Present Danger (6 page)

“I’m gonna,” Bob replied adamantly. “Christ, Jimmy, I’m thirty-nine years old. I figgered it was about time I made
something
work
.
I’m gonna be smart for once in my life and put my money into something I actually understand. I’m even keeping my job at the car workshop until we see if this puppy’s gonna
fly. T.J.’s keeping his day job, too. We figgered the prime rental time is early evening to early morning, but his old lady’s gonna man the phone durin’ the day. If we do get a daytime gig, T.J.’ll take the time offa work.”

James wrote a check and carried it over to his brother. He held it out. “Hang onto this until tomorrow, okay? I’ve got to transfer the funds to cover it.”

Bob accepted the check and folded it in half, slipping it into his back pocket. “Thanks, Jimbo.” He reached out and touched a gentle fingertip to the handle of the hatchet protruding out of his younger brother’s forehead. “You always were a weird little son of a bitch,” he said. “I ain’t never understood you, Jimmy, and that’s the truth. But I love y’ anyway.” He smiled wryly, and for a second the family resemblance was apparent. “Folks never believe me when I tell them it’s my kid brother who draws ‘A Skewed View.’ ”

“No? Fat lot they know, huh?” James was touched that his brother had bragged about him, and for the first time in a long while he remembered the way Bob used to defend him back when he was a skinny little kid running the gauntlet of street hoods and pushers in the Terrace. “Hang on a sec,” he said. “Sit down and finish your beer.” James went over to his drafting board and sat down. Fingers moving swiftly, he sketched out a tiny self-portrait, complete with hatchet. Reaching for his colors, he filled it in. At
the
top, in his bold, distinctive printing, he wrote: To Big Brother Bob. He signed it: Love, Jimmy (AKA J. T. Ryder). “Stick that in your wallet. You can whip it out the next time someone doubts the word of a Ryder.” He grinned with self-deprecatory humor. “That and a buck will buy you a beer.”

“Hell, boy,” Bob retorted with a grin, “offhand I can think of a couple a bars where this and a buck will probably earn me a healthy return on my investment.” He slid the caricature carefully into his wallet and stood. “I guess I’d better be shovin’ off. Now that I’ve got my half of the financing, we can put an ad in a couple of the high school newspapers. With the holidays coming up, it’s a good time to launch this venture.” He ran a meaty hand through his unkempt hair. “Thought I’d get me a haircut, too. Can’t look too ratty if I’m pressed into service as a driver.”

James walked him to the door. “Y’need any help on the artwork for the advertising?”

“Hell, yeah.” Bob grinned down at him. “You willin’ to do that? That’d be great.”

“Tell me what you need. I’m best at ‘toons; but if you’re looking for elegant, I could probably limp something out.”

“Let me discuss it with T.J.,” Bob replied. “I’ll get back to you tomorrow.” His face sobered as he stared down at his younger brother. “Thanks, Jimmy. You’re gonna get your money back this time. I mean it.”

“Just do me a favor,” James said. “If you run into any kind of financial difficulties, come to me. Don’t take your troubles to the sharks.”

“Gotcha.”

“Give me your word, Bobby.”

“I give you my word.”

“All right, then.” He watched his oldest brother lumber down the hall and then slowly closed the door. He thought of this newest venture of Bob’s; then his thoughts wandered down the hallway to 2B.

He and little Ms. Franklin would probably never be friends and no doubt that was for the best. At least the hostility had apparently been shelved. The corner
of his mouth tipped up when he thought of all those photographs on her bedroom wall. What had Bobby called her? The little girl with the big eyes? It was true in more ways than one, evidently. What a surprise.

He sat down at his drafting table and picked up a pencil, fingers moving swiftly as a cartoon took shape. This had turned out to be one hell of an interesting day.

How could everything be going along so swimmingly one moment and fall to pieces the next? It wasn’t supposed to work that way … not here in her new life. Yet it only took one telephone call to bring everything crashing down around Aunie’s ears.

She was laughing at something Lola said when she picked up the receiver. Fifteen seconds later, the smile was wiped from her face.

“No,” she whispered. Then louder, “No!” Clutching the receiver in both hands, she slid down the wall. She could hear a spate of words on the other end of the line, frantic-sounding in their rush to reassure, but they seemed to be in no particular coherent order. She blindly fumbled the receiver into its cradle. She could see the concern on Lola’s face, watched as her friend’s lips moved, but the words Lola spoke didn’t quite penetrate the fog that shrouded her brain.

“Go home, Lola,” she whispered. “I’m fine. Really. Go home.”

But she wasn’t fine. Maybe she never would be again. Her lawyer had just delivered news that wrapped a chill around her heart.

“Aunie, please, let me in,” Lola called through the closed door. She bounced the apartment key in her palm and then knocked harder. “Aunie!”

The door down the hallway opened and James stuck his head out. “Lola?” he said irritably. “What the hell’s going on?”

Lola gave the key in her hand another uncertain glance; then she turned away from Aunie’s door and hurried down the hallway. “Oh, James, I don’t know what to do. I’m worried ‘bout Aunie.” Lola saw that she had his immediate attention. The expression of impatience that he habitually wore when anyone interrupted his time at the drawing board had disappeared. “Why?” he demanded, pushing away from the doorway.

“I was visitin’ wid her this mornin’ before she had to get ready for school. She received a phone call while I was there that upset her somethin’ fierce, and she asked me to go. So I did, mon, but I kept a eye out for her … to be sure she was all right, you know. She was that upset.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And she hasn’t left the apartment, mon. That girl’s serious ‘bout her grades; I don’t know if you know this, but she wants to qualify for the U next year.” James hadn’t known, but he nodded anyway. “Well, before the phone rang, she’d just finished tellin’ me she had an important test this afternoon,
but she hasn’t budged from that apartment and she won’t open the door or answer me. This is the third time I’ve been up here.” She showed him the key. “It’s my duplicate. I’ve been debatin’ …”

“Use it.”

Aunie’s apartment was dark when they let themselves in, illuminated only meagerly by a waning finger of light that filtered through a slat that hung awry in one of the dining room windows’ miniblinds. Feeling their way cautiously until their eyes had a chance to adjust, they entered the living room, halting in the entrance. They were greeted by a blast of hot air. “Aunie?” Lola called softly. There was no response and James said brusquely, “Aunie, answer us, dammit.”

Aunie raised her forehead from where it rested on her kneecaps and peered through dull eyes at the two dim figures standing just inside the living room. “Go away,” she said hoarsely and hugged herself tighter. God. The last thing she wanted at this moment was company. When they didn’t move, she said plaintively, “Please? Just go away.” It didn’t occur to her to ask how they’d gained entrance to her apartment. Wearily, she lowered her head once again.

“We can’t do that,” James said flatly and made his way to the nearest lamp. He turned it on, casting a pool of light.

Aunie was sitting on the floor in front of the heat register. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, arms hugging her legs, and her forehead was pressed to her kneecaps. She was swaddled in a rose-colored woolen afghan.

Concern written clearly on her face, Lola started to bend down. James neatly hipped her out of his way and squatted in front of Aunie. Ignoring the
eyebrow Lola cocked at his cavalier treatment, he asked her gently, “What’s going on?”

She didn’t answer or raise her head up off her knees. James reached out and stroked her hair. It flowed through his fingers like satin streamers. “Aunie? Lola said you got a phone call that upset you.”

A sharp bark of bitter laughter into her woolly cocoon was his only reply.

Christ, wasn’t she roasting in there? It must be eighty-five degrees in the living room. James shook his head sharply and told himself to concentrate on what was relevant. “Tell me about it. Tell me about the phone call.”

Her head jerked up suddenly and James was unprepared for the unbridled hostility that met his gaze as she glared at him head-on. “Oh, you want to hear about my
problems,
Mistah Rydah? Is this the same man who said he’d stand back and wave my husband by when he showed up lookin’ for blood?”

James’s expression froze. How the hell had they gotten back to this Mister Ryder shit? A fierce wave of reciprocal anger swept through him, and for a moment, he was tempted to turn her over to Lola, get up, and get the hell out of there. Yes, dammit, he
was
the same guy and he appreciated the reminder because, for a second there, he had almost forgotten. He didn’t need any additional problems. He had enough to do just trying to stay one step ahead of his brothers’ assorted troubles. She didn’t want him here? Fine. He’d just get the hell out of her way. He didn’t want to know why she was huddled in the dark in this vastly overheated room, anyway.

His anger drained away as rapidly as it had surfaced. Ah, hell, who was he kidding? Yes, he did.

“Tell me about the phone call, Aunie,” he repeated in a carefully neutral voice and Aunie’s face crumpled. Tears rose in her eyes.

“He was
acquitted,”
she wailed and then her words all ran together, barely coherent. “Oh, God, James, I’m so scared. I thought he’d be put away for a long time—Jordan said he would—but he’s free, and if he finds me I know he’s gonna kill me this time. He’s so crazy and obsessed …”

Elbows digging into her drawn-up knees, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed. James and Lola exchanged concerned, puzzled glances. “See what you can do,” Lola whispered. “I’ll make her some tea.” She left the room and James looked back at Aunie.

Her afghan had slipped from her shoulders to pool around her hips in a delicately tinted puddle of wool, revealing the brown satin chemise she wore tucked into her jeans. For an instant, James was mesmerized by the gentle upper curves of her breasts, so white against the dark satin. Ever since his brother had made that crack out in the hall a couple of weeks ago, he had caught himself at odd moments wondering about the size of her breasts. Whenever he saw her she was invariably wearing a baggy sweatshirt or a thick sweater that hid her shape and made it impossible to tell what was underneath. But he could see now that her chest wasn’t as flat as Bob had decreed it to be. Oh, her breasts were petite, just like the rest of her, but there were definite curves there, sweet as honey.

James shook his head impatiently, irritated with himself. What the hell was he doing? She was sitting there sobbing her eyes out after telling him that someone was going to kill her, and instead of finding out
what the story was, he was satisfying a curiosity he had no business entertaining in the first place.
You’re a deep guy, J.T.

How the hell did he go about consoling a woman? He was accustomed to dealing with male problems, but he didn’t think an uncomfortably offered thump of encouragement on the back and a little straight talk was going to do the trick in this instance. Think, Ryder, he urged himself. Women liked to be held, didn’t they?

He reached out and encircled one fragile wrist with his fingers, prying her hand away from her face. “C’mere,” he whispered and tugged at her hand. She struggled to extricate herself from his grip, but he held on. “Shh, shh, easy now,” he crooned, applying leverage. “I know we don’t have much in common, but just for today you and I are gonna try to be friends. Y’need a friend right now, right? I’m just gonna hold you for a minute. C’mere.”

She dove into his arms.

He knelt on the floor, legs spread wide, and held her tight as she continued to sob. He could feel her heart thumping frantically, and she was damp and overheated. But her arms clung to his neck in a death grip, one hand clutching his ponytail, and her face burrowed into his chest. James stroked her silky hair from crown to nape with one hand, his other on her back pressing her to him with wide splayed fingers. He murmured words of comfort, ignoring the spreading patch of wetness on his shirt front. A distant corner of his mind registered the fact that her skin felt just as soft as it looked. He resisted the urge to shift with discomfort. Christ, it was hot in here.

He didn’t attempt to discourage her crying jag, but he was mightily relieved when it eventually wound
down on its own. By the time Lola reentered the room with a tray of cups and a steaming pot of tea, Aunie was lying limply against his chest, tiny shudders occasionally rippling through her. Her nose was so stuffed she had to breathe through her mouth; and wiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist, she sniffed inelegantly.

“Here,” Lola said in a soft but firm voice as she pressed a wad of Kleenex into her hand. “Sit up, blow your nose, and pull yourself together, woo-mon. James and I don’t understand exactly what you been talkin’ ‘bout. You’re gonna have to explain it to us.”

Aunie’s arms slipped away from James’s shoulders and she sank back onto her heels. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and fumbled blindly along the floor for her blanket, wrapping herself up in it once again. James winced as he watched her rebundle herself in wool. How the hell could she stand this heat? He was dying. But when he opened his mouth to raise the issue, Lola, as if she read his mind, squeezed his shoulder warningly. “Shock,” she murmured. “I turned down the thermostat, but don’t argue with her about staying all wrapped up. Let’s just try to get some sugared tea down her … it should help.”

The afghan kept slipping off Aunie’s right shoulder as she sipped her tea; and watching her, waiting for an explanation, James felt something inside himself winding tighter and tighter. He raised his arm and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. The elevated temperature in here certainly wasn’t an aid in trying to get a handle on his growing tension.

Finally, the silence got to him. “Who were you talking about when you said he was acquitted?” He knew his tone of voice was too aggressive, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

She started violently, turning big, haunted eyes on him. Her eyelids were swollen and red. “Wesley,” she whispered. “My ex-husband.”

He had pretty much figured that out already, so why did having it confirmed disturb him so much? “So he’s the person responsible for the state of your face the day you came to rent the apartment?”

She nodded. The teacup rattled against her teeth and she set it aside. Drawing deep, shaky breaths, and with her small white teeth planted firmly in her lower lip, she tugged the afghan closer, hugging herself to contain the trembling. The attempt she made to pull herself together was painfully visible.

“How long did he abuse you before you got out of your marriage Aunie?” Lola asked gently. At the same time, she none too subtly elbowed James in
the
ribs. The look she shot him said, Take it easy!

To their astonishment, Aunie laughed. It was edged with bitter cynicism, but the fact that she was able to find a vestige of even the blackest humor in this situation was astounding. Then her laughter died as abruptly as it had begun. “He never touched me when we were married,” she stated flatly. In more ways than one, she could have added, but didn’t bother to voice that particular irony aloud.

Her composure was hanging by a thread, and the identical looks of patent disbelief that Lola and James wore as they stared at her were enough to sever its fragile hold. “You think I’d
protect
Wesley?” she snarled. The afghan fell unnoticed to the floor as she surged up on her knees to confront them, her hands ruthlessly plowing through her hair to hold it off her face. “What do y’all take me for, a fool? Tell me why
the
hell Ah would botha to lie about somethin’ like that!” Her eyes, feverish
with
anguished fury, were
the only spots of color in an otherwise starkly white face.

James didn’t know what the hell to think. As she said, why would she lie? On the other hand, she was looking a little less than rational at the moment. Lola said gently, “Battered women sometimes deny the length of the period that they’ve suffered abuse because they’re ashamed to admit that they stayed locked in the pattern for so long.”

Aunie’s mouth tightened. “Oh, do they? Well, that’s unfortunate, isn’t it? Y’all’ll just have to excuse me, howevah, if Ah find it a little bit difficult to understand a woman who stays around to become a punchin’ bag.” She stood up. “Look, why don’t y’all go home,” she said wearily. “You seem to have it all figured out; I’d hate to clutter up your tidy theories with the messy facts.”

“Why don’t you go put on a sweater and then we’ll sit down and talk about the facts,” James snapped.

She turned jerkily to face him. “What?”

“You seem to be so damn cold but you can’t keep your friggin’ blanket on, so go put on a warm sweater. Then come on back out here, sit us down, and set us straight. Lola will pour you some more tea.”

Aunie was tempted to suggest he take his autocratic orders and his tea and shove ‘em where the sun didn’t shine. But she did desperately need to talk, and in all fairness she knew she must look like some sort of crazed woman to them. How could she expect them to understand automatically what she, who had been living with it for a long time, didn’t understand herself? Aside from Otis, Lola was the only friend she had made in Seattle. James didn’t quite qualify as a friend; yet he was here, involving himself in her problem after he had specifically stated he would not.
In truth, she didn’t know what she would do if she alienated them.

Without a word, she walked out of the room.

Lola turned to James the moment she was out of earshot. “Don’t you think you’re pushin’ it a little?” she demanded. “She’s on the edge.”