by Eden Butler
Grunting, I got out of my bed, grabbing my Colt .45 from the holster laying on my bedside table just in case my visitor wasn’t homeless and had ideas about picking the locks on my French doors.
The safety stayed on, but I held the butt of my gun tight, walking into the dark kitchen. There was the outline of feet—steel toed boots from the look of them, and the wet hem of dark denim just visible against the street light outside my French doors. Whoever it was, was huddled in the corner of the balcony, with rain spattering over their head as they hid under a thick leather jacket. The awning was small, wouldn’t offer much protection from the rain.
Water wet my stomach when I leaned over my sink, staring outside the window to get a better look at the loiterer who stupidly lit a telltale cigarette and held the jacket over the smoke. They hunched over, scooting closer to the door and the trail of smoke followed, almost immediately disappearing in the rain and wind, moving it out toward the street below.
“Dumbass,” I said to myself, resting my gun on the counter, not worried about anyone missing the wisdom not to smoke and especially without the good sense to keep dry from the rain because of a damn cigarette.
The small click of the lock on my French doors was quiet, so my little visitor didn’t flinch or seem to notice when I flipped it. I was ready to laugh at them, maybe give them a towel and a couple of bucks for a meal before I ushered them out of my place, but when I opened the door and that dumbass looked right at me, all my good will and humor died right on the spot.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked Alex, grabbing her by the arm to drag her into my apartment. Again that small spark rose up when my fingers met the bare skin on her arm, but her sputtering, annoyed, still holding the cigarette had me too pissed to let the sensation register. I jerked the cigarette out of her hand, flicking it over my balcony railing.
“I wasn’t done with that.”
Another grunt left my mouth, but I didn’t otherwise speak, slamming the door closed before I picked up my gun and slipped into the hall to fetch a towel from the linen closet. She took it without looking at me, nodding a half-hearted thanks just by lowering her chin before she covered her wet face in the towel. Her movements were slow, methodical, and I got the feeling that she liked the texture of the towel, maybe needed a moment to linger on it to come up with a feasible excuse as to why the hell she was on my balcony in the pouring rain.
“Well?” I said while she scrubbed her hair with the towel. I was surprised to see that it came down to her waist, something I hadn’t noticed earlier when I caught her trying to lift that wallet. The pompadour and slicked back bun she’d worn had given no indication she had such a thick, tempting mane of hair. Now it was wet, straight and stuck to her neck and down her back.
“Well what?” Her voice was biting and harsh, but she smiled when she said that, making me think she was still trying to search for an excuse.
“You didn’t get enough of my shit in Cavanagh? You track me down to see what else of mine you can jack?”
“No, asshole,” she said, throwing the towel onto the bar in front of me. “I…” she stopped speaking, taking the leather jacket in her hand and draping it on the back of the chair in front of the island. Rain dripped from the arms and Alex took the damp towel and wiped the jacket clean, gaze fixed on that black leather. I thought she would be angry, maybe a little embarrassed at getting caught outside my apartment, but none of that showed on her face. Her skin, in fact, looked pale, a little washed-out, and I wondered what had spooked her enough that she’d come to me looking for help. If that’s why she was at my place at all. Finally, she looked up, gaze trailing over my naked chest. I leaned forward, elbows on the island so she’d look me in the eyes. Then Alex blinked twice as though just realizing she’d been staring. “I got another gift.”
I could feel the tight squint between my eyebrows when I frowned. “What was it?”
“Here,” she said, offering me her phone. “They were in my apartment while I took a bath. No one was there before I went into the bathroom and there I was in my tub nice and comfy and I heard someone in my apartment.”
“What did you do?”
“Got my Baby Glock and investigated.” Alex shook her head, like my disapproval at her with a gun was the least of her worries. “Dude, we’re in Louisiana. I don’t need a license to own a gun.” I shot up an eyebrow, earning a sudden groan from her. “And I have never been convicted of a felony. Perfectly legal. Would you just look at the damn pictures?”
I enlarged the blurry photo, squinting at the rose petals, and what looked like scratched up surveillance pictures of Alex, the small cat collar and the painting— something classical, something violent. The style reminded me of all the paintings and small antiques covered in similar pieces that Dot had in her antique shop in Cavanagh. I’d spent summers there, helping out my mother’s best friend clean and store boxes, usually after my mom threatened me.
Alex was impatient, tapping her fingers against the island, setting a rhythm I ignored as I flipped through the images. “This…” I looked up at her, tilting my head as she bit her thumbnail. “You okay?”
“I think they killed my cat.”
Alex always had her guard up. That much I’d read from her in the first five minutes of meeting her. It wasn’t a surprise, sort of came with the kind of life she’d lived, from what I could tell. She seemed like a hardass, the kind of chick who didn’t want anything from anyone except what she could gank and pawn. But even hardasses, sometimes, have hearts. If this guy had messed with her cat, maybe she thought she was in over her head. Maybe, despite the attitude, she knew she needed someone to watch her back. Her face had grown paler and she kept rubbing her hands against her arms, shaking from the cold and rain.
“I’m sorry about your cat.” I didn’t do well with the comforting thing, wasn’t in my nature to go out of my way to make anyone feel better, but I did know what it was like to lose a pet. I’d never forgotten the puny boxer my mom had gotten me when I was ten. Hurt like hell when he got run over a few years later. “Listen,” I told her, probably letting the fierce way she tried not to cry get under my skin. Someone at a loss, especially if that someone was a beautiful woman on her own, had been a weakness I had succumbed to in the past. Lancelot syndrome, my mom had called it. I couldn’t just walk away and act like I didn’t give a shit. “You hungry? Want something to eat?”
“No. I eat plenty,” she said, a little too defensively. “I’m…” Alex looked at her feet, shuffled them against the footrest on my barstool, “cold though. It’s really damn cold in here.”
Nodding once, I walked out of the kitchen, grabbed a hoodie, the smallest t-shirt I had and a pair of boxers, red and blue plaid, and offered them to Alex. She hesitated only for a moment, looking at the clothes in my hand and then back at my face like she expected me to put some sort of caveat on the offer. I didn’t want anything from her, not that night, so when I extended my arm, pushing the clothes at her, she took them, muttering a low “thanks” as she held them against her chest.
“Bathroom’s down the hall, first door on the right. You can put your wet clothes in the dryer when you’re done.”
She stood there shaking, her hair still dripping wet and her skin covered in chills, but Alex didn’t move. She seemed able to only watch me, stare at me like she was waiting for more. Like she waited for me to set my price. Not my style.
A nod toward the hallway sent her out of the kitchen and I riffled through my fridge, not closing it until I heard her bustling around my bathroom. Feeling a little exposed, I slipped into my room to put on a shirt myself. It wasn’t cold in my apartment; I checked the thermostat. But as I rustled up a couple of turkey sandwiches, then went back to look at those pictures again, I realized what Alex was feeling. It wasn’t just fear. It was the fear of being helpless, of being unable to stop what was hurtling towards you. I’d felt it myself, a dozen times, maybe a hundred. It was the same grip of dread I’d felt lying in
the dust and blood in Fallujah when I was sure that burning in my chest would only worsen. It was the same frigid sensation that gripped me as I looked down at my mother lying in that coffin pale and lifeless. That cold grip of that fear holds you tight, like a deer in the headlights. It blinds you to any reason, divests you of any hope, and it sticks to your bones like a cancer, eating you up from the inside.
“What’s this?” Alex’s voice was clearer, and I turned from the kitchen window to face her.
“Thought you might be hungry.”
“I told you I wasn’t…”
“I was hungry so I made you a sandwich too.” I didn’t wait for her to copy me as I tucked into my snack. “Eat it, don’t, doesn’t bother me. Just keep quiet for a second.”
“I didn’t come here for food or…” She buttoned her mouth when I grunted, cocked my eyebrow to keep her quiet. “Continue,” she said, waving her hand.
Her phone was older than my iPhone and the pictures were grainy. Thumbing through them while I took bites out of my sandwich, my eyes narrowed, taking in the details I glimpsed from the dark pictures. “Window open or broken?”
“Open,” she said, her mouth full of turkey. “They left it open when they left, too.”
That seemed odd, but then, this asshole wanted to be found out. He wanted her to know what he’d done. I moved her phone to the side, looking past it to stare at her. “Like they weren’t trying to hide that they’d been there.”
“Exactly.”
The spicy taste of honey mustard slipped against my tongue with another bite, but my eyes stayed on the phone, still squinting, still examining. The picture was too blurry, most camera phone pictures are, and I couldn’t shake the need to see things for myself. “I’d like to check things out for you.”
“Why?”
It was an honest question, but one I hadn’t expected. “You came to me, remember? What were your plans, anyway? Drown yourself in between smokes? Wait till I made to leave in the morning and tap on my French doors?”
She shrugged, pushed her plate away and again crossed her arms over her chest. The hoodie I’d given her was thin and gray, from some rugby tournament in Cavanagh that my squad lost and after fidgeting with the sleeves covering her fingers, Alex took it off and kept it in her lap. The t-shirt underneath was black, hung loose on her small frame and when Alex crossed her arms, I could make out the generous curve of her tits. I had to fight to keep my eyes on her face and, thank God, she didn’t seem to notice me staring at her chest.
“I hadn’t really thought about it. I just… didn’t want to be there.”
“Don’t you have friends?” I felt like a dick when she glared, realizing suddenly that she probably didn’t, understanding that my question made assumptions and made me sound like an ass. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand why the hell you’d show up on my balcony. We don’t know each other.”
She struggled with something, sighing and looking out of the French doors as though she argued with herself, debating whatever it was that had her irritated. Finally, after Alex fiddled with the ends of her still damp hair, wrapping them around her finger, she exhaled, closing her eyes like she refused to see my reaction to whatever she was about to tell me. “My sister, when I was a kid, she always told me if I got into trouble to ask a cop for help.” Alex opened her eyes, forehead in a faint wrinkle as she waited for my reaction. There must have been something unbelievable, likely sarcastic on my face, because Alex lost her guarded expression and flipped me off. “That was a long damn time ago and she was… well, we had been in pretty good foster homes up to then, always together, never really had too much bad happen. Yet.”
“Didn’t stay that way?” Alex shook her head, all sullen, daring me not to pry. I knew better than to ask for details. “I’m not a cop. Not anymore.”
“No, but you still have the vibe. That’s something that doesn’t stay behind when you hand in your badge. You’ll be a cop till the day you die, Ryan. Besides, I saw your partners when I was leaving the Marriott. You and your team, you’re all big hero types.”
I laughed, loud and heavy and earned another eye roll. Oh, she had no idea how very unheroic me and my asshole friends were. Well, me and Sammy at least. Alex didn’t seem bothered by my laughter or how incredulous her assumption seemed. She waved her hand again, snorting out a laugh. “Even if you don’t live the hero shit, you look the part. I’ve been around enough of your kind to know the real pricks from the ones who believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“That they can save the day.” That kind of honesty always shuts me up, but Alex didn’t seem to like how her words made me smile.
She cleared her throat, and her gaze was so intense that I found myself avoiding her eyes by rolling crumbs from my sandwich between my fingers. “I don’t go around asking for help. I’ve done alright on my own for a long damn time. But whoever this is, they’re getting ballsy and I don’t like that shit. I don’t like anyone in my space.” What did she mean by being on her own? She didn’t mention the sister again and I guessed that meant she wasn’t around anymore. I let her keep talking.
“I can take care of myself, like I said, but I’m not an idiot. When shit gets too big, sometimes you gotta ask for someone to watch your back. My friends, well, there’s only one real friend and she’s got her own shit to worry about. Everyone else needs motivation to do anything. I don’t have that kind of cash and to be honest, I don’t trust them.”
“But you trust me?”
She paused, eyes narrowing before she shook her head. “No, but I don’t need to. I need bodies and wits right now. Someone who will find this freak and handle him.” She shrugged. “You do this for me and I’ll get the jewelry box back on my own. You won’t have to bother with the auction.”
That didn’t line up with what I wanted out of that auction. Alex might have ideas about me, she might even be right, but I still had a mission and the auction was a step in the right direction to getting that mission finished. But, I had to play it cool with her. Sitting up, I folded my fingers together, making sure I kept my expression neutral. This woman was looking hard, had been all night, but I needed to stick to my own priorities “You don’t want me there?”
“I don’t have an opinion on you being there, but why bother with the hassle?”
I was walking a very thin line here. “Because I’m looking for someone.” I tried keeping my voice even, the tone light, but Alex was street smart and I knew she could read me. This was the type of woman who could easily call me on my shit. Not sure if I liked that, pretty sure I didn’t. “I have a feeling they might be there checking out who bids on the box.”
“Okay, fine,” Alex said, standing from the stool to lean on the island. Again my eyes flicked down to her chest and this time she noticed, following my gaze to her tits, then back up again, but she didn’t call me on my ogling. “You help me out and I get you in. Listen, at the speech today, you let me go. You didn’t call the cops and now you’re gonna help get rid of whoever this asshole is whose fucking around with me. That puts me owing you, Ryan and I don’t like owing anyone. Ever. But I don’t see that I have a choice.”
I had no idea what she planned or how she thought she could pay me back. Her clothes were worn but clean, her nails were painted and she had straight, nice teeth. Alex wasn’t poverty-stricken, she wasn’t homeless, at least not usually, and it seemed like she did okay for herself. Still, I didn’t think she could hire NOLA Elite Security, and Frank would insist on payment if they got involved. “No freebees,” he’d told me and Sammy a few weeks back. “Kind of pointless for us to try to make money if you assholes go off and play bodyguard and then don’t get paid.” Then he’d looked at Sammy, shaking his head to stop his brother before he spoke. “And a free piece of ass does not keep the lights on, Sammy so don’t ask.”
God knew what Frank would say about me catching Alex’s back, but before I could image what colorful, filthy names he’d call me, the woman
pushed away from the island, coming to my side. Her steps were slow and she moved like a cat, though she didn’t smile, didn’t look at all like she wanted to be standing next to me; that frown was just too damn straight. I opened my mouth to ask her what she wanted, but then Alex exhaled, and the smallest hint of cigarettes and peppermint brushed across my face before she took the hem of the t-shirt and lifted it over her head.
Alex was young, I knew that, but damn, she was a gorgeous woman. Twenty-four year old tits, full, round, fucking perfect stared right at me and I felt like a damn kid seeing his first Playboy. They were all I saw, nothing else existed in that moment but those glorious, generous tits. It took me a full minute to stop gawking, to squeeze my fists so tight that a couple of knuckles popped until I got my head screwed on right and stood, stepping back from her and that all the tempting, brown skin. “What are you doing?” I asked her, but for the life of me couldn’t stop staring.
“Paying you,” she said, coming closer to me, she wrapped her arms around her middle like she wanted to hide her belly. But she stood so close that I could feel the point of her nipples against my ribs. I was too shocked to move, too annoyed that my dick didn’t seem to care that this woman had come to me for help.
“Wait. Hold on a second.” I stepped back again, digging my palms into my eyes. “I take cash, Alex.”
“I don’t have any. Not enough for what you’d charge me.”
“Look,” I started, pausing only when she followed me, sliding her fingers up my shoulder. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pulled her wrist away. “I said I wasn’t a nice guy.” The discarded t-shirt lay on the island and I slipped around her, jerking it up in my hand. “I never said I was a bastard. Put that on.”
