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She had to be careful.
The guy who knocked her over with his eager handstand walk had a lot going on behind his hard-set facade. On the taller side, with a muscular frame, clean cut, sandy hair and an aura of authority, he would’ve been imposing if Delaney hadn’t noticed the faint scar just near the corner of his left steely gray eye. Marine, she’d immediately thought, which didn’t make any sense. He could’ve gotten that scar anywhere, doing anything, in any branch of the military, or on the playground as a kid. But a little squeeze had run through all her muscles when she’d spotted that line of pale, barely discernable skin. His eyes had changed, almost like he’d noticed her noticing it, and in that brief moment Delaney had gotten a peek somewhere he didn’t want peeking.
Marine, she thought again, as she dried herself off with a big, fluffy pink towel. Not that that made him safe, or her friend. Or anyone to keep thinking about, the way she was right now. Delaney brushed him out of her head.
She didn’t have a bed yet to go in the little bedroom, because her goods on Quantico had been military issue and shopping for furniture had come second to getting the truck and the bike and to setting up the shop, but Delaney had slept on the ground countless nights of her life. A sleeping bag and pillow on the hardwood floor of her very own studio apartment, above her very own motorcycle shop, felt downright luxurious.
Delaney slid inside the bedroll and jammed the pillow into her neck, her back to the wall and her Glock 43 within reach.
She slept hard. Didn’t even remember falling asleep until she suddenly woke. Delaney sat up straight inside the bedroll. She blinked in the darkness, trying to remember where she was. Camp Leatherneck came first, which was common, and then, most unusually, Camp Lejeune. But the smells were all wrong. No heat. No sand. Not even motor oil or brake fluid. The world was dark and strange, but smelled like spring; like cool wind and pollen. Like the air of a free man; smells Delaney had fought for, for years, but hadn’t really experienced in a long, long time.
I’m in my new apartment.
As soon as the thought registered, the scratching that had woken her came again. A clawing sound that came from below, somewhere in the shop.
Delaney grabbed the Glock and tiptoed to the stairs. She took each step on the balls of her feet, cautious and quiet as her eyes adjusted to the dark. When she got to the bottom she whipped around the corner, weapon drawn.
There was nothing there but ’33, shining in the dark.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Something clawed at the front door. Through the glass, which had been scraped clean of the Dude’s title and operating hours, and was now bare and awaiting the shop’s new details, Delaney saw the shadowy figure of an animal.
Oh, wow. Could it be?
Two months later?
She unlocked the door and in came Sinbad, whooshing past her until he was behind the counter. There he sat, just like he had back in March, and waited patiently to be let into the storeroom.
Delaney glanced at her watch: 0300. She wasn’t going to wake Sunny at this hour. “Okay, boy.” She slid the Glock to the counter, grabbed the ring of shop keys and found the one to the storeroom. “Your bed’s still in there. Glad I didn’t get rid of it.” She’d thought about it, but at the last second, Delaney had left the scruffy thing right where it was. Getting rid of it seemed wrong. In her heart, it felt like the dog had just as much a right to this space as Delaney did.
Maybe more.
She poked the key in the knob and paused. “You can come upstairs if you want. It’s cold and dreary in there.” Delaney headed for the stairs and patted her thighs. “C’mon, boy. Wanna come upstairs where it’s warm? You can sleep by me.”
The pit bull whined and slapped his tail on the ground. He pointed his nose at the storeroom.
“Alright.” Delaney frowned as she opened up the back room and watched the dog race over to the tattered bed, where he curled into a ball and closed his eyes. It was like setting something free after too long in captivity and watching it return to its jail cell, comfortable only because it was all he’d ever known. “I’ll be upstairs.” Delaney collected her weapon and pointed at the ceiling. “If you need me.” Sinbad sighed but didn’t open his eyes. He also didn’t follow her as she climbed the stairs and slid back into her sleeping bag.
Even though everything was quiet after that, it took Delaney a while to drift off. She kept thinking about the pittie downstairs, in that cold storeroom, on that scruffy bed. Only when she reminded herself that he couldn’t go anywhere, and would be safe until morning, did she let the tug of sleep overtake her.
By morning, when Delaney crawled out of the bedroll and shook off the dreams, she hoped to find the dog poking around the apartment, but all was silent. Knowing she didn’t have any dog food, Delaney hit the kitchen, just across the room, nestled in a nook by one of the windows. There was a stove, a row of cabinets and drawers done in cherry, a sink, and a stainless steel refrigerator that had conveyed with the sale. The backsplash between the granite counter and the cabinets above was a cool blue that made Delaney think of K-Bay, her tour at Kaneohe, Hawai‘i. On the adjacent wall was a table with tall chairs, flanked by two windows, where she could sit to eat.
Delaney wouldn’t be eating there today. She pulled eggs and leftover tofu from the fridge, and whipped up a quick scramble in a cast-iron frying pan she’d taken from Dad’s. She’d gone through the house before putting it up for sale, taking his personal things, donating others, and leaving the appliances and furniture to convey. But there was no way she was leaving this pan, which she and Dad had used to cook almost everything they ate. Along with the tofu and eggs, she grabbed two pieces of bread from the loaf on the counter, soft, because the toaster wasn’t unpacked yet, and a bottle of water, and took the food downstairs.
Delaney chuckled when she saw the pit bull peeking around the corner of the back room, nostrils flaring as he took in the scents of breakfast. She found a bowl in one of the boxes near the stairs, then put half the scramble and a slice of whole wheat bread inside. “Sorry, boy,” she said, as she set the breakfast down at the pittie’s feet. “I don’t have any dog food. And I don’t eat meat. I hope you like it.”
He ate every last bite. When he was done, Delaney poured some water into the bowl and watched as the dog’s pink tongue lapped it all up. She slid down the wall until her butt hit the floor and rested next to the dog. She had her own half of breakfast on a paper plate and was eating it with a plastic fork. When the dog gave her moony eyes, she gave him a bite from her fork. “What’s your real name?” Delaney narrowed her eyes. “It’s not Sinbad.”
The dog cocked his head to the side and waited, expecting more food.
“One more bite, and the rest is mine.” When the food was all gone, Delaney opened the bay door. The late May sky was bright blue and the wind smelled like Sinbad’s fur. She’d better call Sunny, who was probably freaking out right about now.
By the time Delaney went up to the apartment, searched around for her cell phone, found it in the pants pocket of yesterday’s jeans and returned downstairs, Sinbad was gone. She got a pit in her stomach as she went through the shop, checking the ratty old dog bed twice. She shouldn’t have opened the door, but she honestly hadn’t thought the dog would leave, just go do his business. Delaney peered out the bay, her hand on the cold metal and the wind rolling over her face. She stuck her pinkies in the corners of her mouth and whistled, since she didn’t really think the dog would come if she called out for Sinbad.
Nothing.
“Aw, damn.” Delaney found Sunny’s number in her phone history and called, but only got voice mail. She left a message about the pit bull so that Sunny could at least start the search, then went upstairs and dressed for the gym—no more putting it off. By the time she was ready to head out there was a text message on her phone.
