An Eye For Danger (book 1)

Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Sam jogged up a skinny stairwell from the garage to the second floor. Decades of boots had worn indentations into the wood planks, now splintered and cracked, and I treaded them carefully, while Max nearly ran me over to catch up with Sam.

At the top of the stairs, a wider hall was laced with old fir doors, and the smell of butane, spent oil and car paint was suddenly replaced with peppered lamb. Through a doorway to our right, a young woman with black hair set a ceramic pot on a wood table.

Sam stepped left and unlocked a door to a studio apartment and pulled me inside, away from the aromas. I couldn't believe the allure of food despite my life being in danger.

The studio had a different smell: man sweat. A kitchenette ran along the window wall, a card table sat in the middle with two fold-up metal chairs, and filling the back corner was a sheetless king-size mattress with a raspberry comforter piled in the middle. For a good-looking guy, James lived in a female-unfriendly dive.

Seconds later, James came up. “Alright, let’s get the details straight and the boys rolling.”

James' review of me never ended. I’d already dropped the overcoat and hat, to Sam’s chagrin, so he could ID me.

"Hey." Sam snapped his fingers and James' attention moved back to their auto conversation. I tucked myself in the corner, away from both men to gather my thoughts.

A young woman with the same motor-oil hair bounced behind James to see his mystery guests. Sam gave a quick jerk of his chin to acknowledge her.

“Hey, Sammy boy.” She slapped James’ chest with the back of her hand and leaned in a provocative pose with her hand cupping over her hip. She had small breasts and wide thighs wrapped in silver-studded jeans. “You didn’t tell me our boy’s back in town. Looking good, Sammy.” Her gaze shot to me and her smile twisted into an unconvincing welcome.

“No introductions,” Sam said, pulling off the car coat. “You don’t see me, you don’t see her." Like they weren't going to see the bullet holes decorating his suit either. "And no more visitors. Not even your parents.”

“What the hell’s going on that I can’t know who’s in my own house?” the woman said.

“Malta,” James snapped and came up with his hand. “Cool it.” He turned back to Sam. “My sister’s a nosy brat, but knows how to keep her mouth shut. Mom’s with the grandkids down the street, and Dad’s in Atlantic City spending her retirement money. Some things never change, eh, brother?”

Sam gave a seething laugh and the men shared their first smile.

Taking Max’s leash from me, Sam looked to Malta. I body-blocked Max’s departure. “He can’t crap in here,” Sam said.

“Uh-uh. I ain’t no dog walker,” said Malta. She held up lavender-painted nails with embedded crystals. “I got my own job, my own money now. New salon. Unless you want a mani-pedi, pick up your own trash.” She flinted a look my way and spun to leave.

“Hey,” said James, pinching the back of her black sweater. “Sam asks you to walk the dog, you walk the fucking dog. And you don’t pay rent here, so it ain’t your house.” James patted his leg and I was surprised to see Max go willingly. He handed the leash to Malta and pushed her out the door.

“We shouldn’t be imposing on you like this,” I said, daring to speak directly to James, though I was more worried about Sam's response. “We should leave them alone, Sam.”

“I trust him. With my life. And yours.” Sam removed his suit jacket and tie. He’d kept his lapels closed to hide the blood splatter, but now the worst was visible, James let out a low whistle. My eyes focused on the gun harness, which I'd never seen him wear. For uniform or court, I recalled him saying.