Ryker
Justine tries her car three times in the parking lot before I get out of my Camaro and walk around to the driver’s side window and knock on the glass. She opens the door and looks up at me with frustration lining her features. I don’t like that look on her.
“It won’t start.”
“Let me try it.”
Justine slides out of the driver’s seat, and I take her place. A few turns of the key tells me a jump probably isn’t going to solve the problem, but it’s worth a try.
Five minutes later, after Justine tries to start it a few times hooked up to the Camaro, I’m unfortunately proven right.
“I’ll give you a ride home and you can call a garage in the morning about having it picked up.”
Her expression falls. From the looks of the car and everything else I’ve gathered about her, I know this probably isn’t an expense she has figured into her plans. It’s clear her budget is tight, judging by the Lipton tea she brings to study and her diet of mac-and-cheese bowls.
When she drops her head against the steering wheel, she confirms my thoughts.
“I didn’t exactly figure a tow truck and a repair job in my budget.” She lifts a hand and slaps the dash. “Why? Why couldn’t you just hold out a few more months? Six on the outside? Don’t you have any sense of loyalty?”
The desperation in her voice as she talks to her uncooperative car cuts into me, but I keep my mouth shut. Right now, I don’t think there’s anything I could say that’s going to change the situation.
“Grab your stuff. I’ll give you a ride, and you can think about what you want to do in the morning.”
“Things don’t always look better in the morning, you know.”
Justine’s dark eyes are shiny, but I’d bet my Camaro she’d never let those tears fall in front of me. Good. I don’t want to see them. Something tells me that they’d gut me more than the last girl who tried tears with me when I told her we weren’t actually dating. Ironic that now I’ve got a girl telling me the same thing I’ve told others.
“I know, but at least it’ll be light out, and you might think of some more options. You strike me as a pretty resourceful girl.”
She forces a smile to her face, but it’s pained. Turning, she grabs her backpack off the passenger seat and shoves a few more things in it.
“Then I guess I’m taking you up on your ride because right now, I really don’t feel like schlepping my stuff to the bus stop.”
“I’ve got you covered, Justine. It’s gonna be okay.” I say the words, but I wish I could make them true. I don’t like seeing her struggle.
We climb in, and I back out of the parking lot. “Am I taking you to the same place you lived last year?”
From the passenger seat, she shakes her head, her arms wrapped around the backpack on her lap.
“No, I had to find a cheaper place. I’m over in the Gilroy Student Housing Complex.”
Yanking my eyes from the road, I look at her. “I thought that place was being torn down this year.”
When Justine shrugs and her grip tightens on her backpack, I chastise myself. Pride, Ry. Tread carefully.
“Nope. They decided to hold off until next fiscal year because the demo costs were higher than planned. They’ve got one of the buildings rented out. It was dirt cheap, so I was pretty lucky to get in.”
Lucky isn’t exactly a word I would use to describe the complex I’m remembering. Shit hole is a better description.
Ten minutes later when I pull into the parking lot in front of the building, I confirm my opinion. This place is a dump. The yellow, orange, and blue panels that make up the corners of the buildings are faded almost beyond recognition and are falling off in chunks. Basically, picture the crappiest ’60s no-tell motel you’ve ever seen and downgrade it another step. I remember coming to a party here when I was a senior in high school and being shocked at the shitty conditions. That was over six years ago, and things have only slid further downhill since.
“I’m down at the other end. Last one on the first floor.”
I guide the Camaro in the direction Justine indicates and pull into a parking spot marked by faded yellow lines and a crumbling curb.
“Shit!”
My gaze jerks to Justine, but she’s already out of the car and dashing toward the building before I realize what the problem is. The door looks like someone kicked it in.
I yank open the door of the Camaro and charge after her. The girl’s an idiot to go running into a break-in scene. Wrapping a hand around her wrist, I pull her back.
“What the hell are you doing? Someone could still be inside.”
She struggles against me, then twists out of my grip with what must be some kind of evasive move like they teach in self-defense classes.
“And if they’re still inside, they haven’t gotten away with stealing my stuff!”
Her struggles intensify, so I wrap her in a backward bear hug, locking both arms around her waist before I pick her up off the ground. “Not fucking happening,” I growl into her ear. No way in hell am I letting her take a chance of getting hurt because of her adrenaline-fueled reaction. “Get back in the car and call Campus Safety. I’ll go in.”
She continues to fight me for another minute, and I almost expect elbows to start flying, but she finally stills.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll call.” She speaks through gritted teeth.
I lower her to her feet facing the Camaro. “Go.”
She turns to glare at me but follows my orders. Once she’s safely inside the car, I use an elbow to push open the door and flip on the front light switch with a sleeve-covered fist.
Much like I expected, the apartment’s best days were several decades ago. On the other hand, it’s clean and neat. It doesn’t take long to deduce what was stolen, but I continue my walk through the place just in case there’s something else that’s obvious or the person is still hiding inside.
The apartment is silent, and other than a rumpled shirt and a pair of shorts on the bathroom floor, it doesn’t seem that much is out of place. Rather than linger and wonder what else could possibly be missing, I head back outside, pulling the door shut behind me. With the door busted, there’s no way in hell Justine is sleeping there tonight. The rest of the cars in the parking lot resemble the one we left in the parking lot at Panda House—older and edged with rust.
Justine is out of the Camaro with her arms crossed over her chest before I make it to her door. “What did you see? Are they gone? What does it look like inside? Is everything gone?” Her questions come fast, telling me the adrenaline is still rushing through her system.
“There’s no one inside, but it looks like they stole your TV. Maybe some other stuff. You’ll need to go through it when the cops get here. You called?”
She nods. “Yeah, but I don’t know how much it’ll help. This is the third break-in this week here, and it’s all been petty theft. They didn’t take my TV. I didn’t have one.” She rubs her hands up and down her arms as I take her in.
“Third break-in? Are you fucking serious?”
“Yeah, since school started. No leads.”
I open my mouth to ask her why the hell she’d stay here, but I already know the answer. She’s too broke to go anywhere else and too proud to ask for help.
She walks closer to the front door, which is splintered at the bottom where someone kicked it in with what looks like heavy boots and some serious anger problems. “Why? Why would someone do this? It’s not like I have anything worth stealing,” she murmurs as she covers her hand with her sleeve to push the door open.
I follow her inside and survey the interior closer this time. Justine’s gaze catalogs every single possession, and she’s right—she doesn’t have much to steal.
She checks the bedroom and bathroom, and shakes her head when she emerges. “I had my laptop with me, and I don’t see anything else missing that I can tell.” Her gaze travels around the room once more. “I would notice, right?”
She looks up at me, and the pinched and worried set of her face kills me. She shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of shit.
“Have you stashed anything in here where only you could find it?”
She shakes her head. “No. Nothing. Who would do this?”
“Some asshole who gets off on destroying property. You’re lucky they didn’t trash the inside too. Maybe someone scared them off before they could.”
A shaft of anger stabs through me when I think about someone breaking in while Justine was home. She’s not staying here, but we also can’t leave it unlocked. I wouldn’t be surprised if this place was cleared out by morning by her neighbors.
“Maintenance is going to have to fix the door before you can leave tonight.”
Justine turns to me, her arms wrapped around herself. The adrenaline is slipping away and fear is taking hold. “I have to call Merica. She’ll let me stay on her couch.”
“Wait until Campus Safety gets here. Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”
She drops her arms to her sides. “I don’t need you to babysit me. I can handle this myself. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”
“Let me help. You don’t have to be such a badass all the time.”
That’s when I see her shaking. Fuck it. I drop my hand, wrap both arms around her, and pull her into my chest. She shakes harder.
“It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you. They’re going to have to come through me first.”
Justine relaxes, but only for a moment, because blue and red lights cut through the dark of the night. She tenses and pulls away, and I’m almost certain she’s blinking back tears.
The two green-and-white cruisers park to the left of my Camaro, and two officers climb out of the cars. The one who appears to be in charge looks from me to Justine, who is back to standing with her arms wrapped protectively around her middle.
“Miss, are you the one who called in a break-in?”
Justine nods and talks to the cops for several moments before leading them inside. I stay out front, waiting by the Camaro, deciding how I’m going to broach the subject of her coming to stay at my condo. She’s going to say no every which way I can come up with.
That’s when my second idea takes root, and this one just might have a shot.
A few minutes later, the uniformed Campus Safety officer leads the way out of the apartment, and I walk over to where he’s talking with Justine.
“We’ll get someone down here from maintenance within the hour to board up the door and then get it replaced tomorrow. The door, handle, and lock are all toast.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Justine’s voice isn’t as strong, and my instincts say it’s time to get her the hell out of here.
“Do you have somewhere else you can stay tonight?” the officer asks.
Before she can reply, I interrupt. “She’s got a place, sir. We’ve got it taken care of.”
The officer finally looks at me again and nods. “Good, because staying here isn’t a good option. This place is becoming the easy target for thieves, and you’re lucky nothing was taken, Miss Porter.”
Justine chokes out a laugh that sounds harsh in the quiet night. “Yeah, I’m getting that.”
“Let me make the call to maintenance so we don’t have to stand around here all night.” The cop walks toward the cruiser and pulls out a phone, and I step closer to Justine.
“Anything you need to get from inside? Because we’re getting out of here as soon as the maintenance guys show up.”
She shoves both hands into her hair before turning away and pacing. “I need to call Merica. I think she might be in her night class still. And I have no car. Shit.”
“You’re not staying with Merica; you’re coming with me. You don’t need a car.”
She spins around, and I’m glad to see the normal fiery Justine coming back. “And where do you think you’re taking me? Your place?”
I know she’s gearing up to shoot me down, so I drop plan B on her.
“No. We’re going to my parents’ house.”