I fucked up. Badly. I wanted too much, too soon, and spooked the shit out of her. Her keen gut instincts kicked in, and I got kicked out. Now I might’ve blown my only chance of connecting with her. Greed and vengeance were always going to be my downfall.

In my frustration, I kicked a nearby garbage can and hurt my big toe instead. “Motherfu—” I hobbled the two blocks back toward Kieran’s bar, more desperate than ever for a cold drink on this muggy summer night. I was about to head inside Mahoney’s West and order a beer when I heard shouting. It came from the direction I saw Cally heading towards earlier. My hands dropped from the door handle and I cocked my head.

“Get back here, you punk!”

It was her.

I took a few steps toward the commotion and rounded the corner. Cally stood underneath a street lamp, her meticulous hairdo undone and disheveled wisps framing her slack jaw. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She muttered something under her breath.

I rushed to her side. “What happened? I heard you scream.”

“Some asshole just smashed the windows of my Porsche!” Cally gestured to her damaged car. “I didn’t even leave any valuables in there. I think—I think he was trying to steal it.”

I bridged the distance between us, a strong urge to pull her into my embrace bubbling inside my chest. She was vulnerable and probably in shock. I wanted to comfort her. But given our conversation less than ten minutes earlier…

“Do you want to call the cops?” I suggested, pulling out my ancient flip phone.

Cally shook her head. “I didn’t see his face. It was dark…I doubt the cops will be able to do anything. Besides, the last time something like this happened, it took them four hours to show up. Apparently my case wasn’t a priority. There’s no way I’m waiting that long at this time of night.”

I assessed the damage. The passenger side window needed replacing, but other than that, the car appeared fine. “Are you okay? I can accompany you home, if you like.”

Cally shook her head, lips trembling. “I’m fine. I should’ve known better than to park in a spot like this.” After a sigh of defeat, she grumbled, “Lesson learned,” and unlocked her car.

I shrugged. “Okay, well then, I hope you have a safe drive home.” I turned to leave, but was stopped by Cally’s voice.

“Ryder, wait.”

“Yes?”

“Did you drive here?”

“No, I walked.”

“Maybe I can give you a ride back to your place, and you can keep me company. Just for a little bit.” Cally bit her lip and looked at me expectantly. “I’m…a bit shaken up. He—at least I think it was a he—scratched my arm with something sharp. It doesn’t hurt much, but it does sting a little. I’d hate to deal with him again for some reason.” Cally folded her arms across her chest, her gaze darting back and forth.

“Do you have any enemies? Someone who might want to intimidate you?” I asked, scanning our surroundings too. Heavy shadows blanketed the corners of the parking lot. Anyone resourceful enough could easily hide behind the dumpster or underneath another car and wait for their opportunity to strike. She’d been too careless.

“No. I think it was probably just some teenager looking to go for a joyride.” Cally forced herself to smile. “I’m okay now. Really.”

“At least let me stay with you for a while longer. I’d never forgive myself if—Never mind.” I slid into the passenger side seat and buckled my seatbelt.

“Where do you live?” Cally asked, fixing her hair in the rearview mirror.

I gave her a fake address near the Carnegie Central Library.

“Got it.” She started the engine with a push of a button, and we were off.

I made a mental note to thank Ivan later. He shouldn’t have hurt her though. That was sloppy. Ivan was a small-time bookie I used to deal with. His little scare tactic worked, which meant I was one step closer to achieving my goal. I couldn’t wait until Callista was obeying my every whim and swallowing every lie I fed her. I couldn’t wait to make her my puppet.

“Listen, Ryder…I’m sorry about earlier,” Cally apologized. “I was acting like a real bitch. I’m not usually this high-strung.” Cally swallowed hard, and even in the dark, I could see her eyes misting.

“You seem really on edge,” I pointed out. “Did something happen to you? You don’t have to tell me, of course.”

“It’s not that bad, really,” Cally said. “It’s just…my ex-boyfriend has been stalking me. Leaving me love notes on my windshield. Showing up at my gym…that kind of thing. Last week he ‘bumped’ into me at the grocery store and slipped a note in my purse. It was a cheesy love letter that was all over the place, like he wrote it while he was high or something. I’m worried he can’t handle my repeated rejections and will start harassing me even more.”

I feigned concern with a convincing frown. “Have you told the police?”

“No…I have this thing…against the NBPD. They…let’s just say they can be bought quite easily. Name the right figure and you can get a cop to say just about anything in front of anyone.”

“Really?” I arched a brow. “And you have proof of this?”

“I don’t have proof, per se,” Cally said. “But years ago, they arrested my dad on a rape charge. If you knew my dad, you’d know he’d never hurt a fly. He’s like a big fuzzy teddy bear, you know?” She inhaled deeply. “Then one day, out of nowhere, we were out at a restaurant and two plainclothes cops hauled him away. They said he’d been charged with sexual assault of an underage minor. I was horrified. Long story short, as I suspected, he was set up. Turns out one of my dad’s business rivals orchestrated the entire thing.”

I stammered out a pathetic “wow.” Given my history with Paul Rayner, though, I had no problems believing he’d paid off all the parties involved. He wasn’t even beyond bribing the DA or police commissioner, and I knew this for a fact. Teddy bear my ass. More like a mountain grizzly.

“After that incident, I learned to never trust a Northbridge cop again. They’re corrupt as hell. The politicians too. This whole city will probably go down in flames one day. I’m surprised the governor hasn’t done anything about this shit.” I stared at Cally’s gorgeous profile, an elegant silhouette illuminated by the city lights. She had no idea how right she was. And that was the irony of it all. Northbridge City was like a Joker-run Gotham City without Batman. If I had the resources and willpower to become a vigilante, I’d raze the city and rebuild it. Get rid of all the white-collar crooks. Turn the tables on and fire every last goddamn scumbag politician who ever lied and betrayed the hardworking taxpayer.

“I’m sorry you went through all of that,” I muttered, my throat burning with rage.

“Water under the bridge now,” Cally murmured, turning onto Yew Drive. “It’s just…even though the case never went to trial, the bad publicity really hurt my dad’s image, you know. Those scummy bastards dealt him a low blow, and no amount of prison time on their part can ever repair my dad’s damaged reputation.”

Paul Rayner’s reputation was damaged because he was a massive douche, not because he had too many enemies. I would know.

“Well, we’re here. Thanks for keeping me company. I…I appreciate it.” Cally dug into her purse and after a few seconds, produced a crisp business card. “Here’s my work phone and work address. Maybe…if you’re ever in the neighborhood…feel free to come in and say hi. I’ll buy you lunch or something. You know, as an apology and a thank you.”

I took the card and held onto it as if my life depended on it. Then I grinned. “Deal. You won’t regret this, Cally.”

“Good night, Ryder.”

“Night. Drive safe.”

After Cally’s Porsche sped off, I walked around the library to the public gardens behind it. Carnegie Central was located in downtown Westbridge, which made it within walking distance to Lorelai’s office, and also Natwick Health Center, where Janine worked. It was also about a twenty-five minute walk to Mahoney’s West, where I planned to get a job. Unfortunately, the area was patrolled by a grouchy old geezer. A security guard by the name of Hogan Grimes. There were also security cameras set up around the library’s perimeter. Luckily, I’d found the perfect blind spot a few weeks ago, a nook that allowed me to see others, but they couldn’t see me.

Behind some tall shrubbery, I pulled out my filthy purple Jansport backpack and slung it over my shoulder. Then, I scouted out my bench, the one by the maple saplings, and rolled out my ratty sleeping bag. There was a five-inch tear on the inner lining, which I didn’t know how to mend. Once in a while, my foot would get caught in it and snag the fabric even more. I’d picked it up for only seven bucks at the local thrift store, and it served its purpose. I flattened my backpack (which contained my worldly possessions) and used it as a pillow. The hard, wooden bench slats dug into my lower back and made my hips sore, but once I got used to it, the discomfort faded away.

I could probably get away with sleeping here for a few more nights before Hogan caught on and shooed me away. But for now, it was home.