“Alright, I’ll come. Where exactly did you see her?” I tell him.
“The parking lot at Echo Park. We went there on leave one weekend. Do you remember it?”
“Yeah, I remember,” I say, running through what I can recall of the area in my head. There’s a lake, a mall, and some apartments. It’s a relatively populated area of the city.
“Look, man, try to get here as soon as you can. I think that dude was her baby daddy. He looked angry and possessive. You know how fast domestic situations can go bad.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Her kid’s only young. Vulnerable, ya know? And Christina—she looked exhausted, and her eyes looked haunted. I don’t know how much longer she can hold on.”
“You still in the area?” I ask.
“For now. I can stick around for a day or two. I’ll see if I can find out where she’s staying. You coming?”
“Yeah, I’m coming. Text a location where we can meet up.”
“You got it.”
Before he can hang up, I say, “Rivera.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for callin’ me. You did the right thing.”
“I knew you’d want to know. Text me when you get close.”
“Will do.”
Chapter 2
Christina
This apartment isn’t much, but it’s mine. I’ve filled the one bedroom with a secondhand couch, a bed for me, a cot for my daughter, and the bare necessities we need to live a comfortable life. On paper, I’m C.H. Lane, androgynous freelance writer. It’s a name that obscures everything I need to keep hidden from the world and allows me to earn money for our living expenses while staying as invisible as possible. After what happened when I left Afghanistan, I can’t risk living any other way.
It’s getting late and it’s almost time to put my daughter to bed when I realize I’ve only got a dribble of milk in the bottom of the carton and about that much apple juice. Although she’s no longer drinking from a bottle, my daughter does need a cup of warm milk to help her sleep at night. And she’ll be expecting her apple juice when she wakes up. I start getting her ready to make a quick run to the local market. Luckily, there’s one less than a block away.
My little Katie hums happily along with the theme song of her favorite cartoon. I keep one eye on the front door, especially the deadbolt, the chain, and the extra latch I added after the first stranger knocked on our door. It was only someone selling newspaper subscriptions, but it rattled me, nonetheless. I’m obsessive about security, and it’s kept us alive so far.
A car door slams outside, and my daughter jumps, and the toy she’s holding falling from her hands. When her scared eyesfind mine, I force myself to smile and tell her soothingly, “It’s just our neighbor coming home from work.”
I hate that we have to live like this. I hate that she’s picking up on my fear.
I pull on my black jacket and matching beanie, stuffing all my strawberry blonde hair into the hat. Bundling Katie up in her coat, I look down into her adorable little face. I love that she takes after her father with dark hair and light blue eyes.
She looks up at me hopefully. “Can I have cady? I’ve been good.”
I smile at my sweet little princess. She’s three and hasn’t known a settled life. I wish I could give her a more stable upbringing—that’s my one big regret in life. Well, that, and losing contact with the man I lost my heart to in Afghanistan. “Sure, we can get candy. But only if you’re quiet and do what I say.”
A smile lights up her face. “Easy peasy,” she says, using our favorite phrase.
We slip out the front door of our ground-floor apartment and I carefully lock it behind us. The streets around here are lit by older lamps which cast dark shadows. I pick up my pace, keeping to the light and holding Katie’s hand tightly. Once inside the small store, I grab what we need, including a bag of candy for Katie. The older man behind the counter rings us up, barely looking up from his phone. I swipe my card and head for the door, feeling like no one even noticed us.
I hurry back home, more convinced than ever that our dark clothing makes us nearly invisible at night. It’s just another tool in my arsenal to fly under the radar.
Once we’re safely inside our apartment, I breathe a sigh of relief. But before we can even get our coats off, I notice a shadow at the front room window. Our curtains are closed, but I can clearly see the outline of a person. The sound that follows steals every trace of calm. It’s a shuffling noise as the shadow moves towards our front door.
I freeze, glancing at the door to make sure I engaged the locks. My daughter goes still beside me, her scared eyes on the front door. We both watch as the doorknob turns slightly back and forth, as if testing to see if it’s locked.
