Street Safe

by W. Lynn Chantale

  She covered Street’s hand. “Then maybe it was someone who knew him, who was close to him.”

  Street studied her a moment, before he looked away. “Maybe.” He reached in his pocket and set the bracelet on the table between them. “Miles asked that I return this to you.”

  She stared at the jewelry a moment, but didn’t grab it. “I know how this upsets you.”

  He lifted the bracelet, draped it over her wrist and fumbled with the clasp.

  Tears blurred her vision.

  “Auggie wanted you to have it.” Street patted her hand, stood and removed their dishes from the table.

  She had no words. The simple gesture did all the speaking necessary.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next evening, the bar was overflowing with patrons. Na’arah sat at one end nursing a glass of unsweetened tea. Sitting upstairs had grown wearisome, and besides, she didn’t want to be alone while she waited for her sister.

  “Hi there gorgeous. How ‘bout a dance?”

  She wrinkled her nose at the alcohol laced breath invading her nostrils. “Sorry. I’m not much of a dancer.” The man would actually be attractive if he wasn’t drunk.

  “Then just let me hold you and sway to the music.”

  “No, thank you.” She turned back to the bar.

  The man grabbed her arm, nearly jerking her from the stool.

  “Hey!”

  Street was there in an instant. “Is there a problem?”

  “I just wanted to dance.” The drunk backed away.

  “I think you should leave.” Street wrapped an arm around Na’arah, then signaled to one of the bouncers. “Are you okay?”

  She glanced at her arm. “Yeah.”

  “Why were you flirting with him?”

  Her jaw dropped. “Really?”

  Street propelled her to the back of the bar.

  He couldn’t be serious. She glanced at the hard set of his jaw and pushed away from him. “You are totally unbelievable.”

  She should’ve known the peace of the last few days wouldn’t last. She stomped up the stairs. He trailed behind.

  “It’s bad enough that I’m here with you as my protector, but this insane jealousy or insecurity is really wearing on my nerves.” She paused long enough on the landing to unlock the apartment door. “Then you accuse me of flirting. The man was drunk and not once did I look at him until he spoke to me.” She faced him. A hooded expression clouded his eyes and his lips were pursed. Why did she even bother to explain?

  And they had been making such progress, too. “Is this relationship only going to work if I’m tucked away where no one can see me?”

  He shrugged, just a casual rippling of muscle.

  She resisted the urge to scream. “I’ll wait for my sister outside. I’m sure there are enough bouncers to keep me company.” She stalked into the bedroom and slammed the door.

  Why was it so hard for him to believe her? She glanced around the room. Her duffle bag sat on the foot of the bed, the sleeve of a blue shirt and a pair of socks sticking through the open zipper. Well, she wasn’t going to stay here another night. She’d catch a cab or call her sister from the shop. She still had the keys. Anything to avoid staying with Street.

  A knock at the door broke her reverie.

  “Na’arah,” Street called.

  “Go away.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t.” She stuffed her remaining clothes in the bag before firing off a text to her sister.

  “This is really childish,” he said.

  “I totally agree.” She cast another look about the room. If she did forget something, she’d replace it later. Her phone vibrated. Meet me at Hack House. She sighed. Right. Her sister was helping paint one of the rooms.

  “Open the door, Na’arah.”

  She slung her bag over her shoulder and yanked on the knob.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Away from you.” She expected him to follow her or at the very least grab the handle of her bag. He did neither.

  “Allow me to take you where you need to go.”

  She stopped in her tracks and swung around to face him. His face was an unreadable mask. Even his eyes held no emotion.

  “I’m not coming back.”

  He inclined his head. “I realize that.”

  Her heart sank. He was willing to just let her go? Not even fight her, for them? She nodded. “Okay.”

  Ten minutes later he dropped her off at the wide wooden porch of Hack House. Lights blazed in the windows of the old Victorian and the faint odor of paint permeated the SUV.

  Street frowned as he opened the door. He glanced at Na’arah.

  “Thank you.”

  He grabbed her bag from the backseat and slung it over his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be around all this paint.”

  She gazed into his face. “If the smell is too overwhelming I can always wait in the car.”

  He stepped in front of her, trapping her between the vehicle and his body.

  Irritation and a small amount of pleasure stole through her. Maybe he didn’t want her to leave after all.

  “I will always have my doubts.”

  “That I expected, but what I cannot deal with is the jealousy.” She met and held his gaze. “I don’t know what else to do or say and I don’t want to argue with you anymore.” Tears clogged the back of her throat and she feared she’d start bawling again— not how she wanted to end this conversation. “This week has been crappy enough without having to argue with you every time I say or do something that reminds you of Auggie or remind you that I’m pregnant.” Her shoulders slumped. She was tired, and weariness nagged at her. All she wanted to do was sleep, but sleep continued to elude her.

  Street grazed her cheek with his knuckle. “Then come back home.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. We argue and then have great make up sex.”

  A ghost of a smile teased his lips. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  She held her hand out for her bag.

  “Hey! You made it!” Zee leaned out a second story window and waved. “Go ahead and stow your stuff in the trunk. It’s open.”

  Na’arah looked up, then back at Street. “You heard her.”

  He nodded and deposited her bag in the trunk.

  “When I get the test results, I’ll let you know.”

  He moved closer and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, instead he traced her lips with his fingertips. “You know where to find me.”

  From the safety of the house, she watched him back down the drive. Laughter spilled from somewhere and she moved toward the noise. Her sister appeared in the dining room doorway, a frown on her pretty face while a smudge of white paint marred one cheek.

  “What happened?” Zee wiped her hands on a towel.

  Na’arah sighed. “I just needed to get out of there.”

  “Okay, let’s try this again. What happened?”

  A faint smile teased her lips. Trust her sister to get straight to the point. “Some guy at the bar got a little grabby and Rue accused me of flirting.”

  “That arrogant bastard,” Zee fumed. “I hope you told him where he could shove that bit of macho bull.”

  “Oh sis, it goes so much deeper than that.” She closed her eyes and dragged a deep breath into her lungs. “I’m pregnant.”

  Dead silence. Great, now her sister was pissed at her too. Could this day get any worse? When she was engulfed in a hug she opened her eyes.

  “I’m going to be an aunt!” Zee squealed. “That’s great. How far are you? Should you even be in this house.” She ushered her to the porch and hugged her again. “Oh. My. God. Does Street know?”

  Na’arah giggled as relief washed over her. What would she do without her sister?

  “Well of course he knows, that’s why you were staying with him.” Zee dropped to her knees. “Hey there. This is your Aun
t Zee. Don’t believe anything your mother says about me.”

  “You have so made my day.”

  Zee stood. “Good. But I’m serious, should you even be here? I don’t think you should. Give me a second and I’ll let the guys know I’m taking you to my place, then you can tell me what’s going on with you and Street.”

  Na’arah watched Zee disappear into the house. Nausea rolled in the pit of her stomach and she remembered the sleeve of crackers in her bag. Na’arah hurried down the stairs before the queasiness turned into a regular pukefest.

  Muted congratulations and delighted laughter drifted from the open window. The news would be all over town by morning. But sharing the information with her sister and Zee being excited about a new niece or nephew was just what Na’arah needed.

  Light faded the closer she came to the makeshift parking lot near the two outbuildings. One was the old kitchen and the other a storage barn. She’d been in both during the day, but tonight they seemed eerie shadows of mayhem and mischief. The wide circle of floodlights didn’t extend far enough to chase away the monsters. Real or imagined.

  She opened the car door and popped the trunk. The click of the lid release was loud. Okay, great. On top of being tired she was paranoid too. She slammed the door and rushed to the back of the vehicle. She raised the trunk and leaned inside.

  It took her a moment to find the crackers, but once she had them in hand she straightened and closed the lid. A shadow moved. She froze. All of a sudden the porch seemed much farther away than thirty feet. Her gaze darted around the darkened yard. She could scream, but she’d feel really stupid if nothing was there.

  “Zee?” Na’arah raised her voice to be heard above the music. She’d endure the teasing if need be. Crackers clutched in hand, she quickened her pace.

  Clothing rustled and a twig snapped. Fear tasted like ash in her mouth. She glanced over her shoulder. Pain exploded in her face. Hinges squeaked and someone shouted. Then nothing.

  ****

  The low hum of water grew louder with each breath Na’arah inhaled. An aching throb pulsated through her skull and she whimpered. A hard, scratchy surface kept her upright, while something wet and equally frigid lapped at her feet. Darkness greeted her vision. Panic gripped her and she struggled to no avail. Her arms were bound tightly together above her head. She kicked. Water splashed, but nothing else happened. With a sinking despair she realized her legs were tied at the ankles. How long had she been unconscious?

  Shivery pain raced from her feet and up her legs, and her toes were numb from the water or the ropes. Either way she was in serious trouble. Bone chilling cold invaded her body and she realized she wore little more than her bra and panties. A chain rattled with each successive wiggle of her body. Was the water rising?

  Oh god. Who would do this? She struggled harder, choking on her tears, uncaring that the rope scraped and abraded her tender wrists.

  She screamed, but it came out as a muffled sob. Something covered her mouth. She pushed at the material with her tongue. The sticky adhesive tasted like sour peppermint. Again she squirmed and stilled when a laugh permeated the darkness.

  “It’s no use,” a familiar voice said from somewhere above her.

  Na’arah bounced her gaze around, searching for her captor.

  “You really shouldn’t struggle so hard, you’ll only hurt yourself more.”

  Bright light played over her and finally settled on her face. She squinted against the glare.

  “Had I known where you were in the building, I’d have made you talk.”

  Fear settled in the pit of her stomach and turned her limbs to mush. If she hadn’t been trussed up she’d have slid to the floor. The menace in his voice was unmistakable. This was definitely the man who’d killed Auggie.

  Water sloshed and lapped at her shins. The light bobbed closer. If she tilted her head a little...yes, she could just make out the shadowy figure behind the flashlight. Smooth baby face, high cheek bones. He paused mere inches from her and directed the beam beneath his chin, casting his face in a ghoulish light. Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief. She’d had every right not to like man, and now he’d shown his true colors.

  “What’s the matter sweetheart, you didn’t think I knew who you were?” He lifted a hand and brushed a damp tendril of hair from her face. “I have to admit it was rather satisfying to stand right in front of you and you had no idea who I was.”

  She shuddered at his touch. A tear trickled down her cheek. How could he pretend to be friends with Auggie and then brutally murder him? The question must have shown in her eyes.

  “Money, sweetheart. The almighty American dollar. Auggie knew where it was and I wanted it.” He held up a shiny object. She squinted. Her bracelet. “I have you to thank for this and when I get back to the bar, Street will do anything I ask.” He drifted a lascivious glance down her body. “Although I can see why he would be preoccupied with a tasty morsel like you. And if I had the time, I’d sample that hot little mouth of yours.”

  She held her breath as he came closer. Water crept up her legs until uncontrollable shakes wracked her body. If her mouth had been free her teeth would chatter as well.

  He laughed. “Don’t look so sad, you’ll probably be unconscious by the time you drown. That is, if Street doesn’t agree to my terms.” He skimmed a finger over the swell of her breasts.

  A shudder of revulsion undulated her body.

  “Don’t worry. Cold and darkness will be the last thing you remember.” He waded away, laughing. The flashlight bobbed with each step.

  She tugged at the ropes to no avail, shouting inarticulate words until she sagged in muffled sobs. She didn’t want to die here. Not like this. A metal door clanged shut, the sound ringing with finality.

  Water rose higher and her trembling seemed not as pronounced. Soon it wouldn’t matter if she was cold or not. Hypothermia would render her unconscious before the water could.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Street wiped down the long countertop of the bar while Beau pushed a damp mop across the floor. The last thing he wanted to think about was going to his place and no Na’arah. How could she just leave him? He hung his head. Why should she have stayed?

  Okay, so he overreacted with the drunk, and he shouldn’t have accused her of flirting.

  He tossed the towel in the laundry bag and yanked the bag from its metal stand. He replaced it with a clean one, then looked at his employee. The man seemed a little out of sorts since they closed up.

  “You ‘bout done?”

  Beau set the mop in the big yellow bucket and pushed it across the floor toward the rear. “Sure am.” He jerked on his hoodie, snagging the sleeve on the oversized watch he wore.

  Street grabbed his cane from beneath the bar. “That’s a nice watch.”

  “Yeah. A gift,” he muttered. Beau pushed the bucket behind the bar.

  The phone rang, its loud shrill ripped through the tense silence. Street grabbed the phone on the third ring. “We’re closed.” He followed Beau’s progress as he emptied the bucket.

  He listened a moment, unable to understand the words being fired into his ear. “Wait. Wait. Slow down. I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

  Pounding on the front door dragged his attention from the phone. Beau jumped and stared at Street. Of all the times for his manager to go brain dead.

  “Well, find out who it is and tell ‘em we’re closed.”

  Beau squeaked across the floor. A moment later Miles bustled in, a grim expression on his face.

  Street froze. The words clicked into place.

  “She’s gone.”

  The phone dropped from his hand.

  “Someone took her.”

  For a split second Street stared at Miles, then realization dawned and his heart stuttered in his chest. He skirted the counter, grabbed Beau’s wrist. He spun the startled and protesting man around and shoved him face first onto the hard bar.

  “What the hell is wrong with yo
u?” Beau tried to laugh it off. “So what, your girl left. Get another one.”

  Street jerked the man’s arm higher and relished the shriek of pain from below. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He gasped.

  “Street?”

  “Back off, Miles,” Street ordered. He focused on Beau again. “Where is Na’arah?”

  “I don’t—ow—you trying to break my arm?”

  “The thought has possibilities.” Street spied the tape on the man’s hand and ripped it off. Three long scratch marks, still red, adorned the back of Beau’s hand. Anger burned hot. This was the man who hurt Na’arah, who had to have been present during his uncle’s murder.

  Street released Beau only to jerk him up by the throat. Beau’s eyes bulged and fear rolled off him in veritable waves. Street didn’t care and gave him a hard shake for good measure. He leaned close.

  “You’re going to tell me where she is and who else is involved or I’ll snap your neck.”

  Beau grasped Street’s wrist with both hands. “I don’t...”

  He tightened his grip. The other man’s pulse pounded beneath his palm. Just one simple twist would end his miserable existence. Street made sure to convey the sentiment as he stared into Beau’s eyes.

  “Street. He can’t talk if he’s unconscious,” Miles murmured from behind him.

  “And dead men can’t lie.” Street thought he’d feel an ounce of remorse and maybe that would come later, but right now he only felt cold fury.

  “I swear—I swear. I don’t know.” Beau implored Street with his eyes as he gasped for air. “He-he didn’t tell me.”

  That was not the answer Street wanted to hear. Na’arah spent more time pacing and crying than getting the rest she needed. He tightened his fingers, Beau widened his eyes and bucked, trying to dislodge Street’s weight.

  “Street! Don’t!” Miles stood next to him. “You won’t do Na’arah any good if you’re sitting in a cell.”

  For one breath-stopping moment Street hesitated. With a huff of disgust he released Beau and straightened. Beau rolled to the fetal position, choking in greedy gasps of air. Street glared at the man in disgust. Miles pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and shackled his wrists while reciting his Miranda rights.