Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Miguel

I realize I must be doing a shitty job of concealing my emotions because Ruby takes a sudden step back. She’s standing in the middle of a small living room, her arms crossed over her chest, her hands gripping her arms tightly. She’s pretty much white-knuckling it. I catch a glimpse of a large, square-cut red gemstone on her ring finger. A ruby. It looks old, like an heirloom piece, and immediately I think it must have been her mother’s.

As soon as Edward clears the threshold behind me, Ruby rushes forward to close the door, engage all three deadbolts in quick succession, and slide the chain lock back into place. When she turns to face us, her soft cheeks are splotched with pink. Her eyes are wide as they glance from McCall to me and back again.

In an attempt to stop staring at the girl—and probably scaring her to death—I scan what I can see of the apartment from my current vantage point. It’s small and outdated, but clean and uncluttered. The furniture all looks secondhand.

The living room is barely big enough for an old brown corduroy sofa against the back wall and one upholstered armchair. There’s an older wooden coffee table in front of the sofa. A matching end table stands between the sofa and chair, holding a brass lamp.

There’s a tiny kitchen to my left, with original cabinetry painted white. The kitchen counters are bare and uncluttered. To my right is a hallway that I presume leads to a bedroom or two and a bathroom. The walls are covered with faded wallpaper in a floral print, small peach-colored flowers on a cream background. The wallpaper reminds me of my grandma’s house. The wood floors are dull and scuffed in places, the polyurethane coat having worn off years ago. A few small tapestry rugs are scattered about.

Since Ruby’s apartment is located at the rear of the building, there are windows in the kitchen and living room overlooking the back of the building. A sliding glass door leads out to a balcony filled with plants. The dining room is filled with plants, too. I guess if you can’t go outside, you bring a little bit of the outside to you.

After a quick visual sweep, I turn my attention back to my new client. She’s a little above average height for a woman. She’s dressed in a light-colored floral dress with a scooped neckline that reveals delicate collar bones. Over the dress, she’s wearing an oversized cream-colored knit sweater. She’s not wearing any shoes, just a pair of gray socks. Her red hair hangs past her shoulders.

As for first impressions, she makes me think of Rapunzel—the long-haired princess trapped in a tower. In her own way, this girl is just as trapped as that fairytale character.

I notice a smudge of light blue paint on her cheek, and a closer look at her fingertips reveals more paint stains. I smile, hoping to put her at ease. “I hope we aren’t interrupting your work.” When she frowns, I gesture to her fingers. “You have paint on your fingers. You must have been working.”

“Oh.” She glances down at her hands. “Yes. I mean, no, it’s fine. I was expecting you.”

Ruby skims me once more from head to toe, her gaze wary. Her arms are crossed, and she’s gripping her biceps. She’s skittish and looks ready to bolt. My heart goes out to her.

Her gaze goes to the duffle bag slung over my shoulder. “Edward told me you’d be staying.” Her voice is quiet.

I nod. “That’s the plan. I mean, if it’s okay with you.” I don’t offer to shake her hand because I’m sure that’s the last thing she’d want. “I’m here to find out who’s harassing you.”

Her blue eyes narrow. “For how long?”

I shrug. “As long as it takes, I guess, or until you kick me out. Whichever comes first.” I chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s totally your call. I want you to feel comfortable.”

As she stands there absently rubbing her arms, I get the feeling her oversized sweater is a crutch, mostly there for comfort, like a security blanket. It’s certainly not cold in here.

McCall opens his arms wide. “Hey, kiddo, how about a hug?”

As soon as she directs her attention to her godfather, her expression morphs instantly, revealing a beautiful smile. She steps into his embrace, and he wraps his arms around her and gives her a tight squeeze. He kisses the side of her head. “Let me know if you need anything, sweetheart. I’m just a phone call away, day or night.”

She nods. “I will. Thanks, Edward.”

“Will you be okay?” he asks her. “I should get back to the office. I’ve got a client coming in at eleven.”

Sighing, she nods. “I’ll be fine.”

Edward heads for the door and releases the locks. As he opens the door, he looks back to give me an encouraging nod. “Thanks, Miguel. Please keep me posted.”

“Will do, sir,” I say, giving him a parting salute.

As soon as McCall is out the door, Ruby rushes forward to lock it, her movements clearly well practiced and efficient. Still facing the door—and away from me—she covers her face with both hands and exhales heavily.

As we stand there in awkward silence, I put myself in her shoes and think about how I’d feel in her place. Scared, suspicious, maybe even threatened. Things must have gotten really bad for her if she’s willing to let a complete stranger into her sanctuary.

And let’s face it, she doesn’t know me from Adam. I probably make her nervous as hell. “I’m sorry if my presence makes you uncomfortable.”

After dropping her hands and turning to face me, she puts on a brave face. “Please don’t apologize. It’s Miguel, right?”

I nod.

“I know you’re here to help. I trust Edward—he’s been looking out for me ever since my mom—” She stops abruptly, as if she said too much. “He’s a good friend. Probably my only friend.”

“I’m housebroken.” I smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I clean up after myself, and I promise I don’t bite.”

I’m rewarded when I see the corners of her lips turn up in a hint of a smile. Her slender shoulders rise as she takes in a deep breath and glances around the room. “I’m so sorry my manners are rusty. I’m not used to having company.” Her hands flutter nervously as she gestures around us. “As you can see, it’s a pretty small place. There’s just what you see here—living room and kitchen—plus two bedrooms and a bathroom down the hall.” She frowns. “I turned the spare bedroom into my art studio, so I’m afraid there’s only one bedroom.”

“That’s okay.” I motion to the sofa beside us. “I can sleep here, if that’s all right.”

She eyes me, then the couch. “I doubt you’ll fit.”

“I’ve had far worse accommodations, believe me.” I smile, so she doesn’t take offense. “Really, this will do fine.” I set my duffle bag on the floor next to the sofa. “Care to show me around, so I can get the lay of the land?”

“That won’t take long.” She almost smiles. “The kitchen’s there, as you can see.”

Between the kitchen and the living room is a small wooden table with four chairs, obviously her dining area. Beyond the glass door is the balcony filled with plants.

She gestures toward the hallway behind us. “The bedrooms and bathroom are this way.”

I follow her down the hall, careful not to get too close. She stops at the first door on the left. “This is my bedroom.”

I peek inside a small, darkened room. I can barely make out a full-size bed and a couple of nightstands holding lamps. There’s a window along the back wall, but it’s covered by heavy, dark curtains. I spot a dresser with a mirror opposite the bed, and there’s a closet door beside it. Pretty bare bones.

She shows me the bathroom next, which is located directly across the hall from her bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it’s small and outdated—pink tiled walls, a white porcelain toilet and bathtub, and a gold-framed mirror that hangs over the white vanity and sink. The only thing on the counter is a toothbrush holder with one toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. There’s no window, of course, as it’s an interior room.

The last room is on the left. It’s her art studio. A large window lets in plenty of light. There are several bookcases filled with tubes and bottles of paint, books, jars filled with paintbrushes, and stacks of small blank canvases. There are probably twenty small paintings hanging on the walls, scattered throughout the room.

There’s an old wooden table placed in front of the window. There’s a small painting of a little white dog propped on an easel on the table top. Several jars of water and pots of paint are arranged to the right of the painting in progress.

She points to the table. “This is where I work.”

“Edward told me you’re an artist.”

She nods. “I paint miniature custom portraits, mostly people’s pets and children. I also paint people’s houses.”

I walk further into the room to get a better look at the little painting in progress. It’s a little white dog wearing a pink collar studded with rhinestones. There’s a color photo of an identical dog clipped to the easel. The likeness between the photo and her painting is uncanny. “Wow. You’re really good.”

She gives me a half-smile. “Thanks.”

I have a lot of questions for her about her business, but those can wait. I just got here, and I don’t want to overwhelm her.

“So, that’s it,” she says with a sigh. “That’s my apartment, other than the linen closet across the hall.”

She looks up to meet my gaze. Since she’s barefoot, and I’m six feet tall and wearing boots, I tower over her.

“I’m sorry you got roped into this,” she says. “I’m afraid you’re going to be bored out of your mind.”

“Don’t worry about me.” I follow her back to the living room. “I’m here because I want to help. And as for me being bored—no chance. I’m good at entertaining myself.”

She points to the TV hanging on the wall across from the sofa. “I’m sorry I don’t have cable television, but I have Netflix and a few other streaming services. And there’s the internet, of course. The password for the wireless router is pumpkin, all lower case.”

As soon as she says pumpkin, an orange cat peeks out from her bedroom, stares at me, then cautiously walks toward us.

“Speaking of Pumpkin,” she says, “here he is.”

The cat walks right up to me and brushes against my right shin.

“He likes you.” She sounds genuinely surprised. “He’s not used to seeing people—just Edward once a week and occasionally my dad.”

I lean down and scratch behind the cat’s ears. “Animals are supposedly a good judge of character.”

Ruby laughs. “I guess that explains why Pumpkin hides whenever my father comes over.”

“Speaking of your father—I take it you two aren’t on the best of terms. Edward said your relationship is strained.”

“He never misses an opportunity to criticize me or tell me I’m crazy. Lately, he’s been pressuring me to move back home with him. He thinks I can’t manage on my own.”

I straighten from petting the cat. “Are you managing okay?”

“Yes. I don’t make a lot, but I don’t need a lot either. I get by, and thanks to my business, I can pay my own bills. I don’t ask anyone for anything.” She motions down the hallway behind her. “Speaking of business, I need to finish the dog painting you saw on my worktable. I’m hoping to mail it out at the first of the week. So, if you don’t mind—”

“Please, go right ahead. Don’t mind me.” I motion toward the sofa. “I’ll catch up on my reading. It seems I never get time to sit and read, so this is a definite perk.”

She smiles. “You’re just being nice. If you get hungry or thirsty, help yourself to anything in the kitchen. The pantry and fridge are pretty well stocked.” Her gaze darts to the apartment door. “The only thing I ask is that you don’t open the door.”

“I won’t.”

“Under any circumstances. Even if someone knocks, don’t open the door.”

“I understand.” I glance around the apartment. “You don’t have a security system?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

That’s the first problem I want to address. “Are there any security cameras in the building? I didn’t spot any when I came in.”

“No.”

I nod, thinking that’s going to be a problem, too. I’ll talk to the building manager to see about getting permission to place cameras in the hallway so I can see who comes and goes.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she says as she heads for her art studio. The cat follows.

“Sure. Don’t worry about me.”

As I watch her walk away, I can’t help but admire her strength and courage. Despite all of her challenges, she’s still able to support herself and maintain her independence. I glance at her apartment door with three deadbolts and a chain lock. So much fear is keeping her locked inside. She’s essentially a prisoner of her own making. She’s missing out on so much of what life has to offer—friends, a social life, restaurants, theaters, coffee shops, bookstores. Hell, she’s missing out on things as simple as sunshine and fresh air—things the rest of us take for granted.

I’m going to help her, no matter what it takes. The least I can do is restore her sense of safety in her own apartment.

And if someone is terrorizing her, I’m going to put a stop to it.