Street Safe

by W. Lynn Chantale

  She struggled to follow his instructions, but her stomach was jumping and Auggie was dead and what if they came back? A whimper stuck in her throat. They would find her and then...then…. She glanced toward the counter.

  “Look at me.”

  Quiet authority infused his voice and she snapped her gaze to his face.

  “Look only at me,” he said gentling his tone.

  Maybe it was the way he stroked her face or his soothing manner. Either way his calmness settled the swirling chaos of her mind.

  “Good. Now breathe. In and out. That’s all. Just look at me and breathe.”

  Her world narrowed to Street and she followed each inhale and exhale until the nausea subsided and her heart rate returned to normal. All the while he spoke soft encouragement and caressed her hair.

  When the chime over the door jangled, Street shoved her behind him. She clutched his arm and buried her face in his shoulder. They were back.

  He swung around, gun pointed at the newcomer.

  “Geez Street!” Miles raised his hands. “What the hell are you doing in here? I told you to stay at the bar. This is a crime scene.”

  Street tucked his weapon back in its holster and shifted Na’arah. There was something comforting about having her in his arms again. And they would have to talk about their earlier argument, but at least this way he knew she was alive. Safe.

  His gaze strayed to the pair of shoes visible from the end of the counter. If he hadn’t seen her enter the shop. If she hadn’t hidden...He tamped down the thought and held her a little tighter enjoying the softness of her body molded to his. Slow heat trickled through his veins igniting lust and desires better left unexplored. But with her so close, her sweet scent of lavender and feminine heat beguiling him, his restraint weakened. Now was not the time to dwell on his libido, especially with so much left unsaid and a dead body barely out of sight.

  One look into her amber green eyes and he knew he had to stay with her. He couldn’t leave her now, even if he wanted to.

  “Na’arah was here. I had to make sure she was okay.” His voice cracked at the last and he cleared his throat. “As you can see, she is, but he isn’t.” What the hell had happened to get the man killed? Somehow the savageness of the stabbing led him to believe it was personal and nothing to do with the empty, broken cash register. Auggie may have been a woman stealer, but he didn’t deserve to die.

  Na’arah lifted her head, but didn’t move from Street’s side. Despite Miles being his friend, the man was first and foremost a cop and wouldn’t hesitate to do as he threatened.

  “You shouldn’t be here. I could have you arrested!” Miles snapped.

  “I had to. Na’arah was here,” he continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

  Miles blinked as if noticing the woman in Street’s arms for the first time. “Is she hurt? Arah! Are you hurt?”

  Confusion wrinkled her brow, while her hands fluttered over her face and through her tousled ebony curls. Street followed her panicked gaze down to her clothes. Dried blood coated half her left shoe and leg. More tainted her hands and the front of his light blue polo. Fresh tears bubbled and spilled down her cheeks. He’d rather have her come at him with the nail file again than see her cry. Each sniffle tightened and gnawed at his gut.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder and absently kneaded the tense muscles knotted there. The gesture seemed to calm her.

  “I-no. Au—” her voice broke on his name. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Auggie made me hide under the counter.” She swayed. “I want to go home. Please.”

  “We need your statement,” Miles said.

  She flinched as if struck. He was going to make her stay in the shop. Na’arah wasn’t sure if she could. Her gaze bounced around the interior. The old-fashioned cash register lay on its side, the drawer busted and hanging by its hinges. Several bookshelves and tables had been overturned. The Tiffany lamp that once sat in the corner, casting light to an ancient arm chair was shattered, the chair reduced to rubble. And just beyond the counter’s edge were Auggie’s loafer clad feet, the green argyle socks peeking from beneath his khaki pants.

  He really was dead. Gentle hands framed her face, drawing her attention to the concern and compassion in light brown eyes.

  “I’ll stay with you.” Street promised.

  She nodded.

  He hooked an arm around her waist and led her to the back room. Despite the somewhat chaotic piles of books and magazines waiting to be shelved, the room was untouched. The safe sat closed and pristine. Even the stack of bills waiting to be paid beside the open checkbook was undisturbed. Tears burned her eyes. How was she going to keep the spa in business now?

  “Do you want something to drink?” Street’s warm baritone drifted through her thoughts and wrapped around her like a much needed hug.

  She shook her head before dragging her fingers through her tangle of ebony curls.

  Radio static crackled before it was replaced by the low murmur of voices. A moment later Miles appeared in the doorway notebook in hand.

  He held her a gaze a moment. “I won’t make this any more difficult than it already is, but I need to know what happened.”

  “Auggie stopped by, to remind me about the new table he’d ordered and just to make sure I had the rest of the sales receipts. He was terrible at keeping records. It’s a wonder this place survived as long as it has.” She twisted her fingers in her lap, realized what she was doing and rubbed her palms on her jeans. “He was leaving when—” She paused as her heart pounded and tears clogged her throat. She swallowed hard. Street ran a hand over her hair. The tiny gesture gave her the strength to continue. “When Auggie looked out the window, he went all weird. He didn’t give me a chance to do much else, just shoved me under the counter and told me to call 911.”

  “Weird? How so?”

  “Like he was scared. He even apologized again for getting me mixed up in everything.”

  Street stood beside her, his presence and heat easing some of the stress from her body.

  “What else?”

  “I called, but my phone died before I could say more than my name.” She twisted her fingers, then dropped her hands in her lap. She met Miles’ eyes. “I never saw them. I wish I had, but I couldn’t see anything.”

  “What about their voices?” Miles’ tone was low, patient. “Young, old, strong?”

  “Scared. The second guy was scared. Neither of them were old. He kept asking ‘why did you do this? Why did you do this?’ The first guy just laughed.”

  “Tell me about the first guy.”

  Na’arah gulped a breath, clutching her hands in her lap. Her stomach pitched and rolled. Bile burned the back of her throat. If she didn’t tell Miles what he needed to know now, she doubted she could later. “He was angry, but controlled. Whatever he thought Auggie had, he wanted.” She brushed at the tears streaking down her cheeks. “I wished Auggie’d just given it to him. Maybe he’d be alive right now.”

  Miles leaned forward to pat her knee, glanced at Street and stopped. Street pressed a handkerchief in her hand and she offered him a small smile.

  “Thanks.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I don’t think the one guy was from around here. He asked if anyone else worked in the store.”

  “So they know you work here.”

  She nodded. Street stroked her hair. The tender gesture spoke volumes and soothed her rattled nerves.

  “At least the second man did.”

  “If you heard their voices again, would you recognize them?”

  “Maybe the first guy, because he was so controlled, the second guy. His voice was so high pitched, I don’t know.”

  Miles nodded. “I think that’s it for now. If I have more questions I’ll call you. Or if you think of anything else, call me.”

  She nodded and stood.

  “I’m taking her to the bar, Miles.” His tone brokered no argument. “You can find us there if you need to speak to her again.”

  A lon
g look passed between the two men. Na’arah swung her gaze from one to the other, trying to decipher the silent communication. Miles shrugged.

  “Fine, but stay with her. She doesn’t leave your sight.”

  Street nodded, wrapped an arm around her waist, and moved her toward the backdoor. She didn’t breathe easy until they stepped on the damp earth outside the rear entrance. A strong gust of wind whipped around the building. Na’arah raised her face to the breeze, allowing it to clear the odor of death and violence from her nostrils. Street moved closer his bright, woodsy scent chased away the lingering pall and filled her with equal measures of longing and dread.

  She shifted until she met his gaze. “I’m okay now. You don’t have to take me to the bar. I can—I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can. Regardless of what happened between us earlier, you shouldn’t be alone right now.” He framed her face a gentle smile on his face. “You did good.”

  She closed her eyes, recalling every detail of what she just survived. There was no way she’d sleep tonight or any other night. When she opened her eyes, compassion stared at her. “I need a drink.”

  “I know just the place.”

  Chapter Ten

  So much had changed in the last two hours. First, he’d left Na’arah pacing in his apartment and second, the man whom he suspected had fathered her child was dead.

  Street shook his head. Somehow he’d let a dumb infatuation and his hormones lead him to a complication he truly didn’t need in his life.

  There was no way he was going to let her go now. Na’arah was in trouble and the least he could do was see her through this horrid ordeal. After their conversation in his office he’d decided to not to speak to her again, but when he’d stepped outside to clear his head and didn’t see Na’arah in the shop, he got worried.

  He didn’t want to admit he’d been watching her and he still couldn’t shake her. A day didn’t go by he didn’t touch her panties. She was the first woman from whom he’d ever kept something so personal. Yet he wasn’t sure if he wanted to shake her. He shuffled the plastic take-out bag and bottles of orange juice and whiskey. He wasn’t letting her near alcohol in her condition.

  Pain shot up and down his right leg and he gritted his teeth against the ensuing spasm. Gripping the bannister he negotiated the last two steps and paused on the landing. Sweat beaded on his brow, as he leaned against the wall. He shouldn’t have pushed so hard during his workout, but that’s what he did. Pushed through despite his body’s protests. Maybe if he hadn’t worked so hard and taken longer in the whirlpool he’d have been at the shop.

  The shop. Nausea welled in the back of his throat and he choked down the knot of grief. He was no stranger to death, but to see his uncle so viciously brutalized left him raw, angry. Then to learn Na’arah heard the entire thing. Well, it made the entire situation unthinkable.

  If only she hadn’t walked into the office sharing her news, he wouldn’t have gone outside to look for her. That was the real reason he stepped onto the sidewalk, why he crossed the street. He needed to know the truth. And frankly, he missed her.

  A throaty giggle dragged him from his reverie and tightened his groin. When it was followed by a low male voice his stomach twisted. Who the hell did she have in his place? He pushed off the wall and limped toward his door.

  He twisted the knob and shoved hard. The wood hit the wall with a bang. Both of them jumped. He scowled at Derrick, who had his hand on Na’arah’s shoulder.

  “Street.” Derrick greeted. “I heard...”

  “Why are you here?” He flicked a glance at his friend before locking gazes with Na’arah. A tiny sense of satisfaction warmed him when he noted the quick heave of her breasts as she stepped away from the other man. He narrowed his eyes as he looked her over.

  She wore one of his T-shirts. The cotton skimmed her lush breasts and stopped mid-thigh where a pair of shorts, which resembled a set of his boxers, hit just above her knees. Heat pulsed and pooled low, bringing his cock to aching throbbing life. Need only fueled the simmering jealousy. What was Derrick doing here? With her?

  “Why don’t you have any clothes on?”

  Confusion crossed her lovely features and she smoothed a hand down the front of her shirt. The gesture emphasized she wasn’t wearing a bra. For a brief second, her nipples tented the shirt and he stifled a groan. Street set the food and drinks down with a thud, snatched up a nearby blanket and folded her into it.

  “What are you doing?” She swatted at his hands.

  “You weren’t supposed to let anybody in!” He gripped her shoulders and shook her slightly. Angry he was jealous, angry that he wanted her.

  “In her defense, she didn’t let me in, I came to drop off your key and I’m afraid I startled her.” Derrick pointed to his forehead where a small bandage rested. “I think I owe you an ashtray or something.”

  Street knotted the blanket at her shoulder and ignored the humor in her eyes.

  “You should’ve left the key with Beau.”

  Derrick shuffled his feet beneath Street’s heavy scrutiny. “Well, I heard what happened at the spa and wanted to make sure you were okay.” He shrugged, his hands raised palms up in a helpless gesture. “I know how close you and Auggie were.” He drifted a questioning gaze over Na’arah from her damp ebony tresses to the tips of her black painted toenails. “And I didn’t expect to find her here.”

  Street stepped in front of her. He did not like the appreciative gleam in his friend’s eyes. “Yeah. I heard about Auggie.” The heat of a delicate palm radiated from the small of his back to his groin. What he wouldn’t give to feel her hand wrapped...”You’ve seen me, now maybe you should leave.”

  For one long heartbeat Street thought he was going to have to toss his friend out on his ogling ass, until a wide grin split his face.

  “I know when I’m barking up the wrong tree.” With a mock salute Derrick left and closed the door.

  Wordlessly Street walked over and twisted the deadbolts. Tomorrow he would change the locks. He leaned against the door a moment. Somehow he had to get through the rest of the night...with her.

  ****

  Music, laughter, and the muffled voice of a television sportscaster seeped through the floorboards of the apartment. Na’arah allowed the sounds of life to penetrate her pores. Not that she needed a reminder. Ever since Street walked in or rather burst into the room, he reminded her of vitality, a virility she ached to sample. And if that wasn’t enough, her queasy stomach was a constant reminder of the life growing inside her.

  She spun away from the temptation of his broad shoulders, the flannel blanket caressing her calves as she longed for him to do. A sigh slipped through her lips. But she wanted to be wrapped in his arms again, to feel secure.

  Her fingers fumbled the knot at her shoulder. She pivoted on her heel, her bare feet sliding over the rich cherry wood floor. Street left her in the shower to grab something from the bar downstairs and that was fine. She couldn’t think with the hot water cascading over her body when only a wall separated them. It wasn’t until she heard a soft click that she realized she wasn’t alone. By then she’d already hurled a small glass snow globe at the intruder’s head.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Street was still leaning against the wall, as if he didn’t want to face her. A bead of sweat rolled between her breasts, reminding her of the extra layer around her shoulders.

  Maybe he had a problem with her clothes. She smirked and yanked at the knot. Well he better get used to it, because the only thing better than wearing his clothes was walking around naked. The fleece pooled at her feet. Another glance assured her he still hadn’t moved.

  Her gaze swept the cozy living room. Two large recliners dominated the space and faced the bricked fireplace. Settled on the mantle were several pictures. She crossed to these and picked up a frame containing a photo of Street in slacks and a short-sleeve dress shirt. An angry red welt ran from the tip of his right ear and disappeared i
nto his eyebrow. A dark cabbie-style hat covered his bald scalp while he leaned heavily on a set of crutches. Next to the frame another box containing a large gold key and a medal she didn’t recognize. Stepping closer, she stifled a gasp. An Outstanding Citizen Award?

  When she picked up the shadow box a folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor. She stooped to retrieve the yellowing sheet, the edges curled from age. For bravery and heroism beyond the call of duty. She flicked a glance at the picture next to the article. The fire-gutted shell of a four story apartment building stared at her from the grainy page.

  She skimmed the paper. Street hadn’t even been an occupant in the building, just passing by when he saw flames. Without him everyone in the building would’ve died, especially the family on the third floor. He never said. Then again why would he? That would require him to have a conversation that didn’t include him accusing her of sleeping with imaginary men. She cradled the frame in her hand and traced the scar.

  “You can put that down.”

  She jumped at the harsh note in his voice, yet hated how her hands trembled when she set the photo and article back on the mantle.

  “You never told me you were a hero,” she said unable to keep the awe from her voice.

  “I ain’t no damn hero.”

  She drifted her gaze over him. Every muscular line in his lean body stood at attention. When she neared a muscle ticced in his jaw. Reaching up she traced the outline of his full lips, over his jaw relishing the prickle of stubble ticking her fingertips. She paused when she felt the small abrasion on his chin. If he hadn’t moved so quickly she most certainly would’ve speared his Adam’s apple, but she’d also busted his lip.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He gripped her fingers, and a tingle zipped up her arm and raced through her body. Something flickered in his light brown depths and slipped away before she could decipher the emotion. His hand circled her wrist and he jerked her off balance.