Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“It’s okay. Thanks though.”
“Okay,” the driver said reluctantly. “You be careful. A girl like you shouldn’t be walkin’ these parts alone.”
“I’ll be fine.” She climbed out of the cab and watched as it slowly pulled away. Trepidation, having everything to do with Lucian and nothing to do with her surroundings, tickled her spine. She should have been uncomfortable in this part of the city, but she wasn’t. It was home, her home before Lucian, even if he was her home now. Besides, she’d grown up at the tracks. St. Christopher’s district was like a country club compared to the tracks.
She knew no one was there, but she tried the heavy doors anyway. Locked. Walking around the perimeter of the building, she searched for signs of the living. Sometimes people would find a place to rest in the empty flowerbeds, being that the brick embankments were slightly raised and could block a good bit of wind.
She’d forgotten how quiet this section of the city was. No cars rushed by. No pedestrians walked on the broken pavement the city council tried to pass off as sidewalks. Even the basketball nets were without the jangle of their netted chains. Once Parker read her a book called How the Grinch Stole Christmas! This section of Folsom looked like the Grinch had been by. Even the mice running over the storm drains looked emaciated and cold, without even a crumb to nibble on.
The sound of gravel crunching directly behind her had her pivoting quickly. She hadn’t realized anyone was around. She squinted at the mangy face staring back at her and recognized the eyes belonging to a man who sometimes stayed with the rest of them at St. Christopher’s. Paul or Marty was his name. She couldn’t remember.
“I’ll take that bag of yours there, missy,” he said and Evelyn noticed, gripped within his dirty fingers peeking from the frayed tips of his gloves, was a small, but very sharp, knife.
She frowned at him in no mood for nonsense. “Do you know where Parker is?”
“How you know Parker?” He didn’t lower the weapon.
“I’m Scout. You remember me, right?”
He looked her over, his gaze snagging on the bracelet Lucian had given her. When his eyes met hers again he said, “You don’t look like Scout by the way you dressed, but you got her eyes. I ain’t seen Parker in months.”
Months? Evelyn’s stomach dropped. Oh, God. Was he dead? Her voice shook. “Do you know where he went?”
The man shrugged. “Maybe I’ll be able to remember more if you give me that bracelet.”
Anger had her clamping her jaw tight. “Look, I’m trying to find my friend. You can either help me or not, but you aren’t getting a damn thing from me. If you tell me where Parker might be I can give you enough money for something decent to eat—”
“I think you confused, Scout. You see, I gots me a knife and all you gots is some fancy clothes, new jewelry, and that big expensive pocketbook where this money you talkin’ of is probably hidin’. I’m thinking with all that I can get more than a decent meal. Now hand it over.”
“Or what? You’ll cut me? I don’t think so.”
His dirty face darkened and he took a step forward. Evelyn immediately stepped back, her hands balling into fists. She didn’t spend twenty years on the street not knowing how to take care of herself. This motherfucker was going to lose a hand if he came any closer with that dingy knife.
“Last chance, Scout. Give me—”
There was a strange click. “Step the fuck away from her.”
Evelyn spun on her heel and came face to barrel with a handgun. “Jesus!” She jumped out of the line of fire and saw Dugan looking fiercer than he ever had.
“Go get in the limo, Ms. Keats.”
“Dugan, I—”
“Now.”
She looked back at Paul or Marty or whomever, who looked about ready to piss himself, and decided it was time for her to leave. She quickly walked back to the limo and found it unlocked. She clambered inside, suddenly sick to her stomach. This was not good.
The front door of the limo opened only a minute later and Dugan climbed behind the wheel. He stuck his gun in the glove compartment and lifted his phone to his ear.
“Dugan—”
“Not. A. Word.”
“Dugan, please . . .” The privacy glass went up. The doors clicked, all locking on command, and the limo pulled away. Well shit.
Chapter 8
Chastised and then some . . .
Unlike normal kids, Evelyn never had a room to be sent to. There was never a specific age at which point she could cross the street, because that would be like marking a time for a toddler to cross the kitchen in a typical home. She never went to school, so she never really could get into trouble there either. Her life followed the simplistic cause-and-effect patterns of nomads, and every consequence she ever faced had been a natural one.