SKYE
My hair was still drippingwet, but I knew that I didn’t have time to dry it. I hadn’t planned on showering before work since I’d already showered this morning, but when I was getting dressed, I realized my hair smelled like dishwater.
I wish I had time to braid it, but a ponytail would have to do. I had just finished wrapping the band around for the fourth time when my phone buzzed. The text was from the driver, telling me he was downstairs.
I quickly shot a message back, saying that I would be right down.
Normally, I like to be a little more pulled together before work, especially before starting a new job. This was a delicate time in people’s lives, and I did my best to be centered, calm, and collected before meeting new patients and families. But since I’d had less than a day’s notice before this assignment and had been at the dentist with Callie for half of it, I was not emotionally centered.
“Mom! Your car’s here, and the driver is hot AF!”
“Ohh! Lemme see!” Lola rushed to the window of our twelve-story walk-up. “Holy shit!”
“Lola!” Obviously, I knew that at fourteen, my daughter had been exposed to bad language, but it was not something I wanted her to hear in my house.
“Sorry,” Lola’s apology dripped with insincerity, but I took it anyway.
“Alright, be good and text me when you get to school tomorrow morning!” I kissed my daughter’s forehead but stared straight at my mother, whose jaw was still on the ground from the driver. “Bedtime is still ten-thirty, and there are no visitors!” I pointed at my mother, not my daughter, as I grabbed my bag.
Besides some medical supplies, it also had a Kindle and knitting. I had a new romance novel cued up that I’d been waiting to read on my staycation. With some continuous care jobs, there was a lot of downtime; with others, there was none. The night shift usually meant more downtime than the day shift, so I figured I might get some time to read it.
I made my way down the twelve flights of stairs, thankful for the drive time to learn more about the patient’s medical history.
When I walked outside, I came face to face—well, face to chest—with a tall, broad-shouldered man. He had to be at least six feet four, and from his physique, I assumed he spent hours every day in the gym. Tattoos ran up his muscled forearms. His dark hair was cut short, and his square jaw was clean-shaven. He was dressed in dark jeans and a black polo shirt. And according to my daughter, he was hot.
Objectively, I could see that he was attractive, but I wasn’t attracted to him, if that made any sense. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt attracted to someone. It might be a use it or lose it situation, and since I hadn’t dated anyone since I got pregnant with Callie, I’d lost it.
The wall of muscle opened the back door. “Miss Taylor, I’m Kurt.”
“Nice to meet you. And it’s just Skye.”
I settled into the backseat of the luxury SUV and felt like a total fraud. I’d never had a car sent for me. I was used to driving my twenty-year-old Honda Accord when it was running. If it broke down, I took BART or the city bus to get to my jobs. Being chauffeured was giving me serious imposter vibes.
As I sat in the back seat, I felt strange not speaking to Kurt, so I tried to make small talk. “Have you worked as a driver for a long time?”
“I’m actually security for Mr. Locke.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for.” He grinned in the rearview mirror. “I’ve worked for Mr. Locke for nearly ten years.”
“Wow.”
Ten years. Hopefully, that meant he wasn’t a tyrant. I’d worked for several families that were in the one percent, and just like people with no money, it could go either way. Some were assholes; others were amazing.
Without anything more to say, I turned my attention to the file on my tablet. I scanned down the screen and read basically the same information that Sonja had told me. The woman I’d be caring for had been incarcerated for murder. She had a life sentence but was out on compassionate release. I’d never had a patient with a violent history before, and curiosity got the better of me. I pulled out my phone and typed in her name, Naomi Locke.
There were several links to social media sites that I was fairly certain weren’t her, including Instagram, TikTok, LinkedIn, and an Etsy store. I scrolled through ten pages but didn’t find a single article on any murder.
Forgoing my internet sleuthing, I continued reading her file. Like Sonja had mentioned, Naomi was in congestive heart failure. As I continued down the file, I realized the Google deep dive I’d just gone on was totally unnecessary. Her history was all there.
Fifty-eight-year-old Naomi Locke had served forty years for the murder of Sam Locke. From what I could see, she’d been an exemplary inmate. Behind bars, she’d earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology and taught mindfulness and dance classes for fellow inmates.
She sounded like a really interesting woman, and I was looking forward to meeting her. Not only was her history intriguing, the entire situation was. She’d been in prison for her entire adult life, yet she had a billionaire benefactor. Part of what I loved about my job was meeting people from all different backgrounds and lifestyles. This was definitely going to check both those boxes.
After reading her entire file, I pulled my phone out and scrolled through my emails until I found the one from Callie’s cheer coach. When I read it, I discovered they weren’t just ordering one new uniform for the next season; it was two, and the grand total was over six hundred dollars. I checked my bank account and transferred a hundred dollars from my savings to cover it.
I never counted my chickens before they hatched, or in this case, money until it was securely sitting in my bank account, but if I was on this job for the next three months, that would allow me to build up my safety net, which I desperately needed.
