Page 28 of Hooked on Trouble

Nico’s crouched in front of those guys, deep in conversation. Instead of interrupting, I walk a wide circle, making sure no one’s behind me, looking for the perfect angle. I lose sight of Nico as I round a half wall of concrete, the garbage fire coming into view. I stand in what must have been a kitchen corner, lift my lens, and play with the focus.

It’s not a cold evening. I’m in jeans and a T-shirt, not shivering in the slightest, but I’ve eaten today. The boy and woman stand close to the fire as if it might warm their skeletal frames.

If I put enough work together and stage a proper show, I could effect change. Maybe people would donate to their local food shelter instead of buying a fifth pair of Jimmy Choos. Maybe they’d remember to care. I snap a number of frames, adjusting the shutter speed and aperture as I go, getting lost in the camera’s clicks and pops, the sounds like insects in my ear.

“Hey, pretty lady.”

My spine snaps straight at the unfamiliar voice. The sleazy, unfamiliar voice. Slowly, as though not to disturb a wild animal, I lower my camera. A disheveled man with boots too big and pants too low sways from side to side, his feral gaze locked on me.

I glance around for Nico, but he’s hidden behind the slabs of concrete. Hoping the man’s harmless, I force a smile. “Hi.”

I step to my right, trying to make a quick exit, but he’s faster. He blocks my way.

Maybe not so harmless. There’s no crowbar or pipe around. No shards of glass to use as a weapon, and screaming could set him off.

“You sure are pretty,” he says in a singsong. “You taking pictures?”

It’s the same stupid question Nico asked me on Hastings Street, but my snarky reply dries up. Ready to crack the man over his head with my camera, I shift left. His body sways with mine. I dodge right, but he mirrors my move. My pulse thunders in my ears, my voice lodged in my throat. When he reaches down and pulls his dick out of his pants, I’m left with one option.

Nine

Nico

Another useless conversation later, I push to my feet. At the mention of Jericho, Matt and Derek exchanged glances. They confirmed the little shit split, disappeared underground or farther. Maybe Mexico, South America. Nowhere I can find him and force a confession. Jericho was the first to take Josh under his wing, invite him to ride along on their drug runs. Asking him to drive this car here, drop that package there, giving him enough information but not too much.

Smart for a street kid—when things go sour, always good to have a patsy.

I drag my hand over my head, discouraged. Another disappointment in an already challenging day. Being around Raven has me twisted in knots. Talking to her on the beach was a window to how good we could be together, my attraction to the woman has me ready to crawl out of my skin, but that call from Alessi has muddled my mind. I’ve thought of little else since. Tried to figure out if Raven’s history could push its way back into her life. Heroin is no joke. I see the grip it has on my sister, how every day is a battle. Nothing about Raven hints at a drug problem, but she’s heading into stressful times, and those demons sneak up on you when least expected.

Rubbing the invisible ache in my chest, I glance around. Betty’s still grumbling about her blanket, most other people ignoring me. The first time I came down here, they scattered like crabs on a beach. They’re used to me now; know I’m not here to arrest them. And sometimes I bring food. I twist farther, but don’t see Raven. Apprehension grips my gut. She was just there, snapping pictures. I swallow hard, hoping to push down my rising unease. I told her not to wander off, told her these folks can’t be trusted. Sure, most of them are decent enough, but lots carry blades and hold grudges and would love to take advantage of a pretty girl. My mind flashes to stab wounds and bruised faces, too many cases I’ve worked ending poorly.

Then someone shrieks.

I played football in high school, my size and power an asset as a defensive end. I was quick, too, considering. When that ball snapped, I’d be on the quarterback or running back in seconds. That cry has me moving faster than at our championship game.

Loose gravel flies underfoot, dust churning the air as I peel around a block of concrete. Some guy is on the ground curled in a ball, moaning, Raven above him, camera shaking in her grasp. She looks scared as hell, but she’s in one piece. Wish I could say the same about me.

I wrap her in my arms and squeeze.

“Easy, big guy.” Her light tone doesn’t hide her trembling shoulders, or how tight she’s fisting my shirt. “I can barely breathe.”

I ease my hold. Slightly. “You okay? Please tell me you’re okay.”

Still breathing hard, she looks down between us at her legs. “Technically I’m fine. But I need to burn these jeans. My knee made contact with bare testicle.”

Fury nearly blinds me. “That man exposed himself to you?”

She nods, and my pulse rages. How could I have let this happen? I shouldn’t have brought her here, should never have let her out of my sight. I barrel over to the man, ready to slam his head into concrete. He’s already lifted himself up and is sitting hunched over, cradling his nuts. Enjoy them while they exist, buddy. When his shifty gaze slides my way, my adrenaline crashes. “Fucking Christ, Joe. What the hell are you doing?”

“You know him?”

I curse under my breath, avoiding Raven’s shocked glare. “Joe here has some mental health issues. I met his sister once and said I’d watch out for him. But”—I crowd Joe until he cowers—“I ever catch you whipping out your junk in front of a lady, it’s a one-way ticket to lockup. You understand?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Sorry. Joe understands. Sorry.” He prattles on, hand between his legs, as he hurries to the demolished building’s inner sanctum.

“You certainly know how to pick your friends.”

I whip my head around. “Did he touch you?”