“Who’s your new friend, Caro?” Gus asked, all widesmiles and happy energy.
Frankie adjusted her worn baseball cap. “New recruit?”
The kid quickly shook his head. “Nah. This is aone-time thing.”
The three of us exchanged a look. We’d heard thatbefore. Not with kids our age, but men that got sucked into the life. Everyonesaid that. The job, whatever the job was, was always a one-time thing. Nobodyset out to live a life of crime. It was something you fell into ass-backwardand then spent the rest of your life trying to figure out how to crawl your wayout.
Or you just succumbed.
Either way, it always started out as a one-time-only promise.
“You hungry?” I guessed.
His too-bright gaze cut to mine. “Fucking starving.”
I backed up another step at his harsh language. Itwasn’t the words that surprised me, it was how he said it. The tone thatpunched through the air and hit my cheek with a bruising blow.
This kid was desperate. And that made him somethingmore than pathetic or worrisome. It made him feral. Predatory.
He wasn’t here because he wanted to be, but because hehad to dosomethingto survive. Andfor some stupid reason, that made me want to help him.
I had a tiny, beat up little black kitten in thecorner of my bedroom for the very same reason.
“Enough with the cats, Caro,” my dad had groaned lastweek when I brought the battered thing home. “You can’t save all the stray catsin DC. You know that, right?”
Maybe Dad was right about the cats, but I could savethis kid.
“What’s your name?” I asked him bluntly.
He glared at me until I wanted to look away, until Iwanted to let him win this staring contest and pretend like I hadn’t said anything.“Sayer,” he finally admitted. “Sayer Wesley.”
“Sayer Wesley,” I repeated as if I couldn’t helpmyself. The words whooshed out of me on a breath I hadn’t realized I had beenholding. It was probably a fake name, but it sounded so real. So right. Likethe first real piece of truth I’d ever heard.
His expression turned into a sneer, “That’s right, Caroline.Got a problem with my name?”
I felt Gus and Frankie look at me, their eyes curiousand accusing. Nobody called me Caroline. Not even my dad. I was always Caro.But I had introduced myself to this kid as Caroline.
Why had I done that?
Feeling weird and off my game and completely unnervedby this street kid, I rolled my eyes like it wasn’t a big deal. “Frankie, giveSayer your hat.”
She tugged it down over her eyes. “No.”
Shooting her a frustrated scowl, I jerked my chin atSayer Wesley. “He’s not doing what we’re doing, and there are cameras all overthose streets. Let him protect his face at least.”
She sucked in her bottom lip and contemplated mysuggestion. Turning to him, she asked, “What are they paying you?”
He lifted one shoulder, his jaw ticking near his ear.“Food. Maybe a place to stay tonight.”
The three of us shared another look.
“Caro, Frankie, let’s go!” my dad shouted from acrossthe alley.
“Give him your hat, Frankie,” I hissed. “At least givehim a chance to get away from the cops.”
Sayer’s body had tensed at my words, keen awarenessrocking through him and transforming his face from desperate to terrified.
Someone else shouted at us to hurry up. Frankie rippedoff her hat, her black curls cascading down her back like a waterfall. Iwatched Sayer’s expression, waiting for him to be momentarily mesmerized, buthis expression stayed the same. He had a good poker face. I could give himthat.
