by Rebecca York
To prove to herself that she wasn’t spooked, she took a couple of deliberate steps forward and was relieved when nobody leaped out of the shadows. This wasn’t a slasher film, she told herself firmly as she marched down the hall toward the office complex at the back. Even so, she found herself hurrying past the darkened doorways that loomed on either side of the corridor. And the sound of her high-heeled shoes clicking on the tile floor of the empty building created an eerie echo that made her feel as if she were being followed.
But she knew there was nobody here. For gosh sakes, the door had been locked when she’d arrived, she reminded herself. It was just that she was alone in the early-morning silence—and feeling vulnerable.
Yet all the logical reassurances in the world couldn’t stop the hairs on the back of her neck from tingling. By the time she reached her office door, she was practically tiptoeing. Just as she was about to grasp the knob, a noise from inside made every muscle in her body go rigid.
My God, someone was here. Somehow, on an instinctual level, she’d known it all along, and she should have trusted her instincts.
Who was in there waiting for her?
For one joyful moment, she decided it was Miguel. Then a harsh voice speaking in Spanish brought her back to reality.
“Shut up!” The exclamation was followed by an epithet that made her blush.
“There’s nobody here yet,” another voice objected.
“They will be! She will be. She works here on Mondays and she gets here early.”
Jessie’s heart clunked in her chest, then started to beat in double time. She knew that voice. It belonged to Georgie, the leader of Los Tigres, the gang that had threatened her outside Miguel’s. She’d seen the hatred in the kid’s eyes when she’d made him back down. So much had happened since then, she’d forgotten all about him.
Her mistake.
With a silent prayer, she took a cautious step back—then another, moving inch by inch away from the door until she was six feet down the hallway. Eight feet. Afraid to run and give herself away, she kept up the slow, steady pace, until she was more than a dozen feet from the office door.
But she didn’t realize she was angled toward the wall, and didn’t know she was backing into a fire extinguisher until cold metal clunked into the hollow between her shoulder blades.
An involuntary gasp welled in her throat as she whirled around. The canister was supposed to be tightly fixed to a wall bracket, but somehow, the whole assembly was loosening from its moorings. Frantically she grabbed at the cylinder before it could clatter to the floor and give her away.
But it was already too late for stealth. When she turned with the fire extinguisher in her arms, she saw her office door ease open the tiniest crack as someone furtively peeked out. , In the next moment, the door flew open, and two youths wearing black and orange jackets barreled into the hallway—Georgie and one of the other gang members.
“It’s her!” Georgie shouted as he hurtled toward her, his hands stretched in front of him like claws.
Whirling, Jessie ran. Her heart was in her throat, yet strangely her mind kept working. For a split second, she thought about turning and hurling the fire extinguisher at her pursuers. Then a better idea came to her as she remembered using the device in several practice drills.
Clutching the cylinder against her chest, she fumbled frantically with the seal on the top of the trigger as her feet pounded against the tile floor.
She’d had a few yards’ head start. But she was never going to win this race—especially in high-heeled shoes and carrying fifteen extra pounds in her arms. Behind her, she heard the gang leader gaining. When she felt his hand on her shoulder, a scream tore from her mouth.
“Gotcha!” Georgie crowed.
“Let me go,” she sobbed, her fear almost driving the remnants of rational thought from her mind.
“Not this time, caramelo.”
Georgie spun her around, his face a frightening mixture of anger and triumph. The other boy hung back, giving his leader first dibs.
“You’re going to find out what happens when you mess with me,” Georgie growled in a low, dangerous voice. One of his large hands dug into her shoulder while the other reached up to tangle in her hair. He jerked her hair back sharply, bringing a scream to her lips and a smile of satisfaction to his.
She didn’t have to pretend utter and complete fear. For long moments she couldn’t move, her fingers frozen on the canister’s trigger mechanism.
“Look at me,” he growled. “I want you to know who’s playing with you.” Yanking at her hair again, he pulled her chin up and lifted her face toward his. The look of pleasure in his eyes made her stomach cramp. It also banished the paralysis from her fingers. Blindly she fumbled with the catch.
A hissing noise filled her ears, and foam began to shoot from the nozzle in a cold cloud of white.
“Wha—” Georgie managed as she aimed the spraying hose at his face.
A fog of the white chemical hit him in the mouth. He grabbed for the canister, but she held tight, knowing she was fighting for her life as she raised the nozzle higher.
The spray hit his eyes, and he screamed, clawing at his face.
The moment his hands left her body, she jerked away. When she realized she was still holding the canister, she threw it at his chest It bounced off his body and hit the floor, the clatter echoing in the darkened hallway.
As quickly as she could, she began to totter down the corridor.
Behind her, Georgie was cursing loudly in Spanish. “Get her! Get the bitch!” he ordered his companion. Instead, the boy ran in the opposite direction.
Somehow Jessie made it back to the entrance, pulled the door open, and staggered outside, blinking in the sunlight. She was halfway across the parking lot when she felt a hand tug at her arm. Georgie again! God, she’d sprayed his eyes, and now he was crazed with anger. On a sob, she wrenched herself away and tried to run.
Feet kept up with her.
“Senorita Douglas. Are you all right?” a high voice near her right shoulder questioned.
She didn’t stop long enough to find out who it was.
“Senorita Douglas!”
The voice penetrated the fear that swamped her mind. Not Georgie. Looking down in confusion, she saw a small figure at her side. It was Luis.
“Are you all right?” he asked again as his fingers dug into her arm.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” she stammered.
His face contorted, and he hesitated for a moment before blurting, “I would have stopped you. But I didn’t want anyone to see me. I can’t get in trouble or he’s going to beat me again.”
She nodded, remembering what he’d said about his stepfather.
“Are you all right?” he asked once more, his voice high and urgent.
“Yes,” she managed.
The sirens grew louder.
Then she heard the squeal of tires as a police car came to a halt a few feet from her.
Two uniformed officers jumped out.
“We got a call about some trouble at the recreation center,” one of them said, addressing Jessie.
She struggled to pull herself together. “Inside. A guy named Georgie. The leader of Los Tigres. When I came to work, he attacked me.”
“Okay. Clear the area,” the one who had addressed her shouted, then spoke into the microphone near his collar. The transmission completed, he and his partner disappeared into the building, guns drawn.
All she could do was stand transfixed, staring at the door as it banged heavily on its hinges.
Luis pulled on her arm. “Señorita, por favor.”
She took a step back just as another car pulled up, and out stepped Jim Alvarez, the recreation-center director. Slim, dark-haired and in his early thirties, Jim had grown up in the neighborhood and won a scholarship to the University of Maryland, where he’d gotten a master’s in social work. He’d wanted to stay in the barrio, and the job with the Light Street Foundation had be
en perfect for him. Jessie admired his work, yet sometimes she found him a little hard to take. He was a stickler for rules and a traditionalist who could be hard on people when he thought they weren’t living up to what he considered essential moral standards.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he trotted toward her, his face contorted with alarm.
“What are you doing here?” she asked stupidly.
“I work here.”
“Right,” she replied with a little shake of her head. Probably it was late enough now that the rest of the staff would also be arriving.
Another police car came to a halt in the parking area, and two more officers dashed into the building.
MIGUEL WATCHED FROM the shadows of the passageway across the street, his hands clenched into fists as he studied Jessie’s pale, pinched face.
Coward! he silently accused himself. Yet, after this morning, he knew very well what would happen if he showed himself. The police or the INS would grab him.
Without considering the consequences, he’d come to the center to see Jessie. But when he’d gotten here, he’d found Luis lurking in the passageway, pacing back and forth, looking scared. Luis had said that Jessie was in the building—and in trouble—but he couldn’t go inside. His stepfather was back from the city jail again, and he’d already beaten the boy for not keeping his head down. So Luis had called 911, but the police hadn’t come yet.
Miguel had started across the street to rescue Jessie when she’d staggered outside looking dazed but unhurt. Then the police cars had started arriving.
His hand stretched toward her, then fell back. He ached to comfort her, ached to assure himself that she was all right. But even that was denied him.
He cursed under his breath. She had saved his life, and all he could do was lurk in the shadows and watch the action when she needed to feel his arms around her. But if he went to her now, he would only make things worse—for both of them.
He closed his eyes, fighting a choking feeling of rage. Over the past few days, she had made him want to believe that he could live like a normal human being again. Even after the INS had barged in this morning, he had come back here to be with her, hoping, praying that she might offer him salvation. Now he silently admitted that he’d only been fooling himself.
“WHAT’S HAPPENING?” Jim demanded.
“Gang members broke into the building,” Jessie answered. “Thank the Lord someone called the police,” she added, then stopped short as she realized it must have been Luis. When she looked around for him, he had vanished again. The boy made a habit of stepping in, then disappearing when it was convenient.
A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she glanced up to see a uniformed policeman staring through the glass, looking directly at her. As she watched, he turned to speak to someone inside, then disappeared from view again.
Endless minutes passed during which she felt her stomach twist into painful knots. Then the policeman came to the door again. This time, he motioned for Jim to approach.
“I’m going with you,” she said in a shaky voice.
“No. Wait here.” He left Jessie standing in the parking lot and strode toward the door where he and the officer conferred. She saw them both looking at her and knew she couldn’t simply wait to find out what they were discussing. Moving toward them, she glanced questioningly at the policeman; Officer Haroldson, his name tag read.
“What’s going on?”
“The gang leader—Georgie Cota—says he broke into the rec center because he was looking for you,” the cop said in a grim voice, his narrowed gaze giving the impression that she was the one at fault.
Her mouth went dry.
“Why?” Haroldson demanded.
When she didn’t answer immediately, he persisted, “He’s plenty angry with you. What’s going on between you two?”
“I—I had a run-in with him a few nights ago when I came down here,” she said in a halting voice.
“Here?”
“In the neighborhood.”
“And you didn’t say anything to me about it?” Jim interjected.
“I haven’t been back to work since,” she explained, remembering that Jim didn’t like being out of the loop.
“Maybe you’d better tell us what’s going on,” the cop added.
“I—” She stopped, feeling trapped. If she revealed what had happened on her first meeting with Georgie, then she’d have to explain what she’d been doing in front of Miguel’s apartment.
“He claims you had a gun.”
Jim’s head snapped toward her.
“Can you explain that?” Haroldson demanded.
She sucked in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Maybe I need to get some advice from a lawyer before we continue this discussion,” she said, using the same line that she’d used a few hours ago with the INS agents.
“You have that right,” the cop replied, his voice conveying disapproval.
Jessie had seen enough police dramas to know that the cops tried to get suspects to talk before they “lawyered up,” as the phrase went. But she wasn’t a suspect, she told herself. She hadn’t done anything—except help Miguel and get herself assaulted.
Before the conversation could progress, the door opened again and two more officers came out, escorting Georgie Cota between them. The look he gave her made the blood in her veins freeze. She had bested him twice, humiliated him twice—first, in front of his gang members; and now, when he was in the hands of the police. The look in his eyes told her very clearly that if he ever walked the streets again, he’d kill her.
Chapter Eight
You thought you had your life all figured out. Then one day you woke up and realized that nothing would be the same again, Jessie mused as she stood in the lavishly appointed garden behind Cameron Randolph and Jo O‘Malley’s mansion.
Spring had given way to summer. Around her, flower beds overflowed with bright annuals, a string quartet played in the shade of a dogwood tree, and wedding guests chatted as they waited for the ceremony to begin.
Jessie smiled at the other guests and made the right responses in the flow of conversation. But it was hard to keep herself from tugging at the bodice of the pale peach dress that felt as if it were crushing her breasts into her chest.
Probably she should have bought something new for Kathryn and Hunter’s wedding, but generating the enthusiasm to go shopping was simply beyond her. Showing up at work every morning and dragging herself through the day was about all she’d been able to manage recently. And it had only gotten worse since she’d confirmed her growing suspicions by taking a home pregnancy test. She was carrying Miguel’s child.
From the other side of the crowded lawn, Erin Stone caught her eye, and Jessie tipped her chin up, manufacturing a fleeting smile to prove that she was holding up okay on this festive occasion. Erin was her boss at the Light Street Foundation and one of the few people who knew what she was going through. She might be pregnant by Miguel, but she hadn’t heard from him since the morning two months ago when he’d fled her bedroom through the back window.
Out of necessity, her other confidante had been Laura Roswell. Laura was a lawyer with an office at 43 Light Street. Jessie had gone to her immediately after the break-in at the recreation center. She’d needed legal advice, and she’d just plain needed someone to talk to. So she’d poured out the whole story of what had happened with Georgie and then found herself confiding about her relationship with Miguel. To her relief, Laura had advised her that she wasn’t obliged to talk to the police about Georgie, although she’d pointed out that her failure to admit what he’d done to her might not be in her own best interests. Jessie had kept silent in order to protect Miguel.
Luckily, the police hadn’t needed her to file a complaint to hang on to Georgie. He was being held without bail because he was already in trouble for several other offenses. But what if he came to trial and her testimony was crucial to keeping him locked up? The prospect of his being back on the street
s terrified her. He would come after her again.
“Wow, this wedding is really something,” her friend Noel Zacharias murmured, breaking into Jessie’s churning thoughts.
She nodded in agreement, hoping her face didn’t reflect the pain and confusion she had been living with for weeks. She’d almost stayed home today. A wedding wasn’t the best place to contemplate single motherhood. Yet she’d wanted to be here for Kathryn and Hunter because they were two of the Light Street gang, and they meant a lot to her.
The music changed, and Cam Randolph and some of the other men moved through the crowd, asking everyone to take their seats. Jessica chose a chair at the back—praying that an attack of morning sickness wouldn’t hit her in the middle of the ceremony. Why did they call it “morning” sickness, anyway, she wondered, when it could strike at any time of the day or night?
When everyone was seated, the minister, Hunter, and Cam, who was the best man, stepped toward the stunning bower of white roses that had been set up facing the assembly. Then the music changed to the “Wedding March,” and Kathryn began to walk down the grassy aisle between the seats, holding tightly to her father’s arm. Her steps were sure, and her eyes were fixed on Hunter as his were on her.
They were so fortunate! Their love for each other had helped them survive a terrible ordeal a year ago, and now they were standing up in front of God and their friends, pledging to share their lives.
Jessie’s eyes misted as she watched the bride and groom and listened to the service, the familiar words taking on new meaning as she found herself wishing she and Miguel were standing in the sunshine making a commitment.
Commitment. The word sent a shiver through her. She knew she had no right to think in those terms. She had no claims on Miguel. They’d only spent a few nights together. Yet she’d sensed that what they felt for each other could have grown into something rich and lasting if they’d given it a chance.