Cut Me Free (20 page)

“You're very smart, but now we will be,” I assure her as I squeeze her small hand. “I'll find a way to keep you safe.”

I drop Sanda off with Janice, leaving some money for school clothes as well. Janice's mouth drops open when I hand her the wad of cash I'd retrieved from the safe. Rather than get into a discussion about how much school clothes cost when I honestly have no idea, I tell her to return whatever she doesn't use. Rachel is bouncing up and down, ready to head out the door.

“Hi, Charlotte! Thanks for letting Sanda come!” Rachel exclaims as she walks over, throws both arms around my waist, and grins up at me. “This is going to be the best day ever.”

I smile back at her exuberance. “Good, I hope so.”

When she skips over to grab her small pink purse off the couch, I'm struck again by the difference between the girls. Rachel has always been cared for, never doubted that she is loved. That kind of thing makes a huge difference. Sanda stands beside the couch wringing her hands and staring at me. She'd been getting more comfortable with each day she spent with Rachel, but this new fear has set her back.

She's a sweet little girl who deserves better than the fear and pain she's used to. I
will
find a way to give her that.

I smile at Sanda until her mouth curves up and she gives me a wave before Rachel drags her into the other room to see her new clothes again. Her small sign of resilience is exactly what I needed to see.

“Thanks,” I say to Janice, and she shakes her head.

“Please, she's so easy—”

“No, really,” I interrupt. “I couldn't do this without you.”

Janice's eyes widen for a moment, but then she nods sadly. “It seems she's much better off with you than wherever she was before. I know
exactly
how important that is.” Her voice lowers to a whisper, and she checks that Sanda is no longer listening behind her. “I've seen—on her arms. I asked her. What you're doing for this girl, that's thanks enough.”

I blink as she gives me an awkward hug and then shoos me out the door.

 

21

Cam is sitting on the front steps when I come home from the hardware store. I walk up and slip around him successfully without a word, but I'm halfway up the stairs before I realize he's following me. I stop and turn to face him, struggling against the happy glow in my heart that his mere presence still brings. Why are hearts such foolish things?

“Do you need something?”

“Janice called me. She said someone tried to break into your apartment last night?”

I try not to let the worry on his face get to me. “It's under control.”

“Let me help you.” His eyes take in the bag I'm gripping, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “Your building manager sent me after all. Consider me the handyman.”

I open my mouth to argue and then close it again. He can sure think on his feet, I've got to give him that. A quiet laugh escapes my throat. It feels better than it should, so I follow it quickly with “No.”

He grabs my bag out of my hand before I can react. “Sorry, miss. I'm doing what the manager requested. If you've got a problem with that, you'll have to take it up with her.”

I'm speechless and angry, trying to figure out how to get around this. I don't want to explain to Janice why I would refuse to let Cam help, and I get the impression he's stubborn enough to make me do it.

“Ugh, fine.” I stomp up the stairs, and when we get to the landing I hear his footsteps stop. Turning, I see him staring at the scratches on my door.

I unlock the door and walk inside, but he stands examining the door and the locks with a grim expression. Finally, he turns to face me. “So, they tried pretty hard, but didn't get in?”

My teeth clench. I turn away and walk to the window. There's no one watching from the park; I close the curtains and take a breath. Cam always knows when I'm lying, so I'll keep my mouth shut.

He closes the door and walks to the opposite side of the room so I think he's dropped it, but when I look up, he's staring at the mountain of furniture in front of the door to the fire escape. Without a word, I start removing pieces from the pile. Blocking the door was the only thing that had made us feel safe last night, but we aren't going to do more than one night with a broken window. Someone is coming in an hour to replace the glass anyway, and before they come I'd like to get the new locks installed.

Cam's face is so pale. He stands like a statue. I don't even see the rise and fall of his shoulders for what seems like forever. By the time I've moved two chairs and a coffee table out of the way, I can't ignore him anymore.

“Cam?” Concern forces his name out, and it leaves a sweet burning sensation on my lips.

He spins to face me and his words are so soft I can barely make them out. “Why didn't you call me?”

I pull back my shoulders. “I told you. It's under control.”

As Cam crosses to me, I can see his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Someone was inside your apartment. How is that ‘under control'? Who did this?”

I stare into his eyes, ignoring the fear and worry I see in them as best I can. As much as I wish I could rely on him, I can't let myself take that risk again. “You can leave if it bothers you. I'll install the new locks.”

He doesn't move while I lift the bag from his fingers and empty it on the table. I've never used a tool in my life, but now's as good a time as any to start. Grabbing one of the nails, I hold it against the doorframe and swing the hammer experimentally toward it. My thumb explodes with pain and the nail drops to the floor with a tiny
plink
. I force myself not to say a word as I press my throbbing thumb against my lips and hear a soft chuckle behind me.

“You're more stubborn than me, even. You know that?” His voice is warm and quiet behind my ear, but I don't respond.

Studying the diagram on the back of the lock box for a few seconds, I lift my hammer again. When I swing it toward a new nail, the hammer is snatched out of my hand. Whipping my eyes up, I see Cam smiling down at me.

“Move.”

“I don't know if you noticed, but I'm kind of in the middle of something here.” Stretching on my tiptoes, I still can't reach the hammer he holds over his head. He stands there, waiting for me to finish trying to steal back the only tool in my apartment.

I slump down on the couch and glare at him as he walks over, pushes the nail through the lock assembly, and knocks it into the doorframe with one blow.

“I was doing fine.”

“Sure, but I think your fingers are worth preserving.” He looks at me as he positions the next nail.

Holding up the thumb of my left hand, I examine the blue spreading beneath the surface of my fingernail and shrug. “It's not that bad.”

I don't let myself wince as I bend it and pain shoots up my arm.

We hate bruises.

Cam inhales and then blows it out hard like a mini explosion of air. He works for a while in silence, but for the first time since I told him everything, it isn't uncomfortable. When he's finished, he takes a step back from the door to the fire escape and hands me the hammer. “There. That should help.”

More locks are good. Check the locks to be sure.

The three shiny new fire escape locks are positioned so they can't be reached through any broken window. I nod. It isn't enough, but it's an improvement. As I stand up and test each of the locks, Cam stands behind me. When I finish and turn around, he steps closer and brushes a piece of hair out of my eyes.

“You need to know.” He doesn't move when I take a step back. “If whoever did this wants to get in bad enough, nothing you can do will stop them.”

I pull in a gulp of air, suddenly needing more oxygen. “I know.”

*   *   *

I'm certain that I checked the locks at least twice before I left, but I can't stop obsessing about it. I don't want to come home to any more surprises tonight.

Maybe we should've checked just one more time, Piper? One more check wouldn't have hurt.

I walk into Angelo's for what I hope will be the last time. My check will be in the back office, but I keep hoping Lily won't be there.

Sneaking around the room and down the hall, I feel relief relax my tense muscles when I see the office open and empty. The box of checks is on the desk, and I dig through it until I find the name “Charlotte Thompson.” I stuff my check in my pocket, hoping I can hurry out before anyone even knows I'm here.

“Wish I could say I'm surprised you showed up.”

No luck. I should've known it was going too smoothly.

Anger pumps through my veins at Lily's tone. It's too much. I don't need her judgmental comments on top of everything else going on. That's why I quit in the first place. “What is your problem?” I ask.

“You.” She walks in through the open door and stands next to the desk.

Taking a step closer, I lower my voice. “Well, you're becoming mine, so back off.”

Lily's laugh is bitter and cold. “You think I haven't seen your kind before? Cam has too good a heart. He's been suckered in by poor girls in need—”

“I am
not
a girl in
need
.” I spit out the words and the distaste that comes with them, but she barely even pauses.

She leans in, her face only a few inches from mine. “Girls like you always end up betraying him, hurting him. You're no different. Soon he'll see you for the bad-news trash that I've always known you are,” she seethes.

“Lily!”

We both spin to see Cam standing in the hall outside the door. Staring hard at his cousin, he seems furious and embarrassed at the same time. His eyes don't even land on me when he speaks the name he gave me. “Charlotte, I'll walk you out. Lily, I'll deal with you later.”

I storm out the door past him and he has to jog to catch up. When we get out into the fresh air, I don't slow down. The cool breeze on my face does nothing to stop the blood boiling inside me. He keeps my pace for a bit.

“Wait.”

“No.”

“What she said—” Cam reaches for my hand, but I pull it away like it burns me.

“I don't care. It doesn't matter.” I sprint down the block, clinging to the shadows as I run, letting the city hide me from him, hold me as tight as its darkest secret. I don't slow until I've rounded several corners, until I'm certain he isn't following me.

*   *   *

My hand is raised to knock on Janice's door, but Sam stops me.

Check first, Piper. Make sure it's safe. Safe for her.

My eyes flick toward the stairs and I nod. As much as I want to see that she's okay, it's already been proven more than once that Janice's apartment is safer than mine.
Sanda has seen enough.

When I get to my door, I release the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. It's intact with no new scratches—a good sign.

I unlock the door, leaving it wide open again, and flip on the lights. I check the fire escape door, and everything is in place. I check on the table, under it, and behind the couch. No new surprise deliveries.

The new locks worked. Safe is good, Piper.

But I don't feel safe. Something is off, something is wrong. It's like a vibration centered in the marrow of my bones that tells me to keep searching. I scan the room again. This time I pick up the one difference I didn't notice at first. There's a slight lump behind a window curtain. It doesn't move, but that doesn't stop a ball of pure fear from tightening in my throat. It's far too small to be a person, even a child … but what is it?

Inching forward, I draw the heavy fabric aside, willing it to be a simple tangle in the curtains or something equally nonthreatening. When I see what's beneath, I fall back a few steps with a gasp. The released curtain falls against my latest surprise, leaving it swinging in midair. Sam's Piper-Puppet dangles a few feet off the ground. Her strings are wound around a nail in the wall. I struggle for breath and grip the back of my couch with both hands. Black tape has been put over her eyes to make X's.

The message is clear. She's helpless. She's dead.

Sam begins his ragged humming in my head as I realize where the puppet came from. The only place in the apartment I didn't check: my bedroom, my closet … where the safe and any hope for my new life is hidden.

Keeping my breath quiet and even, I sneak through the kitchen and pull out the knife drawer. My whole world chills like a blizzard blew through it, leaving everything frozen and still. The drawer is empty. Every weapon I can use to defend myself, gone.

I grab the metal bookend again and sneak down the hall. A board creaks beneath my feet near the open door to the landing and I freeze, waiting—listening for any movement—but I hear nothing. I reach the end and peek in my bedroom. It's dark, too dark with my eyes adjusted to the light.

Reaching around the corner, I flip the light switch. Nothing happens.
Click, click
 … I try again,
click, click
. The noise is so loud in the quiet that it sounds like a siren alerting everyone to my presence. My heartbeat fills my head with echoing sound. It almost drowns Sam out. I try to swallow, but my mouth is too dry to make it work.

I creep back down the hallway, flipping off every light in my apartment with trembling hands as I go, and after a few seconds my eyes adjust. I peek around the corner again. My room is dim, but with the streetlight coming in around the curtains, I can see the bed and the dresser. Nothing is out of place. Entering, I drop the bookend on my bed and reach under the pillow. My fingers close around the iron bar that helps me sleep at night. My knees hit the floor with a quiet thud and I peer into the shadows under the bed. No one is here. Only one place left to check: the closet.