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I frown. “An American?”
Before she can answer, her eyes roll back. Her whole body cants toward me, her legs giving out like wet matchsticks. I catch her, cradling her soft body in my arms as I carefully lower her to the floor. Her eyes flutter as she struggles to stay conscious.
“What is your name?” I ask her in her language. English feels weird on my tongue after going so long without using it, but I’m sure I’m clear enough to understand.
She winces, clutching the front of my shirt in her fingers. “Chester McHale… He told me to come find you. He said you’d keep me safe.”
My head spins. Nowthat’sa name I never thought I’d hear again.
“Chet?” I mumble in disbelief. “Who the hell are you?”
“It’s raining in the Sahara,” she rasps before she goes limp, unconscious.
The air whooshes out of my lungs. It’s a code. I owe Chet McHale my life, and it seems he’s finally calling in that favor. It looks like my past really has caught up to me, just not in the way I expected.
A sane man would turn this woman away. Call the police, get her to a hospital —anythingother than carry her upstairs to my room.
That’s exactly what I do, though, because I’m not a sane man. I gave Chet my word all those years ago, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word. I may not know who this woman is or what trouble she’s in, but the fact that she knows my former best friend’s emergency phrase has to meansomething.
“Penelope,” I say hastily as I bound up the steps. “I need the first aid kit.”
“R-right,” the housekeeper stammers.
“Bring it immediately. And keep Odette downstairs.”
“Yes, of course.”
I carry the woman down the hall and practically kick my bedroom door off its hinges. She weighs nothing at all. I waste no time setting her down on my bed, working quickly to inspect her injuries.
She groans softly as I help her out of her jacket and shirt. The skin over her left-side ribs is purple and red. There are several cuts on her hands and face, a deep gash just over her temple. The poor woman has dark circles under her eyes, her cheeks hollow and her overall complexion is alarmingly pale.
Most noticeable is the intricate floral tattoo that snaked down her right arm to the wrist and the one inked onto her shoulder blade: a raven with red feathers and an arrow in its beak. It feels strange seeing the design on someone else. It’s cleaner, the linework neater than it used to be, but its purpose is still the same.
She’s a part of Chet’s crew.
Penelope runs into the room with the first aid kit. I rip into it and get to work, cleaning up the worst of her wounds before applying bandages.
“Check her pockets,” I instruct the housekeeper. “See if you can find an ID.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Penelope mutters as she sifts through the woman’s belongings. She pulls out a black flip phone —a burner— followed by a small black case. Penelope unzips it, revealing a selection of lockpicks. “I have averybad feeling about this.”
“Anything?” I ask, applying an ice pack to her ribs.
“Nothing. Should I check the car outside? She crashed straight through the front gate.”
I shake my head, brushing the woman’s hair away from her face. It’s caked with dried blood and dust. “No, don’t bother. Just make sure to keep Odette away from the wreck. I don’t want it triggering anything.”
“O-okay. Are you sure we shouldn’t call the police?”
Penelope doesn’t know about my past. Neither does my daughter. If they did, they’d know that turning to the police for help is the worst thing to do. I’m not particularly worried about any of our neighbors calling the cops since we live just outside of the city’s limits. We have a good handful of acres on all sides of the property for privacy, so I doubt we’ll have to deal with any nosy witnesses.
“No,” I say firmly. “Stay with Odette downstairs and distract her. I’ll handle this.”
“Distract her? How?”
I grind my teeth, my patience running thin. “Let her eat the damn gingerbread. Turn on some cartoons. I don’t care. Whatever you do, don’t let her up here.”
Penelope nods stiffly before turning on her heels, scurrying away like a mouse. I get that she’s frightened, but I don’t have time to coddle her right now.
