“No. Just passing through.”
“You might want to be more careful.” He spins the lug nut on and screws them into place. “While this neighborhood isn’t great, you’re heading for problemas—trouble.” He takes a break from the last lug nut and shoots me a meaningful glance. “And people around here can be funny about strangers. Remember that.” As he speaks, I am struck by how much he doesn’t sound like a teenager.
“What’s your name?” I ask, not really sure why I want to know. Maybe because despite my fears, he’s been kind.
“Miguel Torres.”
“I’m Elizabeth Moon. How old are you?” The question comes out before I can choke it back.
“Fifteen.” He lowers the jack, and when the spare touches the ground, he pulls the jack away and puts it in the back, offering a wan smile. “Good as new.”
“Thanks.” I’m reaching into my pocket to pull out some money to give him. It’s the least I can do. I probably wouldn’t even have gotten the old tire off. Then I hear the squeal of tires just up the street.
Around me, panic breaks out. The parents and older teens start running toward kids and houses. I only get one look at Miguel’s face and the sheer horror of his gape-mouthed expression and wide eyes.
“No!” he screams. In that instant, everything slows to a standstill. I see one of his hands grab me, and the other reaches for the door on the Jeep. The car speeds toward us, a white Buick with dark, tinted windows. The thump of a bass precedes it. A dark-skinned teenage male with long hair leans out the window, gun in hand.
Miguel yanks open my door and shoves me in the Jeep just as the car passes even with us. The snap of gunfire resonates amid the thumping beat. Miguel’s mouth opens wider. He grunts and then falls toward me, knocking me backwards. My head slams against the steering wheel. The white car and thumping bass edge past. The guy holding the gun leers at me, laughing, half-aiming in my direction.
Chapter Two
Miguel slumps against me, and I yell when I see the car turn around. Some part of me tries to duck, but I can’t move. My body won’t obey bathed as it is in the crimson wetness of Miguel’s blood.
Sirens scream loudly, and as the white car tools closer, a police cruiser zooms in front of my Jeep and stops. The teen leaning out the window takes a shot as two officers scramble out. One of them, a blond glowers at me.
“Get down—now!”
The part of me that couldn’t move caves and crumples down into the seat, sobbing as more shots rip through the air, shattering the window on the driver’s side. Tires squeal, and the Buick speeds away. All I can hear then is my panicked breathing, all I can see is Miguel’s unblinking brown eyes peering at nothing. The screams start over again, high-pitched, surreal.
The two cops rush over. One of them lifts Miguel’s body away, and the blond leans over him, frowning. The screams abruptly die as I stare into his eyes. He looks at my bloody shirt.
“Are you hurt, Miss?”
I can’t answer. I can only think of how his features remind me of Lev—the way his hair glittered in the light and his skin glowed in sunlight. I can’t help but stare.
“Are you hurt?” he demands, his hand resting on my shoulder. His face is pale as he searches for wounds.
I reach out to touch the cop’s face, but he grabs my wrist, stopping me. His fingers wrap around the bracelet Lev once wore, but the officer doesn’t seem to notice it until the clasp gives and it falls into my lap.
“Miss? Did you hit your head?” He leans closer, trying to get a better look. He has the same sea-blue eyes as Lev.
“Lev?” I whisper, my voice raw.
“You’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he says, pulling back a little. “Did you hit your head?” he repeats.
My vision starts to blur, making it impossible to tell me whether somewhere beneath the skin, there beats the heart of an angel. If it’s not Lev, it could be another one, someone who could tell me where Lev is.
“Miss?” His tone is frantic, and I start blinking harder and faster, feeling suddenly weak. In a moment I won’t be able to fight the panic. It will win.
“What’s your name?” he asks, his blue eyes constantly trying to meet mine. I blink, unfocused. He shakes me. “You have to stay awake.”
At that moment, I start laughing and crying—an an odd, raucous sound that scares me; I feel the edge of a steep cliff I hadn’t known was there, right under my feet. In the distance, I hear someone wailing, that keening blocking all else. Then there is only blackness.
“Elizabeth? Can you hear me?”
The voice is distant yet persistent. Someone shakes me. Trying to shrug away the darkness, I ease open my eyes. A few blinks later, and I see an EMT, the blond cop, and a crowd. The cop kneels by my head, his mouth twisting into a concerned frown.
My throat is dry, and my head throbs where my hand gingerly probes the back. The world below me feels weird, but familiar. A gurney. Lucky me.
“I think she hit the back of her head on the steering wheel,” the cop says to the EMT. “She wasn’t exactly lucid when I got to her.”
I keep blinking until the cop’s face comes into tighter focus—the blond hair, the blue eyes. And something else…. Despite the deep throbbing in my head, when I look at the cop, I see a light around him—an aura. It’s not the same as Lev’s, but I’m willing to bet there’s more to the cop than what’s in front of me.
If he’s an angel, he could be Lev.
He must feel me staring because he suddenly turns to my direction; his frown deepens. I reach out, trying to touch the aura, so sure that if my fingers find something besides air, I will be able to confront the cop about what he really is, but he grabs my hand and gently sets it atop my stomach. “Elizabeth, these two are going to load you into an ambulance and drive you to the hospital. Whom do I need to call?”
That did it. The thought of Jimmie getting yet another frantic call on my behalf makes me jerk upright. “No one. I’m fine.”
“Lie back down before you pass out.” The cop sets his hand on my shoulder and pushes. Between his insistence and the pounding sensation rattling my thoughts, I end up flat on my back again. “Besides, even if you didn’t go to the hospital, we’d still have to call your parents.”
“Great!” I mutter, eyeing my Jeep.
The cop follows the path of my gaze and shakes his head. “Don’t even think about making me chase you down, Elizabeth. It’s been a hell of a day already.” His gaze strays to the body bag not far off. Miguel….
“Oh God,” I whisper, suddenly shaking.
“Take it easy.” His voice is warm and soothing.
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re in the middle of a hot zone, kid. What’s not to understand?” He tugs off his hat and rakes his fingers through his hair before setting it back on his head. All the while, the EMTs are looking me over.
“Why Miguel?” The bag not far from me sends chills through me. I hate the stillness and all it represents. No matter how hard I try to separate myself, I keep thinking both of Lev’s shooting and Miguel’s, random and senseless. I’ll never be able to escape either one.
“His brother, Ricardo, is in a gang and not nearly so pleasant. Some things went down yesterday, and Ricardo definitely had a hand in them. So the rival members decided to come after him. Miguel was just an handy target.”
“We’re ready,” one of the EMTs says to the cop.
He nods. “Give me a minute.” Then he turns back to me. “So whom do I call?”
Realizing he’s not going to give up, I rattle off Jimmie’s number, knowing things are about to get sticky again. So much for a fresh start.
“What city uses that prefix?” he muses to himself.
“Tellico Plains.”
Another shake of his head and the cop starts to leave, but I catch his arm. “What’s your name?”
“Matthis.” His jaw clenches and releases. “But I guess you can call me Scott.”
I nod. ?
??Okay, you want me to go to the stupid hospital, I will—without a fight. But on one condition.”
He arches an eyebrow, and a thin smile plays across his mouth. “You’re not exactly in any position to make deals. But, let’s hear it.”
“You have to sit with me until Jimmie arrives.”
He slowly exhales. “That’s a first. Usually, I get somebody yelling, ‘Get out of my face.’” He shakes his head like he’s considering my contingency before he finally says, “Okay, kid, I can do that.” He waves toward the EMTs.
“You’re not that much older than I am,” I snap, irritated.
“I’m 21. But there’s lots of things that make people older, Elizabeth--like watching kids kill each other.” He glances at the bag and shakes his head.
Part of me wants to say that at least his teacher didn’t try to shoot him and nobody murdered his father. That at least his race doesn’t make him a target. But I’m hoping Scott really is an angel and that even now the haze I see around his body, isn’t just a trick of the light.
There’re a million questions I want to ask, but the EMTs load the gurney and slowly drive away, heading for my least favorite place.
A CAT scan, a blood test, and an exam later, the doctor pronounces my injuries as limited to a concussion. Still, true to his word, Scott shows up at the hospital. He takes to leaning against the windowsill and looking out at the sunny sky instead of at me, and although I have all these questions, I don’t have a clue how to start. So he starts.
“Who’s Lev?” He drums his fingers on the sill.
“An old boyfriend.” I will myself to keep the tone even. The last thing I need is to break down again. “Why do you ask?”
“You called me that before you passed out.” He’s still looking out the window. “And you seemed pretty upset I wasn’t answering.”
“Sorry about that.” I vaguely remember, but that makes me see Miguel’s face, and I don’t like going there. Still, my mind replays the rest of it, and I jump when the shooting starts.
Scott sees me jump. “You all right?”
“Fine.” My voice is trembling, and I wish I could make it stop.
“Tell me what happened.” He pulls out a notepad and pen.
Swallowing, I force myself to concentrate on the details. “I was driving through the neighborhood when I got a flat. Miguel offered to change it. When he’d finished, that white car drove up. As they passed, the passenger….” My voice dies. I can’t say it. I start shaking. My memories of Miguel flash into my thoughts, from his smiling face to the expressionless dead one as his body falls on top of mine.
Scott takes a deep breath and looks up. “It’s all right, Elizabeth. Just take your time.” His voice is soothing, so quiet and even. “Go on when you are ready. I can wait.” He keeps staring at me, those blue eyes burning through me.
“The guy in the car shot Miguel. Then the driver turned the car around and would have shot me if you hadn’t come.”
“What were you doing there?” he asks softly. “You don’t live anywhere close, and you just moved to Tennessee. That makes no sense.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I bat the hair from my eyes.
“Try me.” He turns his back to the window and leans back against the sill, his arms folded across his chest. He stares at my face, waiting.
“I…was looking for Lev.”
He nods, considering my words. “And is he in a gang?”
“No.” I think of Lev, Evan, and Celia, and a lump forms in my throat, making it difficult to swallow.
“Then what made you think you’d find him there of all places?” He steps toward me, and the proximity frightens me.
“It’s a long story.”
He waves around the room. “I think we have time. You’re not going anywhere until your dad gets here.”
“He’s not my dad.” The tone comes out more harshly than I want, but I’m tired of having to explain Jimmie to people. It wasn’t my fault my parents died, but having to keep going through this makes me feel like it.
“Then what is he?”
“My guardian.” I grip the blanket in my hand, hating this stupid gown which makes me look helpless and weak.
“Oh.” He takes a seat in the chair then unbuttons one cuff of his long-sleeved shirt so he can roll up his sleeve before turning his attention to the other sleeve.
“How did you know my name?”
“The same way I knew you weren’t from around here. Your license.” He nods to my purse. “Now about Lev. Where is he?”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know, exactly.”
“So you just assumed Knoxville? Not really close to Massachusetts, is it?” I can feel his gaze lingering on me, trying to engage my attention, but I refuse to look at him, not willing to admit the truth.
“It seemed as good a place as any to start looking.”
He touches my hand and forces me to meet his gaze. “Except you could have easily been killed. You picked a bad neighborhood, Elizabeth. You got lucky, but maybe your guardian angel won’t be so close next time.”
What guardian angel? I want to ask. My angel is dead. That’s who I’m looking for. But I know how ludicrous this whole thing is--great fodder for getting me committed to the local nuthouse, and while Hauser’s Landing might not have had one, I’m sure Knoxville can more than oblige.
I pull away. “Okay, fine. Consider this a lesson learned. I won’t be back, so you don’t have to worry.”
“That doesn’t answer my question about Lev and why you’re looking for him in dangerous places.” He leans back, leveling a pointed gaze at me. “Tellico Plains is nothing like Knoxville.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I shut up then, still watching the aura around Scott’s body. Although it is very faint, it’s there nonetheless; I’m not imagining it. So I have discovered another angel. Problem is, I’m not sure what to do with that knowledge.
“You’re a strange one,” he mutters.
“So do you know anyone with the last name of Walker?”
He frowns and shakes his head. “Yeah, I know a George Walker. Fresh out of Levs, though.” He grabs a piece of gum from his pocket and unwraps it, popping it into his mouth. Against the dark navy of his uniform, his skin and hair seem an ethereal gold, hinting at the same otherworldliness which I once noticed about Lev. He offers me a piece, and I take it.
“Sure about that?” I ask.
“I sure don’t know any cops by that name, and if he’s a kid, the only reason I’d probably know him is that he’s a banger. So, tell me, would I know him?” He stares at me pointedly.
“No, I already told you that.”
He nods. “Yeah, I guess you did. Problem is, that the little bump you got seems to have left you a bit confused it seems.”
I start to argue when the door slides open, admitting Jimmie and the doctor. Even as Jimmie steps inside, I can tell he’s fit to be tied. At any moment, his head is going to start spinning, and pea soup is going to fly everywhere just like that stupid old movie, The Exorcist. I’m going to be so grounded, so, so grounded.
I think I’d rather have the pea soup.
“Is she all right?” he asks the doctor. Not a good sign when he’s talking to the doctor instead of me.
“She’s got a concussion. That’s about it.” Scott rises and gives me one last glance.
Jimmie extends his hand. “I’m Jimmie Abram, Lizzie’s guardian.”
“Scott Matthis, Knoxville PD.” The two shake, and I’m grateful for the distraction because Jimmie’s going to blow a gasket.
Jimmie’s gaze flickers to me. “What happened?” His shoulders form a hard line, and I can smell the smoke on his clothes. Looks like the patch has gone the way of the dodo. Again.
“Nothing!” I protest. Scott glares at me, and Jimmie raises his hand.
“Lizzie, let me finish this conversation. Then I’ll talk to you.” He turns to Scott. “So what happened?”
“She said sh
e was driving around, looking for a friend when she found herself in the middle of a drive-by. The shooter killed the kid next to her and would have taken her out if we hadn’t gotten there.”
Ever seen the color drain completely out of somebody’s cheeks? It’s not instantaneous. There are shades of pallor. Jimmie pretty much goes through all of them, one by one, on the way to stark white. “Who did she say she was looking for.”
“Griffin!” I yell, hoping Scott will not say the other name. You know, the one that can get me in so much trouble I won’t have a prayer. Again Scott looks at me and Jimmie waves me to silence.
“What was the name?” Jimmie asks again, a forced patience crimping his voice.
“Lev. She said she was looking for Lev.”
Jimmie’s shoulders slowly sink, and he closes his eyes as though he doesn’t want to see what is right in front of me. His breath comes out in weighted gasps, and he shakes his head, swallowing hard.
“Do you know who she is talking about?” Scott asks softly, folding his arms across his chest. As he takes inventory of Jimmie’s expression, his jaw clenches.
“Yeah, but um, that’s not possible. Could you have heard her wrong?”
Scott shook his head. “She said Lev Walker. Why is that impossible?”
Jimmie shoves his keys into his pocket. “He’s dead. Been dead six months.” His breathing is uneven and panicked. He just keeps shaking his head as though denying everything—especially me as usual. Oh, Jimmie’s great at going through the motions—but emotions are another thing. He doesn’t do emotions. Never has. Steak and potatoes, that’s Jimmie’s style.
Now it’s Scott’s turn to look kind of pasty. I should’ve realized Scott would tell Jimmie. Why should a cop be any different? Knowing would have saved me a whole lot of grief and insanity. But it doesn’t matter now, with Jimmie’s eyes filled with pain, and Scott’s unreadable expression. His mouth opens and closes, and he’s uncertain what to say, not that it matters. I see the aura as plain as day. Maybe he doesn’t know Lev, but he knows something. Still, if he’s an angel and I can’t trust him, is it safe to trust anyone?