I return to the living room and spread out the wool blanket on the floor. I fold it once, to make sure there’s enough padding, and then I gently set Star down on the blanket so that she lies on her back.
My hands now free, I turn and crouch down beside the duffel bag. It still smells sour, but not as bad as before. The baby blanket is going to need to be cleaned.
I want to search the bag, but the bottle and container of formula catch my eye. I have no idea when Star was last fed, but something tells me a baby this young needs to be fed a lot.
I grab the container, scan the directions on the back. Doesn’t seem too complicated.
I whisper to Star, “Stay here.”
I hurry into the kitchen with the bottle and container of formula. I wash and dry the bottle, set it aside, and then follow the directions to make the formula. Return to the living room to find Star is thankfully still on the blanket. I sit on the floor, cradle her in my arm, pluck the pacifier from her mouth, and replace it with the nipple.
At first I worry she won’t latch on, won’t start to feed, but then she starts sucking at the nipple.
I coo to her, “Good girl, good Star,” as she drinks the formula, and then I set the bottle aside, pick her up, and softly pat her on the back until she burps.
“All good for now, Star?”
She doesn’t answer, and I’m not sure if I should keep going. I take a chance and put the pacifier back in her mouth, set her on the blanket.
My hands once again free, I turn to check what else is in the duffel bag.
Two other items are buried at the bottom.
A bright yellow Velcro wallet, the kind a little girl would carry, and a pinkie finger.
Before I can reach inside to pull out either item, there’s a sudden knock at the door—two quick quiet raps—and a hushed voice says, “Police, open up.”
Four
I glance at Star and hesitate, not sure I want to leave her on the floor. She lies there on her back and stares up at me as she keeps sucking on the pacifier.
Another quiet rap at the door, and I stand and move toward the door, feeling the press of the SIG against the small of my back.
I don’t reach for the gun. Instead, I silently engage the security chain before opening the door the couple inches the chain allows.
Erik smiles back at me, holding up two bottles of Heineken.
“Wanna hang out?”
Hang out is code for fuck. It’s something Erik and I have been doing for the past several months. Erik works as a Colton County sheriff’s deputy. He lives in the apartment across the hall, was there when I first moved in, and for a couple months we would occasionally see each other, exchange smiles, but that was it. One time Erik struck up a conversation, asked me out for coffee, but I declined. Not that I wasn’t interested—Erik may be a couple years younger than me, but he’s hot, a tall muscular black man with a cute smile—but dating wasn’t something I wanted at the time. Plus, as practically the only Asian American in town, I figured going out on a date with one of the few black guys in the area didn’t seem like the best idea, not if I wanted to stay under the radar. Fact is, dating isn’t something I’m interested in even now, but one thing led to another, as things often do, and we started having causal sex. No commitments. No dating. No getting to know each other. Just pure fucking.
I look him right in the eye as I shake my head.
“Can’t.”
The smile fades, and for the first time he seems to notice the security chain.
“Everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine.”
He pauses a beat, takes a whiff, and I can tell by his expression that some of the sourness has seeped out into the hallway.
I quietly clear my throat.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not feeling well. Think it’s something I ate.”
Erik forces another smile, and there’s no judgment in his dark eyes, which is another reason why I like the guy.
“Do you have any Imodium?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I might have some in my apartment.”
Before I can respond, he turns and disappears through his door, comes back thirty seconds later without the beers. He shakes his head.
“Sorry, don’t have anything.”
“That’s okay.”
“If you want, I can go pick something up.”
Alden’s the kind of town where nothing is open twenty-four-seven, not even the gas station. Which means Erik would need to drive fifteen miles to the truck stop off the highway, or another seventy miles to the nearest Walmart. Which he would do if I asked him to—there’s no doubt about it in my mind—but I shake my head.
“You’re sweet, but I’ll be okay. It’s just been a long night, so I’m going to try to get some sleep.”
Erik nods, says, “Hope you feel better. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
I close the door and wait until I hear his door close across the hallway before returning to Star and the duffel bag.
I smile down at Star.
“That was Erik. He’s a good guy. We agreed at the start that neither of us would fall in love with the other, but I think he broke that rule a long time ago. What can I say—must be my charm.”
Star stares up at me, clearly not impressed.
I turn back to the duffel bag. Ignore the bright yellow Velcro wallet for now and focus on the pinkie finger. When the girl first approached me down the street—which was only now, what, an hour ago—I was too distracted by the blood covering her that I hadn’t noticed much else. Like whether or not she had all her digits.
“Don’t go anywhere,
