lowered and her shoulders stiffened with a flash of remembrance. And not a good one. Big black man. Shaved bald head. Muscular. Silent. Sure to be armed.
Known to her simply as Mr. Lynch.
As if she wanted to visit with a face from her past.
Get in the car!
Jillian turned and plowed right into the shoulder of a man she had even less desire to see.
Easy, babe.