Wise Moves (8 page)

Friday, May 18, 1:25 a.m.

T
here was a storm brewing. And Kristen couldn’t sleep. She’d lain awake for nearly an hour, listening to the creaks and moans of the old building as the wind washed over the house.

Soon the rains would come and make the air smell clean again.

Oddly, she felt fresh tonight and didn’t need the rains to bathe away her past and worries. Memories of Antonio didn’t consume her. Instead, she thought only of Dane. He’d brought
life
into her life.

She’d enjoyed their dinner together. It had been fun just to talk to someone over a good meal. Their laughter had rejuvenated her soul.

Why she’d thought to ask him about his living arrangements was beyond her. His life was none of her business. But she cared about him. He was a lost soul like her, belonging to no one. A kindred spirit.

He’d told her not to trust him.

But she did.

It made no sense. Trusting a near stranger defied all logic and reason. But the connection she felt between them was very real.

When he’d broken the kiss tonight, she’d felt lost.

“You are being a silly, lonely woman,” Kristen told herself. “Your hormones are driving you now, not your mind.”

Irritated, she sat up. If sleep would not come, then she would work. There were still piles of drywall dust and splinters in the soon-to-be meditation/tearoom. Perhaps a little sweeping would center her mind.

Kristen slept fully dressed, a habit she’d adopted since she’d fled the safe house. She turned on the hall lights and moved down the steps, flipping on more lights as she entered each new section of the house.

She went into the room under construction and grabbed the broom. As she swept the dust into neat piles, she tried not to think about Dane or whether he would be in her life a week from now.

Outside, a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning made her jump. The storm was going to be a big one.

She swept the debris into the dustpan and dumped it into an empty paper grocery bag. Within an hour the entire room and entry hallway was clean.

Lifting the grocery bag, Kristen headed back through the studio to the door that led to the alley. She unlatched the back door, glanced left and then right and hurried to the Dumpster. Lightning cracked. Fat rain droplets started to fall.

As she dashed back, she heard a can hit the ground.

She whirled around, her fists raised, her heart hammering in her chest. Her eyes strained in the darkness to see who was out there.

Another clap of thunder roared across the sky. Seconds later, lightning flashed again. In that moment of near daylight brightness, she saw Crystal sitting in the alley, her back pressed against the brick wall.

The girl had her feet tucked under her and she clutched her backpack. She held her coat up against her for warmth.

Kristen looked again down the alley, fearing Tony was close. There was no sign of him. “Crystal.”

The girl brushed stringy blond hair from her face. “Go way. I’m trying to sleep.”

Fat droplets hit Kristen. Soon, they’d both be soaked. And yet she walked toward the girl, her heart softening even as her mind screamed that the girl was trouble. Lord, but she didn’t need more problems on her plate.

And still, she heard herself say, “It’s raining. Why don’t you come inside? I’ll make you tea.”

Crystal didn’t move. “No, thanks, I like this spot.”

More rain started to fall. Kristen hugged her arms over her chest. “I have half a sandwich left over from dinner. It’s good.” She’d intended to eat the food for her own lunch and dinner tomorrow, but the girl needed it more now.

Crystal sniffed. “What kind of sandwich?”

“A Reuben. Corned beef.”

Crystal moistened her lips. “Okay. But I’m not staying long.”

“Stay as long as you like.”

Kristen watched the girl rise, clutching her backpack as she moved. She let the girl pass before following her into the building. Immediately, the quiet energy of the house/studio changed. Turmoil swirled around the girl.

Crystal nervously patted her thigh. “So where’s the sandwich?”

Kristen checked the lock on the back door. “Up the back stairs in my apartment.”

Crystal peered up the lighted stairway. “You live here?”

“For the last couple of weeks.”

“I wondered why Sheridan was spending so much more time at the youth center.”

“I open for her now so she doesn’t have to get up so early.”

Adjusting her backpack on her shoulder, Crystal started up the stairs. When she reached the top landing she waited for Kristen to open the door to her apartment and then peered inside as if she half expected someone to pounce on her. “It’s small.”

“It’s all I need.”

“When I graduate from college and I get my own place it’s going to be
big.
Vaulted ceilings, huge windows and carpet so thick your feet sinks into it.”

“Sounds nice.”

Crystal set her backpack on the small round table. “It is. And it’s going to be at the beach. I saw a house on HGTV just a couple of weeks ago that was exactly what I wanted.”

Kristen moved to the refrigerator and opened it. She pulled out the white foam take-out box. The house she’d shared with her brother had been enormous and had overlooked the ocean. The view had been stunning; she’d been miserable. “Where do you live now?”

“On the streets sometimes but now mostly at the shelter.”

Kristen cut the sandwich in half, sprinkled chips around it and set it in front of Crystal. “Why are you on the streets tonight?”

“I got to the shelter too late tonight. They lock the doors at ten and don’t open them again until 6:00 a.m. If Sheridan had been there she’d have let me in, but when that dweeb Charlie is in charge there is no way I get in. He doesn’t bend the rules at all.”

“Why were you late?”

“Went by to see my mom. Big mistake. We got into a fight.”

“Sorry.” Home should have been the safe place to fall but it wasn’t for Crystal. Just as it had never been for Kristen since her parents died. “You can stay here tonight if you want. The sofa pulls out into a bed.”

The girl bit into the sandwich and quickly took a second bite. Kristen noticed she was wafer-thin and wondered when she’d eaten last.

“I don’t know if I should stay,” Crystal said.

Kristen took a seat at one of the two chairs at the table. “Suit yourself.”

Crystal set down her book bag but didn’t sit. A tattered copy of
Hamlet
stuck out of the back pocket. “You got anything to drink?”

“Water. Hot tea.”

“Hot tea.”

As Kristen rose to make the tea, she nodded to the book. “You read Shakespeare?”

“It’s a school assignment. I’ve already read it twice.”

That surprised Kristen. “How do you like it?”

“Kinda lame, but I’ve got to figure out what drives that stupid prince if I hope to ace the class.”

Another surprise. “You make good grades?”

“A’s and a couple of B’s.” Pride mingled with the anger and defiance.

“That’s great.”

Crystal cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t look so shocked.”

“I’m not.”

Crystal snorted. “Most people just assume I’m a screwup. They don’t look past the fact my folks are drunks. And Tony, well, hanging out with him didn’t do me any favors. But I got dreams.”

Kristen put a tea bag in a cup, filled it with water and put it in the microwave. She set it for two minutes. “Sit.”

Crystal glanced at her, defiance in her eyes. But to Kristen’s surprise the girl didn’t argue. She sat, a quarter sandwich in one hand and a chip in the other.

“So, you gonna tell me I’ve set my sights too high?” Crystal asked.

How many times had her brother told her that? “I admire you.”

The comment surprised Crystal. “Why?”

“You haven’t given up on your dreams. One day I want to go to college, too.”

“You haven’t been? You look like college, money.”

“The money is long gone and college wasn’t in the cards for me.”

“Why not?”

“My brother didn’t want me to go, so I didn’t.”

The microwave dinged. Kristen pulled out the hot cup, gingerly set the tea bag aside for another cup later and handed her the mug.

Crystal finished the sandwich. She cupped her cold hands around the mug. “Thanks.”

Kristen sat down across from her. Under the fading makeup she could see the sprinkle of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her youthful skin was as smooth as porcelain. She wondered what the girl would look like in five years.

The teen sipped the tea. “You’re staring at me.”

Kristen averted her gaze. “Sorry.” She decided not to push advice on the kid now. “So do you want to stay here tonight?”

Crystal shrugged. “Whatever.”

The energy Kristen had felt earlier had faded. Her muscles ached from the hard work as exhaustion set into he bones. “Is that a yes or a no?”

The girl shrugged. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Teenagers were supposed to be difficult. They pushed you beyond your limits. She’d certainly done that to her mother.

Kristen rose. “I’ll make the pull-out bed.”

“Why are you doing this?” Crystal stared down at her faded purple backpack, picking at a flower-shaped patch. “You have no reason to be nice to me.”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve spent too much time just thinking about myself and what’s best for me. Maybe I’m tired of that. Maybe I think you could use a friend to lean on.”

“So I’m your fixer-up project?”

Kristen laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far. I’m hardly in a position to fix anyone. I’m barely taking care of myself. But I can give you a safe place to sleep tonight and something to eat.”

Crystal was silent for a moment. “No one, except Sheridan, has ever gone out of their way for me.”

“That’s too bad. Because you seem like a decent kid who’s made a couple of crappy choices.”

“You sound like a social worker.”

“Sorry. I’ll try and watch that.”

“Thanks.”

Kristen began to make up the bed for Crystal. “By the way, Hamlet had conflicting motivations. Integrity versus revenge.”

Crystal nodded, smiled. “Thanks.”

They got into their beds and Kristen turned off the light. Soon, through the darkness she heard Crystal’s deep, even breathing. A vague feeling of well-being washed over her before she fell asleep.

Kristen woke up before dawn and immediately sensed something was wrong. She sat up and looked around the room.

The first thing she noticed was Crystal’s unmade bed. She sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. She half expected to see the girl stumble out of the bathroom. But after a few minutes passed and there was no sign of the girl, she got up and checked around the apartment.

She quickly realized that Crystal was gone. And a second later discovered the cash she’d kept tucked in her backpack was missing.

It was every cent she had in the world.

Friday, May 18, 7:02 a.m.

A
gain Kristen tore through the contents of her neatly packed knapsack, looking for the small change purse where she kept all her money. She checked the outside pockets. Nothing.

She straightened and jabbed her fingers through her hair. “Damn it,” she muttered.

Crystal must have taken the money sometime last night. Normally, Kristen didn’t sleep so hard but last night, after the day of exhausting work and several hours of insomnia, she’d fallen into a deep sleep, void of the usual nightmares.

Frustrated, she dumped the contents of her knapsack out on her unmade bed. She rifled through her belongings a second time. Her purse was missing.

The kid had played her. Big-time.

Trust was an overrated commodity. And she’d be wise to remember that.

Kristen grabbed her keys to the studio. She needed to find Crystal. Her first thought was the youth shelter. It would be open again now and Crystal stayed there quite a bit.

The early morning air was cold, and a dewy chill snaked down her spine as she walked down the street toward the youth shelter, located in an old row house three blocks away.

Kristen hurried up the brick steps and knocked on the door. Loud music thundered inside. Sheridan had said the shelter allowed music but she’d not realized it could be so loud and so early in the day. She knocked again.

Folding her arms over her chest, she glanced over her shoulder. The street was quiet. Seconds later she heard footsteps moving toward the door inside the shelter and the deadbolt unlock.

Standing in the doorway was a man not much older than her. Heavyset, he sported a thick beard and wire-rim glasses that covered soft blue eyes. He checked his watch. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Crystal.” She didn’t know the girl’s last name and hoped the man would not ask her for it.

“Are you family?”

“No. I’m a…friend. A good friend.”

The man studied her with cautious eyes. “I can’t release information about my kids to non family members.”

She tried to keep her body relaxed, her voice free of worry. “Are you Charlie?”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Yeah.”

“I’m a friend of Sheridan’s.”

Charlie lifted a brow. “You know how many times I’ve heard that one?”

Frustrated, she clenched her fists. “Look, I just want to ask Crystal a question.”

The man shook his head. “Sorry. You ain’t family then you don’t get in. I got my hands full as it is and I don’t want trouble.”

“I don’t want trouble. I just want to talk to Crystal. Just for a minute.
One minute.
” Desperation had crept into her voice this time.

He started to close the door, but she blocked it with her foot.

“She stole money from me. It was all I had. It took me eight months to save that money.”

His eyes reflected his doubt. “If I had a dime for the sob stories I’ve heard, I’d be a rich man.”

Clenched fists at her side, she shouted, “I’m not lying.”

He shook his head. “I can’t help you. Now get your foot out of my door.”

Kristen hated feeling helpless and out of control. “All I want to do is
talk
to her.”

“Sorry.” He nudged her out of the way and closed the door.

Kristen stood on the porch for almost a minute, hoping Charlie would see her, take pity and open the door. He did neither.

The morning cold swept through her body and she was bone weary. She hugged her arms around her chest. These last few months she’d been inching her way toward a real life but now it was gone. She had nothing.

Kristen swallowed back tears and lifted her chin.

She would not give up. She’d survived so much up until now. Losing the money hurt, but she would find a way to rebuild.

As she started down the steps, she had an odd sensation that someone was staring at her.

Across the street a young couple held hands and kissed. Several doors down a man walked an old dog. But none of those people were looking at her. And still, the feeling wouldn’t go away.

“Who’s out there?” she said.

Nothing.

Kristen glanced back at the door. Charlie wasn’t going to let her in no matter what. She decided to make a run for the studio. It was only a few blocks and if she hurried she’d be there in minutes.

Kristen glanced up and down the street one last time. Nothing out of the ordinary.

And yet nothing felt right.

When Kristen arrived at the studio ten minutes later, she found a young woman knocking on the studio door. The woman was trying to peek past the curtains.

Kristen slowed her pace and tried to collect herself. “Can I help you?”

The woman turned. Red curls framed a heart-shaped face and alert blue eyes. She was wearing her yoga gear and holding her mat.

“Why haven’t you opened up the studio yet? Class is going to be starting in ten minutes.”

Kristen walked up the steps and moved past her to open the front door. “The studio is closed until next Monday.” She pointed to the sign on the door.

The woman glanced from Kristen to the sign. Her annoyance deepened. “Crap. I forgot all about that. Sheridan told me but I zoned. I’ve had a killer deadline to make.”

“Deadline?”

“Sorry. I’m Simone Brady. I’m Sheridan’s friend.”

The reporter.
“I’m sorry. We’re under construction. By next week the tearoom will be open.” She hoped the nugget of information would make her feel better and coax her to leave.

It didn’t. “The muscles between my shoulder blades are so tight you could bounce a quarter off them. And my head is pounding from all the tension. This is so not good.”

Kristen couldn’t muster sympathy. She’d just lost her life savings to a street kid. “I’m sorry. Sheridan isn’t even in town.”

Giving in to defeat, Simone sighed. “Hey, it’s not your fault. And I’m sorry I snapped your head off. Deadlines turn me into Satan.”

“It’s okay.”

Simone pushed manicured fingers through her shoulder-length red curls. “Hey, while I’ve got you, when will Sheridan be back?”

“Two days, if all goes well with her sister.”

“Good. Did she tell you about the story I’m doing on the studio?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be sending a photographer here to take photos at the first of the week.”

“Will do.” Not good.

Simone started to turn and leave then stopped as if remembering something. “You’re going to be in the picture, too, aren’t you?”

Kristen knew she’d not be available when the photographer showed up. And if Sheridan pressed she’d leave town. Even if she had to hitch a ride. “I don’t think so.”

“But you are the official studio staff.”

“This is Sheridan’s studio. I’m just temporary help.”

“Sheridan said you are heaven sent. That you are already practically running the place.”

Kristen opened the door and stepped inside. “She was being kind.”

“The two of you standing in front of the sign will be a real eye-catcher.”

Fear made her direct. “I don’t want to be in the paper,” she said.

“But think of the publicity for the studio. It will be great.”

An uncomfortable tightness formed in the pit of Kristen’s stomach. She could not have her picture in the paper. Period. “No.”

Simone stared at her as if she were trying to read her thoughts. “Hey, I don’t want to push anything on you. Just think about it.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. But I think it’s best you focus solely on Sheridan.”

Simone’s eyes narrowed slightly. Kristen imagined her reporter’s mind working overtime.

But at that moment, Dane Cambia’s old truck rolled up in front of the studio. Its big, loud engine rumbled to a stop. He glanced up at them, frowned and got out of his truck. As he strode up the stairs, she noticed his gait was slightly stiff. He stopped just feet short of Simone.

The reporter watched the carpenter approach, a note of appreciation in her eyes. To Kristen’s surprise, she felt a kick of jealousy.

Trying to pretend she wasn’t a mass of nerves inside, Kristen smiled. “Simone, I’d like you to meet Dane Cambia. He is doing the renovation for the new tearoom. Dane, Simone Brady. She is a stringer for the
Post
and she’s going to be doing a piece on the studio.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” The grin Dane tossed Simone irritated Kristen.

The reporter held out her hand and squeezed firmly when Dane took it. “I’ve been trying to talk Kristen into a photo for the paper. She and Sheridan are both stunners and a picture of them in front of the studio would sell a lot of papers.”

Dane nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.”

Simone smiled. “Convince Kristen. She’s camera shy.”

“You should let her take your photo.” Dane winked at Kristen.

Kristen felt backed into a corner. “I’ll think about it, okay?” Simone swung her yoga-mat case higher on her shoulder. “Well, I better get going. Since no yoga today, caffeine is in order.” She grinned at Cambia. “You’re new in town.”

“Yep. Trying to build a book of business.”

She arched an eyebrow, reached in her pocket and pulled out a card. “Call me. I know a couple of people who’ve bought older houses that are going to need work. You can toss in a bid.”

He studied the card, fingering the edges. “Great.”

“I’ll help you set up some interviews.”

Dane grinned as he tucked the card in his pocket. “Consider it done.”

Simone said her goodbyes and walked down the steps to her red Mini. She got in the car, shoved the gear into first and drove off, grinding gears as she shifted to second.

Kristen felt relieved to see her go. The woman was too smart and too persistent. Dangerous.

Taking in a deep breath she turned her mind to the next problem at hand. Crystal. She wanted to run off looking for the girl but that would raise questions with Dane and the last thing she needed was more questions.

“You look like hell,” Dane said.

Startled, she glanced up at him. “What? No, I’m fine.”

“Your skin is as white as a ghost.”

“I didn’t sleep well,” she lied.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“I’m not hungry.” In truth her stomach was a mass of knots.

He jerked his thumb toward the truck. “I brought bagels and coffee.”

His thoughtfulness touched her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He waved off her concern as he headed to the truck to retrieve his goods. “I hate to eat alone. You’re doing me a favor.”

Kristen shook her head. She folded her arms over her chest. She’d eat simply because she didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself. She needed time to think. To plan her next move.

Kristen was rattled, Dane observed. Her lips had flattened into a grim line and her attention was distracted. It wasn’t just the fact that Simone had wanted to take her picture. That certainly would have been enough to shake her up. But it was more.

He’d seen her tear out early this morning to the youth shelter. What had happened?

He hadn’t seen any sign of Benito’s men and immediately suspected Crystal, whom he’d had Lucian investigate. The kid had lived at the shelter for several months, but she was smart, made straight A’s in spite of a lousy home life.

If he had to bet he’d say Kristen had trusted the kid. It didn’t take a psychic to see that Crystal had ripped her off.

“Do you like plain, potato or cinnamon-raisin?” he said, smiling.

She stepped aside so that he could move into the studio. “Any is fine.”

“The coffee is Columbian. The strongest they have. I needed a jolt of the java today.” Keeping his tone light didn’t come naturally to him, but he’d stand on his head and sing Dixie if it meant keeping her close.

“Sounds good.”

He moved into the soon-to-be tearoom. To his surprise the place was swept clean, pristine almost. “I told you not to worry with the broom. We’re only going to mess it up today.”

She closed the front door and entered the tearoom. “I couldn’t sleep.”

If she was broke, she was vulnerable. No cash. No quick ability to get out of town. “You look as nervous as a cat.”

She managed a smile. “I’m not.”

“Something happen last night?”

“No.”

“Has Crystal been by again?”

Surprise darkened her eyes. “What makes you say that?”

“The kid ran to the studio the last time she was in trouble.”

“No, she didn’t come by.”

Kristen was a bad liar. So it
was
Crystal.

She nodded to the floor. “We can sit picnic-style on the floor.”

“Sure.” Kristen always changed the subject when she was nervous. He decided he’d make things easy for her today. It was the least he could do.

She sat down on the floor in a cross-legged position. She moved with the grace and ease of a dancer.

Wincing, he lowered himself to the floor. His right hip ached and he didn’t have the flexibility to cross his legs as she had. He settled for sitting with his back straight and leaning against a wall.

He handed her a cup of coffee. “You make that look so easy.”

“Sitting?”

“Yeah.” He shifted his weight off his left hip. Most days it didn’t bother him, but too much time in the van had left him hurting.

She sipped her coffee. “Did you injure your hip?”

“A couple of years back.”

“What happened?”

He could tell her that he’d been overseas on a recon mission, that there’d been an explosion and he’d taken shrapnel. But that was more information than he wanted to disclose. The less said the better. “Fell off a ladder while I was painting a house. Busted myself up pretty good. Could you show me a few stretches to ease the pain? I hear yoga is good for that kind of stuff.”

She looked surprised by the request. “Sheridan says a lot of pain in our backs and legs comes from tight hips.”

That was a new one for him. But if talking yoga erased the troubled look from her eyes, he’d do it. “Tight hips? Think you could help me out?”

“Sitting cross-legged will help open up the joints.”