Vigilant (4 page)

“You know, I think I may go to the gym before it gets too late,” Ari said. She’d joined the twenty-four-hour one due to her erratic schedule.

“Now?” Oliver didn’t even look up from his paperwork.

“Yeah, I need to work off some of this stress.”

Ari went to her room and grabbed her gym bag. She stuffed it with everything she needed—combat boots, cargo pants and a black tank. She could work this stress out at the gym, or she could work it out on the dance floor.

“Be careful,” Oliver said.

“I will,” she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Don’t wait up.”

* * *

Ari changed in the backseat of her car in club parking lot. Once she was inside and had a drink in her system, she immediately felt better. Glorious, a dance club deep in the industrial district, had been their favorite hangout before she and Oliver “grew-up.” She still loved the way the loud, thumping music echoed against the warehouse walls, vibrating into her skin. It was just what she needed. Mind-numbing music to take the insanity of the day away.

It wasn’t the first time she’d snuck out on Oliver looking for a release. He had no idea she came here alone at night, and she was sure he’d be shocked to find out. All she wanted was some time alone with the loud music and to work up a good sweat. Better than jogging on a treadmill for an hour.

“Hey girl, wanna dance?”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Looking for something? Someone? Me?”

The pickup lines came and Ari skirted past them all, smiling at the guys, but kept her eyes jaded. That’s not what she came for. At least not on purpose.

The only offer she entertained was a dance. Of her choosing. They had to already be on the dance floor. Feeling the music on their own. Male or female. It didn’t matter. All she wanted was a dance partner, maybe the heat of skin next to hers.

The energy shift on the floor was fast, the hip-hop music turning decidedly rap. She looked over her shoulder and saw a guy doing a handstand, challenging gravity in some kind of breakdance move.

“What’s this?” she yelled at the girl next to her. “Break dancing?”

“Kind of,” she said. “It’s this parkour thing? Freerunning.You know, the flips and stuff?”

Ari had seen it before—on the Internet. Crazy guys leaping from rooftops and taking backflips off subway walls.

“There’s a group of guys that do it here in the city. Occasionally, they show up in clubs like this.” Both women watched as another guy joined in doing a series of choreographed back handsprings. “They’re hot right?”

Ari snorted. Hot was an understatement. The strength required to do the tricks was obvious, as were the muscles under their shirts. “Holy crap,” Ari said, seeing the tight stomach on one of the guys peeking out from under his shirt. He flipped from his back to an upright position and his dark eyes met hers.

The song ended and the guys were swallowed into the crowed. Ari tried to find them, any of them, but there were too many people clogging up the dance floor. She checked her watch and saw it was near one. She needed to go soon so she wouldn’t be a zombie at work the next day, but she’d just started to relax.

She reentered the dance floor and got lost in the throng of dancers. A couple guys tried to grab her arms but she shook them off, uninterested. She knew whom she was looking for. Mating and dating and anything of the sort could only be called a game. Chasing was part of the thrill. Ari had more pride than to chase a guy down in a bar, but four years of partying during college taught how to lure one out.

Ari spotted him in the middle of the floor, dancing with a group of girls in the hazy light. Fangirls from the looks of them. One had her finger in his belt loop, near the button. Another had a fistful of shirt at his side. Possessive much?

Spinning away from him, Ari found the closest guy and began to dance. Nothing dirty, she didn’t want to cross any lines, but her hips swayed to the beat and the guy she’d picked was more than willing to be her partner. He had a shaggy mop of hair, kind of like Oliver’s except it glowed red like a halo in the lights near the stage. Damp with sweat, it fell into his eyes. He brushed it aside and Ari saw the hooped ring through his eyebrow. She moved her head to the music, laughing a little at his skinniness, the way his pants slid off his hips. They were saved by a leather belt.

Ari felt the lightest touch on her back, near the tattoo that peeked out of the top of her shirt. Maybe not even a touch. Perhaps just energy. She didn’t look. She wouldn’t dare. Not yet.

What she did do was shift her body backwards, not enough to touch the guy behind her, but enough to enter his zone. Despite their lack of physical contact, the guy behind her must have put off quite the vibe, because the boy in the droopy pants figured it out quick enough, giving Ari a little wave before turning toward another girl.

The tempo notched up again and Ari moved closer to her new partner, yet never touching or speaking. Her chest shuddered with each beat, releasing the stress from her body. She wanted to exhaust herself, forget about armed robbers and child prostitution. She closed her eyes and danced.

The song shifted and Ari turned. She opened her eyes taking in the man in front of her. Shaved head. Light brown skin. Tall and slim, but ripped. She’d seen his abs before. The way he looked at her in return set her stomach on fire, and she ached to feel his hands on her skin. Something hard to cut away at the numbness. She lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head just a bit. Then she left the dance floor.

It was impossible to tell which beat harder, her heart or the music. Ari made her way through the crowd. She’d never done anything like this without a wingman—someone to keep an eye out and make sure there wasn’t any trouble. She liked to have fun, but her job made her aware of the dangers lurking in seedy bars and dark dance clubs.

Yet, she couldn’t seem to make herself care. Not now.

Pushing past the bar, Ari made her way to a dark corner. Taking a deep breath, she turned around and sure enough, he’d followed her. Dark-eyed and dangerous.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

“I saw you out there, doing that stuff, the parkour?”

“Yeah.”

Ari considered that he might be stupid or slow or something, but the smile on his face said otherwise. He knew what she wanted.

“I just…you know…don’t ever…”

“Right.” He nodded. “Me—”

Desperate, she cut him off, grabbing at him with needy hands. Her fingers wove into the cotton of his shirt and she pulled him forward, kissing him on the mouth. The connection felt like a jolt of electricity running through her veins, melting the numbness, bringing her to life in the most dangerous way. She didn’t care, and obviously, neither did he, because his hands lifted her up, pressing her back into the wall.

The murky light formed a shade around them, the club-goers a curtain of protection. Ari, and this stranger, lost themselves in the throbbing music and one another.

FOUR

Ari woke the next day feeling like she’d been run over by a truck. She couldn’t blame it on alcohol, just the lack of common sense and some kind of lust-driven desperation.

After taking a scalding hot shower, Ari traded the combat boots and low-cut jeans from the night before, for more conservative work clothes.

“Hopefully I scrubbed the skank off my skin,” she said into the mirror, but she still felt the lingering effects of the club. The feeling of his hands on her body.

Exhausted and sleep deprived, she still felt more awake than she had in months. She didn’t know if it was from the thrill of taking risks, or from him. A shiver ran down her arms when she thought about it—him. She suspected she knew the answer.

Too bad she didn’t know his name.

No one at work noticed that her lips were still swollen and chapped from sucking face with a stranger the night before, or if they did, they politely kept it to themselves. That’s all they did. Make out. A little groping and dry humping in the back hallway. There was no tell-tale “slut” sign on her forehead, but she closed herself in her office anyway to avoid questions.

With the noise of the office blocked out, Ari focused on Curtis Wilson’s file. She’d found it in her inbox when she’d arrived. Judge Hatcher wasted no time, that was for sure. She thought she had ’til Monday. Ari knew she shouldn’t complain. Having a jumpstart on placement and funding made all this easier, but the situation was so unconventional she couldn’t help but question the judge’s motives.

A note stuck to the top of the file included directions to the center and an appointment time. Ari checked her watch.

“Great.”

She had two hours. That didn’t give Ari much time to release Curtis from detention and get him to the program. Or to stop at the coffee shop. That one little sticky note dramatically changed the flow of her day. She rushed to gather her things, stopping by the front desk to sign out.

“Where are you going?” Rebecca asked.

“Down to the Glory Youth Center. I have a placement there for a new client.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Me either,” Ari said. “Judge Hatcher specifically requested this kid go there, so I’m just following directions. It must be a lower-risk level facility or something? Or maybe somewhere new? I’ll find out today.”

“Okay.” Rebecca narrowed her eyes and studied Ari closely. “You look different today. Did you do something to your hair?”

“Um…I washed it?” She hoped her face wasn’t as red as the streak in her hair.

“Smart ass,” she muttered, resuming her typing. “Check in later today. I’ll forward your messages.”

Ari waved and pushed the exterior door open, leaving the office behind.

* * *

The first group home visit Ari made when she started her job brought her to tears. Not because of the kids or the situations or the home itself, but because the director of the home lectured her for an hour. He rambled on and on about how it was society’s fault, and therefore her fault, that these children had been left behind.

At twenty-three, fresh in her first week of work at her “real” job, Ari had been overwhelmed by the bluntness of the director. On the way out the door, holding back big fat traitorous tears, Ari’s coworker explained that the director had spent the first half of his adult life in the military and suffered the effects from his many years of service. The man loved working with the kids, but he wasn’t that great with adults.

Back then, Ari cried about everything. Her parents’ death made her vulnerable and raw. Over time, those scars were covered by a hard numbness. That first day toughened Ari so that now, as she and Curtis arrived at the Glory Youth Center, she figured she could handle whatever was inside waiting for them.

“You heard of this place?” she asked Curtis.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

He shrugged in reply and Ari bit her tongue. “I don’t know,” meant, “I don’t care.”

She found the building easily and wondered how she’d never noticed it before. Granted, they were in an industrial area. The building was mixed in between older homes and empty buildings. The outside was clean—no, spotless. The parking lot tidy, including the area near the chain-link fence that surrounded the property. Ari opened the car door and said to the boy in the passenger seat, “Grab your stuff.”

The full extent of Curtis’s belongings fit into a manila envelope and the clothing he wore when he’d been arrested. Ari hadn’t had time to go by his home to see if there were any personal items he could have used. That would have been doubtful anyway. Odds were, the minute he got locked up, his clothing spread throughout the rest of the family.

“I’m supposed to live here?” he asked. Curtis was only fifteen, but carried himself like he was older, like so many of these kids. They were forced to grow up fast. Lean and fit, Curtis was very big for his age. Ari knew before he’d started skipping school he’d been active in sports. The police had documented more than once that he was a skilled runner. He just needed to learn how to use that power for good and not evil.

“I’ve never been here,” Ari told him in a stern voice. “But this is a last-chance stop. Whatever it is, it’s better than detention, which is where you’re headed next.”

Curtis slipped behind his case manager as she walked into the building.

“Oh, wow,” she said, knocked in the face by the overpowering smell. Soon though, even the rank stench was eclipsed by the sounds.

The boy stepped in front of Ari with his eyes wide and said, “No fucking way.”

Ari’s head snapped in his direction, but she didn’t scold him as she normally would have. She felt just as stunned. Her senses were assaulted by sweat and rubber, combined with a muggy, damp heat. And the sounds. Well, it sounded like someone was getting beaten to death.

“What the hell is this?” Curtis said, pushing Ari’s limit on foul language.

“Cut the cussing, Curtis,” she said. “A gym, I suppose?” But it was more than a gym. There were four boxing rings in the center of the building and rows of weights and cardio machines along each side. Near the front door, a huge trophy case held dozens of gold trophies, each with a tiny boxer or fighter on the top. Ari saw a dozen or so guys of various ages working out around the gym.

A long countertop ran along the barrier between the gym and the entry area. Hanging on the wall was a large sign with the letters GYC, and the name: Glory Youth Center. Ari spotted a young man folding towels and placing them in a stack.

“Come on,” she said to Curtis. They approached the counter and she introduced herself to the kid.

“I’m Ari Grant. I’m here to meet a—” she pulled the note out of her pocket. “Mr. Davis. We have an appointment at eleven.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replied. “Let me tell him you’re here.” He looked a little older than Curtis, maybe seventeen or so. Broad shouldered and muscular. He had a bandage over his eye and quickly disappeared around the corner, away from the gym floor.

Curtis studied a row of photographs behind the counter. He glanced at Ari. “So you want me to come work out or something? I thought this was a home.”