Stay the Night
Page 11

Definitely not rocket science.
She looked over the counter at the first of her "clients." Despite the heat of the day, the old skinny guy was wearing four jackets and a knit cap under a battered straw cowboy hat. His eyes were swollen, his eyelashes encrusted with some greenish white stuff that looked like dried snot. The amount of dirt on his face made it hard to tell if he was black, white, or other.
"Hi." Jane held out the box. "Happy lunchtime."
"I want three sandwiches." His fetid breath stank of rotten teeth and sour wine.
Jane shook her head and jabbed the box at him.
"Three," he insisted, trying to reach across the counter for the pile of wrapped sandwiches.
Jane screeched and backed into the shelter manager, who pushed her aside and came to the counter in her place.
"Now, you know you can only have one sandwich, Mr. Patterson," the manager said, her voice sugary-sweet as she pushed the boxed lunch into his trembling hands. "Otherwise we won't have enough food for everyone else."
Patterson muttered, "Frigging nigger," before snatching up the box she offered and moving on to the boxed-drinks server.
"Did you hear what he just called you?" Jane demanded.
"Last week he called me a fucking wop," the shelter manager said. "I think his eye infection is finally clearing up."
Sinking into a sullen, resentful silence, Jane kept working and handing over boxes to the homeless. Some were dirty old men like the foul-mouthed Mr. Patterson; some were bony women with sores around their mouths and running up and down their arms. A few teenagers like Jane came through the line, but they were just as dirty and smelly as the drunks and the junkies.
One good-looking guy did come through the line, and held it up for a while as he stared at her. He smelled great, too, like her favorite candy. Jane pretended not to notice, but the man sat at a table just across from her station and watched her.
She didn't mind older guys, really, and this one had the prettiest eyes.
"Lady." A little black girl looked over the edge of the counter, distracting Jane. "Can I have choklit chip cookies?" she asked, smiling and showing that she'd recently lost her front teeth.
Jane knew the cute guy was watching her, so she put on a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, honey, but we don't have any cookies."
"Bitch, don't you be talking to my baby." A big, scowling black woman strode back from the drinks station and scooped up the little girl. "Just gimme her box."
Jane handed her the box, looked over, and saw that the cute guy had left. "Shit."
"What did you say?" the black woman yelled.
"Nothing." Jane cringed. "Sorry."
By the time everyone had been served, Jane had knots in her stomach and a pounding headache. The cute guy never came back. When it was time to go home, she wanted nothing more than to burn her clothes and spend a week in the shower.
"You give this to your caseworker when you report to him," the shelter manager said, handing her a form. "It's proof that you worked a full shift here."
Jane glanced at it. It was her first evaluation, and it wasn't what she expected at all. "You only gave me an average rating."
The shelter manager began stacking the empty food boxes inside one another. "Uh-huh."
Tears filled Jane's eyes. "This is so unfair. I've been standing here handing out boxes for three hours. I did everything you told me to."
"You don't work fast enough, you upset two clients, and your attitude is terrible," the older woman said flatly. "But this was your first time here, so I'm willing to give you another chance."
"I have a great attitude," Jane argued.
"Okay, then you should remember my name, because I introduced myself to you when you reported for your shift." The black woman watched her squirm for a minute. "It's Alice."
"Alice. Right." Jane pouted.
"Boxing lunches is the easiest shift at this shelter, Ms. Moran," Alice continued. "What are you going to do next weekend when I put you on the dinner shift, and you have to serve hot food to these folks? You going to throw it at them?"
"No. I'll do whatever I have to." Furious, Jane yanked off her gloves. "Can I go home now?"
"How are you getting there?"
"I'm taking the bus," Jane said through her teeth. "My mom took away my car for, like, forever."
Alice nodded as if that sounded sensible to her. "If you'll wait a minute, I'll walk you to the bus stop."
"It's only a hundred feet from the front door," Jane snapped. "I think I can make it."
Outside the sun was setting and the people she'd handed boxes to all afternoon were forming a new line for the dinner shift. Jane ignored them and stalked over to the bus stop. Three old black women and their bulging shopping bags occupied the bench, so Jane couldn't even sit down.
"That's the new girl at the church," one of them said, pointing to Jane. "I bet she on parole."
The other old ladies stared at her, and one asked, "What you get arrested for, girl? Smoking crack?"
The three began cackling like happy hens.
Jane turned in a huff and walked away from the bench to stand in the shadows by the church sanctuary. She refused the sandwich that Alice or whatever her name was had offered—as if she'd ever eat anything made for homeless people—and now her stomach growled miserably. She knew she'd binge on cookie-dough ice cream as soon as she got home, and she'd never learned the trick of making herself throw up.
She was never going to get into size threes by summer.
"I hate this." She wrapped her arms around her sunken waist. "It's so unfair."
"So it is," someone whispered behind her.
Jane smelled candy, and her mouth watered as she turned around. It was the cute guy. He must have been waiting out here for her all afternoon.
"Hi." Seeing him made her feel a little dizzy, but the emptiness in her stomach and chest faded, replaced by something warm and wonderful. "I thought you took off for the night."
He held out a black glove.
Jane smiled as the warmth spread out, liquid sunshine through her arms, hips, and legs. He'd waited for her. He wouldn't have done that if he thought she was complete trash like the rest of these people. He wanted to be around her. Maybe he even liked her.
She put her hand in his.
He pulled her into the little space behind the wide square column, where everything smelled like candy.
Sunset painted the city's skyline with wide ombre bands of gold, orange, and red before giving way to the deep blue fringe of the night. As Robin of Locksley came awake, he felt the last of the day's light fading as silently and completely as the woman beside him slept.
The day is gone, and I am not alone.
He didn't reach for her at first, somewhat astonished to know he had slept so long, but brought his hands to his face so he could breathe in her scent. She was, as she had been last night, all over him. She hadn't used perfume, as so many human females did, and he was grateful; her body's natural fragrance delighted him. He couldn't put a name to it, but had the tang of eastern spices and a rich sweetness like that of dark molasses.
As he breathed in, Robin remembered how boldly she had pushed him back on the bed and saddled herself over him.
You have a very nice bedroom. Do you bring all your women here?
Only you. I keep my other women in the harem on the third floor.
Rob had never brought a female, human or Kyn, to the penthouse, but Chris was different. Her presence in his city home seemed to fill a void he had never before noticed, and yet someplace inside he had always felt.
Unable to spend another moment without touching her, he rolled onto his side and extended a hand, feeling for the delicious warmth of her mortal body. Which wasn't there, a fact that startled him into opening his eyes. The pillow next to his still bore the impression of her head, but no one lay beneath the rumpled silk sheets.
The devil? Robin lifted his head to gaze around, but saw no sign of her. "Chris?"
No one answered, but he heard the sound of water running in the sink of the adjoining bathroom, and relaxed. She'd be thirsty, of course, and doubtless hungry as well. He would have food brought, a gourmet dinner, fine wines, strawberries, chocolates. He couldn't share her food, but he could feed her and watch her and kiss the taste of champagne from her lips. He'd tease her into feasting from his own skin. He had a fierce curiosity to discover whether she would be as playful as she was passionate.
Smiling, Robin rolled out of bed, pulled on his trousers, and went to see if he could coax her into the bath with him. Inside the bathroom, however, he found only his seneschal at the sink rinsing two wineglasses.
"Will?" He glanced at the empty shower and tub. "Where is Chris?"
"Do you mean the human female from last night? I cannot say, my lord." Will turned off the taps and dried his hands. "I assume that she returned to her home after she departed."
"She left?" Robin distinctly remembered her falling asleep sprawled over his chest. Her slight weight and radiant warmth had been so soothing he had dropped off a few moments after her. "When? How?"
" 'Twas near dawn; I secured the elevator after she used it. I saw no car, so I presume she went on foot. I sorted through the mail, and it seems you were summoned for jury duty again. We can hide from mankind for near a millennium, but try as I may I cannot seem to purge your name from the county courthouse mailing list." Will faced Robin and frowned. "What is wrong? Did something happen with the female?"
"Yes. No." Robin strode back into his bedchamber and inspected the carpet. No lingerie, no shoes, not a single trace of her. She'd taken everything. He moved on to the front rooms, where she had left her outer garments and purse, which had also vanished.
Robin slowly returned to his bedchamber, unsettled and bewildered. "She is gone."