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“And who the hell are you?” Houston asks.
“Elijah Pike,” the new man says. “I got your name from Diego, over at the tamale cart around the corner.”
“And what did he tell you about me?” Houston says with a sneer.
“That you’re the best damn coyote in Dallas,” Elijah says. “So what d’you say? I’ve got the cash for us both.”
“Five hundred dollars?” Houston snorts. “I doubt it.”
Elijah pulls out his wallet and holds out the old, tattered money, jerking it away just as Houston reaches for it. I’ve never seen that amount up close; just the pennies Gran and Pa bring back from the factory, and that’s almost nothing.
“So—have we got ourselves a deal?” he says.
Houston glares, then jerks his eyes over to me.
“Sure,” he says. “But I’m taking the violin, too, for the trouble. You look like you can handle yourself, but she’s so green she could endanger us all.”
My eyes dart over to some of the other people waiting in Houston’s booth. There’s a mother and child here, too. Does he think I’m more green than the kid, or is he just planning on using them as bait?
I can’t think about that.
Not right now.
“No fucking way,” Elijah says. “If you want the money, you’ll take us both, and the girl keeps her damn violin. And that’s that.”
He starts to put his wallet away, and I guess that’s enough to crack Houston. “Fine,” the older man grumbles. “But you’d both better be quiet on this trip.”
I don’t have any problem being quiet. In fact, I don’t intend on saying a word to the man who just helped me.
I can do this on my own.
Houston turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving us to find seats in the lobby of his booth. I give Elijah an awkward look, swallowing hard.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say. “I could have handled him myself.”
“Looked likehewas trying to handleyou,” Elijah says, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. I don’t like the way he stares at me—like a predator deciding how he’s going to eat his prey. I feel exposed and scared, wishing that Gran was here to tell these creeps off.
But I amnota child. I need to get a hold of myself.
I turn and walk toward the waiting area, bending to put my backpack down with a thud and holding my violin case in my lap, my arms wrapped around it. Even though I stare daggers at him, Elijah follows, sliding into the seat beside me. Everything about him oozes confidence—like he’s comfortable anywhere and everywhere, certain that he belongs.
I don’t feel like there’sanywhereI belong and, deep down, I guess I might be a little envious.
“What’s your name?” he says.
“None of your business,” I say shortly.
“Okay, Sunshine,” he mutters.
I glare. “Don’t call me that.”
“Well, you didn’t give me your name, so…”
“Why did you help me?” I demand, cutting him off. The man raises an eyebrow like I’m being cute, and I bristle.
“Because I could afford it,” he says. “And now you owe me one.”
I don’t know what he thinks I’m going to be able to give him. I’mcertainlynot going to jump into bed with him or anything, and the only thing of value I have is this violin and a bunch of fruit and veggie preserves in my backpack…plus the romance novels I stowed away from my grandparents’ basement.
