Chapter One
Harper
“Do you want it or not?” The skinny twenty something cast his gaze over my shoulder, greasy hair combed straight back from his forehead. He wore clothes he probably thought were cool, skater-style, but their questionable age and laundry gave an entirely different impression. “I don’t have all day.” He held out a plastic zip-top bag holding smaller plastic bags and a syringe.
I focused on staying in the moment, on seeing where I could run if he attacked me. The man at the bus station said if I came down here to this corner, there would be someone who could get me what I needed. “Is that syringe new?”
He snorted. “What do you care? If you want legit, go see a healer.”
My heart thudded harder, my mind flashing back in snapshot images of recent days. When I left my pack, I did it with one small bag of belongings, not big enough to be an obvious suitcase or anything. Not making it obvious that I was not just going into the forest but never coming back.
“I want it.” And I would have to pray that the syringe was clean, at least of any serious disease. “Here.” I stuffed a wad of bills, most of what I had, into his hand and snatched for the bag, but he held on to it.
“You are new. Are you staying around here?”
“I just need the stuff so I can get going.” I might be naive in a lot of ways, but telling this man where I was staying could be nothing but a bad idea. “So, if you don’t mind?”
But he still held it out of reach. “You know, a pretty lady like you shouldn’t have to use all these suppressors. I have a friendwho would be very happy to help you out. He has helped young women on their own before. Got them off their feet, so to speak.”
“Don’t you mean on their feet?”
He chuckled. “You are new in town. So, do you need a place to stay? I would be glad to put you in touch with my friend. You don’t want to sleep on the street.”
What made him think I was? How bedraggled did I look? But I wasn’t going to allow myself to be baited into giving out information that could be passed along to someone he knew—or someone I did. “Thank you, but I don’t need anything more than the blockers and suppressants.” I reached out again, but he still held them out of reach.
“I can smell you’re not mated, but you have males in your life? Why aren’t they taking care of these things for you? You deserve to be cared for.” His gaze was darting around as he spoke, and it began to make me wonder why. Who was he looking for? Was he worried about the police or maybe…maybe he was expecting company. He sure seemed interested in chatting with me, and I couldn’t imagine he really cared.
“I have everything I need except what I just gave you money for.” I watched how he held the bag where I could see it while not letting me take it. The sun had set before I got here, and this was not a part of the city that had a lot of people on the sidewalk after dark At least, not so far. A few bars had their doors open, a light stream of traffic heading inside. They did not look respectable, with dim entrances and the pervading odor of alcohol rolling out the door. A liquor store mid-block attracted the remainder of those passing us while I attempted to finalize the deal I’d already paid for. Not one of those people so much as looked in our direction. Did they know better? How scary was this guy?
Only desperation kept me from leaving the drugs and running as fast as possible in the direction of my tiny apartment.The same desperation that had me making one more attempt to get my hands on the bag. Unsuccessfully.
Finally, I planted my hands on my hips and fixed him with the sternest stare in my terrified arsenal. “This is not a good way to get return business. You were not the only salesman recommended to me.” Total lie…but if there was one sketchy dealer, there were bound to be more.
A fact he clearly knew because he thrust the drugs toward me with a snarl. “Take them and I’ll see you next time.”
Wow, we’d established a business relationship. And didn’t that make me proud?
Disgusted with the circumstances that led me to this point, I turned on a heel and walked quickly away, in the opposite direction from my home. Two things I knew about predators—since I technically was one, even if my previous life had made me feel more like prey. One, never run from a predator unless you want them to chase you. And two, never lead them to your den/nest/place of safety.
In the past, I’d never been able to use these words of wisdom because the threat came from within my own pack. But on my own, I fully intended to be sure “victim” could never again apply to me.
Three blocks down, I ducked into a doorway, flattened my back against the splintery wooden surface, and counted to ten before peeking out. No sign of the dealer or anyone else. Of course, if I could hide, so could he, but it was too cold to stay outside any longer, so I darted out onto the sidewalk and down the first side street I came to.
Fifteen minutes later, I arrived at the tumbledown building where I’d managed to rent a studio apartment for far more money than I thought it was worth. But since no other landlord was willing to take on someone with no rental history, credit, orquite enough for a security deposit, I had moved in, glad not to be on the streets in winter.
With only about half the units occupied, the place was generally quiet, another plus in the very short list. Also, it was warmer than outside, to some degree, and might even have hot water available for a bath.
I shivered on my way to the bathroom, fingers crossed, popped in the stopper, and turned on the taps. The ancient claw-foot tub filled with steaming water, and I let out a sigh of relief. At one time, this building had been a Victorian family home and my bathroom was a remnant from those days. Cracked walls, missing black-and-white floor tiles, the sink’s hot water faucet requiring pliers to turn it.
The toilet a strange avocado green from the 1970s or maybe some other era.
But despite the squalor, when I sank into the tub, water covering my shoulders, heat seeping into tense muscles, I could close my eyes and imagine things were better.
Chapter Two
Miles
Email existed. Text messages existed. We all worked on the same campus. With all that, I still had to go into the main office and pick up the beginning of the newsletter and sign forms. Every single quarter.
