Then he was among the kids, a few of whom he recognized from the dozens of times he’d seen them roaming the streets. They ignored him, he ignored them. Determined not to lose the girl, he kept up the pace.
It was inevitable that sooner or later the icy sidewalk would claim her and it did as she rounded a corner. He saw her feet slip out from under her and heard her cry as she hit the concrete.
He was there in a second but she was already scrambling to her feet, driven it seemed by panic, more powerful than any drug.
But of what? Of a doctor she’d never met? Of a nun?
She fell again, on hands and knees this time. Another sob, another mad scramble to her feet. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her toward him. She came kicking and screaming, out of control. She kept crying, “No, No. Please, no.”
He wrapped her tightly against him. “It’s okay, honey,” he said. “Calm down.”
“I don’t want—”
“I know, I can see that. I’m not going to make you do anything. Tell me what you want me to do.”
She collapsed against his chest.
Another group of teenagers—apparently the only people willing to brave the elements—passed on the other side of the street. Mac could see more people peering from sheltered doorways.
He couldn’t abandon the quivering mass of flesh and bones who clung to him for support. He just couldn’t—not here, not like this.
“Try to walk,” he told her. “Let’s get out of here.”
With his arm around her, he helped her along, but not back toward the unknown terror of the doctor or the Catholic nun.
But where?
The shelter seemed to be out of the question. Making a snap decision, he said, “I’m taking you to my place for the night. You’ll be safe there. Tomorrow, we’ll think of what we should do.”
Even as these words left his lips, he recognized the foolishness of this decision. He was promising this extremely needy young woman a haven for the night and help the next day; he would keep his word, but the motivation for his offer had as many facets as an octopus has arms.
Oh, well.
Where before she’d followed, now she leaned on him heavily, her slight weight no problem, but her sudden emotional withdrawal unnerving. He tried asking her questions, but she ignored him and seemed to put all her energy into the act of walking. She must have hurt her knee when she fell; he noticed she’d developed a slight limp and a whimper when she stepped hard on her right leg.
Eventually, he got her back to his car. By now, he was as wet and smelly as she was. On the way around to the driver’s door, he found a spanking new parking ticket tucked under his windshield wiper. Jeez, did these guys follow him around and wait for a meter to run out? The citation went into the glove box with all the others. If the cops didn’t knock off all these tickets, he was going to have to go to the D.A. and complain.
It took several minutes to navigate his way across town. During the drive, he tried not to inhale deeply. The two of them smelled like old rubbish stewed in street grime and booze. He’d probably have to fumigate his car.
The girl rubbed her left shoulder and said nothing.
For once, there was a parking spot within a block of his apartment. If anything, the rain had grown icier and more vicious, and, heads down, they made their way to his place. A short flight of stairs seemed like more of a challenge than she was up to; without hesitation, he swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs.
By the time he unlocked the door, she seemed more zombie than human. He didn’t want her clothes, or his outerwear, either, for that matter, inside the apartment proper. He wasn’t sure how to tell her she had to strip.
Thankfully, the entry floor was tile, as they both dripped a river of rainwater. An opposing door that locked on its own led to the apartment itself, providing a nice barrier for cold winters. Now, it gave him a staging area for getting his guest ready to come inside. He carefully locked the door to the outside, wondering when the girl would realize she was trapped, tense because he knew he was taking a chance and unsure why he’d put himself in this position.
Wouldn’t Chief Barry just love to have him investigated for kidnapping or assault….
Taking off his own coat and hanging it on a hook, he found his testify-in-court suit still relatively dry and clean. His shoes were hopeless. “Take off your clothes down to your underwear,” he told her softly. “I’ll get you a robe.”
She stared down at her clothes as though she’d never seen them before.
“Okay, then,” he said, and unlocked the second door. Turning on all the lights as he went, he made his way quickly to his bedroom, the carpeted floor a welcome cushion under his sock-clad feet. He grabbed the raw silk robe his aunt had brought him back from Hong Kong a decade before and hurried back to the entry.
She was still standing where he’d left her. Her eyes were closed and she looked as if she’d fall down if he blew on her. His first thought was to call a doctor. He quickly dismissed that and comforted himself with the thought that she’d rally after a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.
“I’ll help you,” he told her.
That seemed to rouse her a little. A least she opened her eyes. In the bright light, her irises looked as blue as a summer sky and as guileless as a picnic. Again, he felt a surge of protective ardor that was totally out of place.
He unbuttoned her coat. Jake’s coat. Where did she get this awful garment? Under what circumstances did a burned-out boozehound give up his coat on an icy winter day? For money? This girl didn’t look like she had two coins to rub together. Out of some kind of loyalty or caring? Did Jake know this woman?
He removed his ruined hat from her head, peeled the wet coat from her body and deposited it on the tile floor. She stood facing him in a flannel shirt so dirty it was hard to tell its original color. Her pants were way too big and tied around her waist with a length of rope. The boots on her feet suddenly looked huge, like clown shoes. He knelt down and untied them, but it really wasn’t necessary. They slipped off in his hands and he found she was barefoot underneath. Her tanned feet were damn near frozen to the touch.
“You might want to take the rest of these wet things off,” he said, raising the robe between them as a privacy shield.
He heard nothing and ventured a peek. She stood there, swaying.
“All-righty then,” he said, and biting the figurative bullet, hoped a sense of modesty didn’t pay her a belated visit. Talking all the while about the virtue of hot water and soap, he unbuttoned her shirt and stripped the wet cloth away. He tried to do this without looking, but that proved impossible, especially after he caught a glimpse of what lay hidden under the shirt.
Black silk. A tiny glittering sea horse sewn on to a wisp of black lace.
It was like peeling an egg and finding a diamond instead of a yolk.
Though he tried not to notice, he was a man, after all, and he couldn’t help but take heed of the size and shape of her breasts. Not as large as Jessica’s, but firm looking and beautifully rounded, this woman’s breasts filled the cups of her bra with what appeared to be damn near perfection.
“Pretty underwear,” he said, hoping the comment might startle her into speech. More likely, it would earn him a slap across the face, a slap he deserved if his increasingly wayward thoughts were to be considered. She didn’t move.
That’s when he noticed her staring at the