was starving. I didn’t even want to calculate how many hours since I’d eaten.
“We’ll go out.” He grabbed a jacket and tossed it to me. “You pick--Mexican or Chinese.”
I loved Mexican food. It was hard to find a decent Mexican restaurant at home, but even then I only allowed myself to go to the same place once every six months. I paid in cash and altered my appearance, just to be safe.
I couldn’t stand Chinese food. “Chinese.”
“Excellent.” He shrugged on a jeans jacket.
If I pushed too hard about the syringe he’d make me wait longer. I knew it but I still couldn’t waste an opportunity to attempt to retrieve it. “We should bring the syringe with us.”
“Not yet.” Lucas smiled and strode over to the door where I waited. “I don’t go back on my promises.”
I shrugged. It had been worth a shot.
Lucas set the alarm and locked his door. “It’s safer here. Locked away.”
We walked down the steep hill to a main thoroughfare. My gaze roved the still crowded city street, checking constantly for anything suspicious, out of the ordinary.
Traffic buzzed along, a Muni bus door hissed closed, music spilled from an open apartment window.
Lucas registered the same innocuous sounds and deemed them unimportant too.
I followed him along a cracked sidewalk. It was clear from our journey Lucas walked this way regularly.
An elderly man huddled on a stoop, a paper bag in his hand. He wore a cardigan with thinning patches to protect against the crisp fall night, a thin gold band around his left ring finger, and pink cheeks with tiny broken blood vessels. “Evening, Lucas.”
“Nice night, Mr. C.”
He saluted us with the bag. “Sure is. You enjoy it with your lady friend now.”
Cool air from the Bay whipped through the corridor of apartments and storefronts, chilling me. The scent of garlic and basil poured out of a transom exhaust from an Italian restaurant.
I registered a noise. In the same moment, Lucas grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the missile’s path as a kid with a bright red mohawk, skateboard wheels scraping along the concrete, whizzed past.
Not a threat.
My heart pumped blood through my veins, filling my body with fight instinct. I took a deep breath.
There’s no way they could track me here. I’d disabled the car tracker, the beacon was gone, I hadn’t made any phone calls since leaving the bus station. They must not have followed me to Lucas’s place. Unless Lucas was the reason they’d stopped.
I spotted another old man, slightly younger this time, on a bus bench, staring at us. Newspaper, bulky jacket, multiple hiding places for weapons. I tensed.
“Missed you last night, my boy.” The old man winked at me. “You musta been busy.”
Lucas waved. “Musta been.”
After the third person greeted Lucas by name, I shuddered. “Why not just hang a sign around your neck with your name on it? You’re a breeze to track.”
“I don’t have anything to hide,” he said neutrally.
He might not have anything to hide, but I did. I wondered what such an open life would be like. I didn’t have that luxury. Would never have it. Based on the background he’d hinted at previously, his open lifestyle seemed like a blatant flaunting of good judgement.
“Why do you do it?” The question burst out before I even thought to stop it. Shit. I couldn’t possibly care, could I?
“It?” he countered, amused.
I pressed my lips together, refusing to elaborate. He knew what I meant. I couldn’t look away, searching for a chink in his seemingly ironclad nonchalance. I really wanted to understand.
Lucas sighed. “I was tired of living in the shadows.”
“Shadows work,” I defended.
He was silent. I didn’t think he was going to answer.
“There are big ways to live and small ways to effect change,” he said slowly. “I’d tried the big and frankly that didn’t work out very well...so I’m focusing on the small.”
I couldn’t miss his inference. We turned
“We’ll go out.” He grabbed a jacket and tossed it to me. “You pick--Mexican or Chinese.”
I loved Mexican food. It was hard to find a decent Mexican restaurant at home, but even then I only allowed myself to go to the same place once every six months. I paid in cash and altered my appearance, just to be safe.
I couldn’t stand Chinese food. “Chinese.”
“Excellent.” He shrugged on a jeans jacket.
If I pushed too hard about the syringe he’d make me wait longer. I knew it but I still couldn’t waste an opportunity to attempt to retrieve it. “We should bring the syringe with us.”
“Not yet.” Lucas smiled and strode over to the door where I waited. “I don’t go back on my promises.”
I shrugged. It had been worth a shot.
Lucas set the alarm and locked his door. “It’s safer here. Locked away.”
We walked down the steep hill to a main thoroughfare. My gaze roved the still crowded city street, checking constantly for anything suspicious, out of the ordinary.
Traffic buzzed along, a Muni bus door hissed closed, music spilled from an open apartment window.
Lucas registered the same innocuous sounds and deemed them unimportant too.
I followed him along a cracked sidewalk. It was clear from our journey Lucas walked this way regularly.
An elderly man huddled on a stoop, a paper bag in his hand. He wore a cardigan with thinning patches to protect against the crisp fall night, a thin gold band around his left ring finger, and pink cheeks with tiny broken blood vessels. “Evening, Lucas.”
“Nice night, Mr. C.”
He saluted us with the bag. “Sure is. You enjoy it with your lady friend now.”
Cool air from the Bay whipped through the corridor of apartments and storefronts, chilling me. The scent of garlic and basil poured out of a transom exhaust from an Italian restaurant.
I registered a noise. In the same moment, Lucas grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the missile’s path as a kid with a bright red mohawk, skateboard wheels scraping along the concrete, whizzed past.
Not a threat.
My heart pumped blood through my veins, filling my body with fight instinct. I took a deep breath.
There’s no way they could track me here. I’d disabled the car tracker, the beacon was gone, I hadn’t made any phone calls since leaving the bus station. They must not have followed me to Lucas’s place. Unless Lucas was the reason they’d stopped.
I spotted another old man, slightly younger this time, on a bus bench, staring at us. Newspaper, bulky jacket, multiple hiding places for weapons. I tensed.
“Missed you last night, my boy.” The old man winked at me. “You musta been busy.”
Lucas waved. “Musta been.”
After the third person greeted Lucas by name, I shuddered. “Why not just hang a sign around your neck with your name on it? You’re a breeze to track.”
“I don’t have anything to hide,” he said neutrally.
He might not have anything to hide, but I did. I wondered what such an open life would be like. I didn’t have that luxury. Would never have it. Based on the background he’d hinted at previously, his open lifestyle seemed like a blatant flaunting of good judgement.
“Why do you do it?” The question burst out before I even thought to stop it. Shit. I couldn’t possibly care, could I?
“It?” he countered, amused.
I pressed my lips together, refusing to elaborate. He knew what I meant. I couldn’t look away, searching for a chink in his seemingly ironclad nonchalance. I really wanted to understand.
Lucas sighed. “I was tired of living in the shadows.”
“Shadows work,” I defended.
He was silent. I didn’t think he was going to answer.
“There are big ways to live and small ways to effect change,” he said slowly. “I’d tried the big and frankly that didn’t work out very well...so I’m focusing on the small.”
I couldn’t miss his inference. We turned
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