“My mother would kill me if I left someone stranded instead of helping.”
He’s living up to the knight in shining armor the nurses made him out to be. But why is he? “Other than bonus points with your mom, what do you gain from helping me?”
“Gain?” he asks as if the word itself is offensive. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants, he looks down at his feet, and then his lips tighten. “I don’t gain anything that I’m aware of. I’m here because I think you need someone. Do you have anyone?”
I don’t know what he’d be gaining either, so I understand the lack of an easy answer. Despite his attractiveness, something about his stance with me is unguarded—shoulders straight but with an ease within his body, the eyes, and even the lack of contrived answers give me comfort. Wouldn’t someone wanting something be ready for the task in the moment that counts most?
This seems like a prime moment to take what he wants. I probably wouldn’t even know better. But he doesn’t. He just owns the answer he’s given and leaves me the stage to ask more questions. I don’t have more, though. I don’t have much of anything.
Biting my lip, I’m still trying to read between the lines, worried I’m missing something obvious when he says, “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I guess I just needed to see you with my own eyes. I needed to know you were okay.” His hand falls out of his pockets, and he glances back at the SUV.
A lump has formed in my throat at seeing him slip away from me—his gaze, his kindness, his proximity. He takes a step back and checks his watch. “I should be in court.”
“Court? What did you do?”
He chuckles, and it’s the most relaxed I’ve seen him. “Fortunately, nothing. I’m an attorney.”
“Ah. That makes sense.” I cover my mouth, realizing a second too late that could be construed as rude.
“My brother jokes the first word I spoke was objection, so yes, you’re not the first to say I fit the job.”
“It’s the suit,” I add, hoping to keep it light, “and maybe the formality of how you carry yourself.” It’s too late to worry if he has ulterior motives. He’s the only one who knows me from before the mugging and the only one who has shown he cares. Well, other than Belinda, but she can’t take home every victim that comes through the hospital doors. “Loch?”
His full attention weighs in his eyes as he looks into mine. I continue, “You’re the only person who knows anything about me.”
“It was only a brief conversation.” I hate the feeling that I’m interrogating him, that any morsal he gives matters so much.
“It’s all I have.”
“The police should have the missing persons reports—”
“It hasn’t been twenty-four hours. I’m hoping . . .” Fear squeezes my chest, and I take a sobering breath. “There’s a chance no one files a report.”
“Someone, if not many, are looking for you, Tuesday,” he says with such confidence. “I promise you. You are a woman who is being missed. There’s no way anyone would forget you.”
I nod, clinging to his words. “I’m not so sure that’s true. And right now, it’s all I have.” Closing my eyes, I clench my eyelids tight. When I reopen them, sadness intervenes when the reality of my situation returns. “I’m told availability is based on a first come basis, so I should probably go inside to check in for the night.”
Silence between us allows the honk of a horn down the street, a group of teens chattering as they walk around us, and the backfiring of a nearby truck to infiltrate the space that felt gentler minutes prior. Uncertainty begins to race through my veins knowing that when he leaves, I’ll be alone, all alone in a city where nothing feels like a place I know, much less like home.
Loch comes closer again, not so close to whisper, but close enough for me to feel a familiarity with him. “What if . . .” He starts, but pauses to run the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip.
“What if?” Attaching myself to the hope that those two simple words offer me.
“What if I give you a place to stay until the police receive the missing persons report, today or however long it takes?” Before I have a chance to reply, he adds, “You’ll be safe and not have to worry about a place to sleep every night. I know of a great hotel.”
“A hotel . . .” I roll the words around in my mind as if I have all the options in the world. I don’t. I have one other—the shelter. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course.”
Loch was there for me yesterday.
He’s here for me today.
I have no reason to doubt his intentions. If he were a bad guy, he could have done away with me yesterday. He didn’t. He made sure I got the medical care I needed. Now he’s offering more than I have a right to ask for—a place to stay.
Loch Westcott is all I have, but curiosity is killing me, and the same question still burns. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because everyone needs help every now and then.”
I look back at the shelter just as a woman exits. She grips the railing to help herself down the steps but stops to look my way, our eyes meeting. She’s much older than I am, a poor guess at forty or more years, judging by how life has dug into her forehead, the streets matting her hair as hunger hollows her cheeks. The whites of her clothes have yellowed as the dress that can’t be much heavier than my hospital gown hangs loosely off her shoulders.
The sun shines, but the temperature drops as fall becomes winter. When a shiver runs through her body, I go to her. Taking off my coat, I offer it to her. My heart pounds in my chest when I approach. She wears her pain openly on her face and a lost look in her eyes.
“Here. I think you need this more than me.”
Guilt tangles with the fear I already had growing inside my gut of what will become of me. I may have left the hospital with the bare minimum, but I’ll have a warm place to stay tonight when she may not.
There’s no great reward in response or even a grateful smile. No, she mutters something I don’t catch and carries on like I don’t exist. That doesn’t bother me. I didn’t offer it for accolades.
I take a breath and wrap my arms around myself as I return to Loch. “If the offer still stands . . .”
He moves to the vehicle and opens the door without hesitation. “It does.”
I follow, stopping just shy of getting in. “I don’t know how I’ll repay you, but I will. I promise.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get you back where you belong.”
Where I belong? My heart kicks up in panic. “What if . . .?”
No. Stop.
Hope.
“Lotte New York Palace Hotel,” Loch directs Brady to our destination.
“Yes, sir,” Brady replies. When our eyes meet in the rearview mirror, he smiles and then pulls into the lane and starts driving.
The warm SUV protects us from the cold outside, and I’m glad I accepted his offer. “The sun’s out,” I say with my arms still wrapped around myself. “But it doesn’t look like it will shine for long.” Keeping my eyes trained out the window, I search for anything I might recognize—landmarks, restaurants, street names.