9

The cab slowed to a stop along the curb outside the apartments. My home was considered part of the apartment complex, but it sat alone twenty feet from the brick tower where the other tenants lived.

Most of the structure was underground, leaving the windows at ground level, but the builders fashioned a set of steps that descended to my recessed front door, where my patio light blazed in the night.

My fingers stilled on the rear door handle when I spotted a familiar figure seated on the steps leading up to the main building.

My hesitation drew Andrei around in his seat. “If he is problem, I will walk you to your door.” The keys in the ignition jingled as he prepared to turn off the engine.

There was only one reason Jordan would be sitting there. My eyes drifted upward to the tenth-story window framed by decorative blue lights. The sheer curtains swished, and a face ducked out of view.

She hadn’t responded to any of my messages, so I assumed she hadn’t read them yet. I should’ve known better. Her phone was an extension of her being, and she would’ve read the messages the moment she took a water break during the game.

She could’ve at least sent me a courtesy text that said something like, I tattled. Brace yourself for unhappy visitors.

Steeling myself, I tugged the handle to open the door and climbed out of the cab. A utility van breezed by on a mission, whipping a few loose strands of hair into my face, and I tucked them behind my ears.

Jordan took me in from a distance, and his stiff posture relaxed, his head dipping between his shoulders in relief. How long had he been sitting in the cold, waiting for me to come home?

I slung my bag strap over one shoulder and started for the main building. I trudged up the steps and sank down beside Jordan, letting my bag slide to rest between my feet.

A puff of steam left his mouth, and he watched the yellow taxi disappear down the street. “I’ll take a cab home. That’s what you said in your text. Was that before or after you took a cab to this Brushwick Avenue?”

I puckered my lips between my teeth. I was a grown woman, and I didn’t owe him an explanation for what I did in my personal time, but I felt guilty for withholding my true intentions when I sent him that message. “I came home first, and then I went to Brushwick.”

He shook his head and lifted his eyes to the cloudy night sky. “I’m not a New York City native, and even I know certain streets aren’t safe after dark, especially for a woman.”

I didn’t suppose now would be a good time for show and tell: Look, I had a map, pepper spray, and a box cutter, so I was perfectly safe.

Except no one was perfectly safe on a street where people were bought and sold, a place where human decency and respect were scarcer than sunshine in a rainstorm.

“The game ended early, she told Sam as soon as she read them, and he called me. You have no idea how hard it was to sit here and wait to see if you would make it home all right.” Jordan looked me over again, more thoroughly this time. “Are you all right?”

I tugged the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my fingers and nodded, but I couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling that place left in my spirit.

“Holly,” he said, the gentleness of his voice drawing my gaze to him, “I can tell something’s wrong.”

What wasn’t wrong? A teenage girl surviving as a prostitute was missing, women and girls were selling their bodies because they were imprisoned by lies, threats, and false beliefs, and men with everything to lose were trapped in a cycle of corrosive desire.

He released a long breath, the steam dissipating as silence stretched. “The first time I encountered prostitution was during college, when one of my friends brought a prostitute to our room to celebrate passing finals.”

“Her body language said one thing, but her eyes said something else. We were criminal justice majors, learning how to spot those kinds of discrepancies. I asked Ethan how he couldn’t see it, but then I realized he didn’t want to see it. That girl didn’t wanna be doing what she was doing.”

“Ethan and I got into an argument. We had no choice but to room together, but we didn’t speak to each other for months.” He rubbed his cold hands together. “A man who buys a woman isn’t a man, in my opinion, and I didn’t hesitate to share that opinion. He was acting like an impulsive boy, only thinking about what made him feel better. Unfortunately, the world is full of boys who grow old but never grow up.”

“I asked her if she needed help, she said no. I was too young to know what to do at that point, so I accepted her answer at face value and moved on.”

“You said something, you asked. That’s more than most people would do.” I paused before adding, “And thanks for not being one of those boys.”

He smiled. “I would rather earn the love and affection of an amazing woman.”

He laughed. “I am definitely not talking about my mom, who would stand outside with a Free Hugs sign if Dad would let her.”

Mrs. Radcliffe was one of those people who was sweet-natured and quick to love, and she always had a hug for me when I was a child.

“You can ask, but I don’t think the explanation is gonna make you feel any better.”

I tugged the folded picture from my pouch and handed it to him, tapping a finger on Cami’s face. “She’s been missing for almost twenty-four hours.” I relayed what little information I had and waited for his response.

“You . . .” He pressed his lips together and rubbed at his temple, visibly trying to temper whatever words wanted to come out of his mouth. “This teenage girl disappeared from Brushwick, likely kidnapped, and you went there alone to chat up pimps, drug dealers, and potential kidnappers.”

I sucked on the inside of my cheek for a long second before confessing, “Yes, but it’s what you would’ve done.”

“You really think that’s a fair comparison? I have law enforcement experience, martial arts training, a gun, an extra eighty pounds, and eleven more inches to work with.”

“Yeah.” He dragged out the word as he considered my purple sneakers, pink sweatshirt, and fluffy hat. “I’m sure you fit right in.” He returned his attention to the photo. “Who came by to tell you this girl is missing?”

He ran a hand over his hair. “I don’t like this, Holly. Prostitution can be a dangerous thing to get involved in, and when I offered you this job, I promised Marx I wouldn’t send you to interview any pimps.”

“I don’t think he’s gonna see it that way.” He stared at the two girls in the worn photo. “She’s so young. She shouldn’t be anywhere near that street.” After a moment he released a long breath. “Okay. If you can hold off on any more death-defying trips tonight, we’ll dig deeper into this tomorrow.”

“I know you well enough to recognize when no amount of reason or logic will make you hit the brakes, and I’m not letting you investigate something like this alone. Aside from the fact that it’s rife with risk, you have a tendency to attract weirdos.”

Air swished as one of the glass doors behind us opened, and Sam pushed out onto the landing. His dark, expressionless eyes scanned me, and if I didn’t know his feelings for me were strictly brotherly, it would’ve made me uncomfortable.

“Good.” Sam turned to go back inside, then reconsidered, pinning me with a look that made me squirm on my step. “The next time you run off to a dangerous part of the city where you’re at risk of being assaulted, abducted, or killed . . .”

It took a moment for his words to register, and then my defenses crumbled. “I thought you were gonna say I’m on my own.”

And with that statement, delivered as an unquestionable fact, my stoic friend disappeared back into the building.

“Yeah, he’s warm and fuzzy now. You should’ve seen him when I told him we shouldn’t go after you right away. I thought he was gonna bulldoze through me.”

“I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m trying to control your decisions. Even if they are bad ones.” He cast me a displeased glance to make sure I knew his thoughts on my latest decision. “But in all honesty, you had about three more minutes to get home safe, or Sam and I were coming there to bring you home safe. And on that note . . .” He rose and offered his hand to me. “Permission to cross the border and escort you home, milady.”

There was a time when the thought of his touch terrified me, and I kept him at arm’s length, but over the past year, the invisible boundary between us had become more flexible, allowing for moments like this.

I placed my fingers in his palm and let him help me to my feet. The moment I found my balance, he released me.

“I can cover those twenty feet on my own, you know,” I said, scooping my bag off the step.

His playfulness brought a smile to my lips. “I could get intercepted by sinister ninjas in the shadows.”

I shuddered at the creepy painted gnomes people peppered around their flower beds and porches. Some of their maniacal smiles made them look like miniature serial killers with garden spades.

“That reminds me, where did you find Mrs. Muriel, if not the ceramics place or the bakery?” I asked, falling in step beside him.

“Yeah. She was standing by his grave, confused about why his name was on a gravestone when he was supposed to be fighting in the war.” A pinch of sadness formed between his brows. “When I approached her, she thought I was her husband. She told me I shouldn’t play such mean pranks.”

“What could I do? She was already so upset and confused. Trying to explain a reality that didn’t match hers would only hurt her. So I took her hand and we strolled back to the car as husband and wife in 1940. And then I drove her home.”

The situation must’ve been awkward for him, but he handled the old woman’s confusion with patience and grace.

“I don’t think I’m the best example to follow. I’ve got a bit of a criminal history.”

“It’s technically not breaking in when you have a key, the alarm code, and an open invitation. Although, when he told you to come visit every week, I don’t think he meant sneak in while he’s at work and play pranks on him.”

“I’m afraid to imagine what you would do to my apartment if you had an open invitation and a key.”

“There’s nothing in your apartment to do anything with.” His living space was practically a barren wasteland.

“I’ll have you know, I bought a toaster, and it even matches the can opener in the drawer.”

He sounded so proud of his ability to coordinate kitchenware that I couldn’t help but laugh. Nothing in my kitchen matched, not even the silverware.

I retrieved my keys as we descended the steps onto my patio. “Thanks for walking me home and keeping me safe from the garden gnomes.”

He lowered his eyes before I could see the longing in them, but I knew it was there. It was always there when he walked me to my door—a desire for something more than a brisk “good night.”

He never voiced or acted on that desire, and on nights like tonight, when it seemed to burn a little hotter, he afforded me more space.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he stepped to the edge of my patio. “I’ll hang out until you’re inside with the doors locked. Say hello to little J for me.”

I smiled. It amused Jordan that even though I had forgotten him for most of my life, I had named my blue-eyed cat after him. “I’m actually calling him Sausage now because it’s less confusing.”

“When you subconsciously named him after me, he was trim and agile, right? That was before he puffed out like a jumbo marshmallow.”

That startled a laugh out of me. “He was actually skin and bones and really unfriendly, if that makes you feel any better.”

Movement in the corner of my vision drew my attention to a figure in the shadows near the main building. He watched us as he thrust a shovel into the ground and slammed a booted foot against it.

Jordan’s demeanor shifted from relaxed to guarded when he heard the man’s foot strike the metal, and he zeroed in on the sound. “Who’s that?”

“He always works nights. Unless someone has something that needs fixed during the day. He doesn’t . . . people well.” I tried not to judge, but the way he crept around the property at night could be disconcerting. I kept my distance from him when I took Riley out after dark.

The man thrust the shovel into the soil of the flower bed again, his attention fixed on us. Judging by how deep he was digging, he was either planting a bush or burying a body. Or planting a bush over a body.

Riley’s tail thumped the interior wall, and he whined with impatient excitement as I unlocked the dead bolts. Hand on the knob, I turned back to Jordan. “I’ll see you after my appointment tomorrow.”

I retreated into my small but cozy apartment and relocked the door. My knapsack slid to the floor, and I sagged against the counter. My energy reserves were depleted, but before I could climb into bed, I needed to record my notes for the evening and take a shower.

After documenting the information I gathered tonight, I hopped in the shower. I scrubbed away the sorrow and hopelessness of Brushwick Avenue that clung to me as heavily as Cindy’s cigarette smoke, and then I crawled beneath the blankets with my journal.

Cracking it open, I pressed my purple pen to the blank page, the ink stain growing as I searched my heart for gratitude. Most days, gratitude came easily, but on nights like tonight, after what I’d seen on Brushwick, I had to peel back layers of heartache and disappointment to find it.

Thank you for always being there for me when I was desperate and scared, for always making a way and offering me hope so my desperation didn’t drive me to a path similar to Tandi’s.

And thank you for bringing genuine and beautiful friendships into my life. They make everything better.