Speechless, my ears ringing, I stare at the heap as Tonk urges me, his voice loud because his hearing is compromised, too. “Get your purse. Get anything you need. But get it quickly.”
His gentle fingers touch Celia’s head before I hurry into the bedroom. In a matter of moments I’ve swiped up a few of her pants and shirts, her pink blanket, my bag.
In the living room I find Tonk pointing the gun at Victor’s unconscious face. He motions for me to walk behind him so that I’m safe. With shallow breaths and my daughter red-faced and hiccuping, I walk into the sunlight of a beautiful spring day.
My head is foggy.
I’m on autopilot.
Every cell in my body tingles.
With fear.
With excitement.
With hope.
Tonk shuts the door and there is no sign of his gun as he strolls casually up to us, placing his comforting hand on my lower back as he whispers, “Act normal.”
CHAPTER 9
T ONK JR.
T his is one of those moments when even in New York, you wish you had a car.
Stacy and I move at a rapid clip to my apartment. I reach for Celia, voice low as it shakes. “May I see her? We need to walk faster and she’ll get heavy.”
“She’s hungry.” Stacy’s breath skips. “I need formula. She’s going to draw too much attention to us. She won’t stop crying.” Stunned arms hand little Celia to me.
“It’s going to be okay, little princess. I’ve got you.” Locking eyes with Stacy I say, “Let’s just make it clear as we move that we need formula and that’s all we need.”
“Okay.”
I’m hugging Celia close so she feels secure as we walk and talk about it in normal volume so people know we’re finding a solution to this baby’s problem. Many smile with understanding and make room for us.
One older woman says, “I know that feeling! I had three!”
We laugh and keep walking.
A block away from our destination, our sanctuary, I whisper, “Almost there, you’re safe,” and flick a glance to include her mother in this promise. She holds my look.
As we near the stoop she asks, “Where can we get formula?”
“There’s a bodega just around the corner, one street west. They’ll have some. Do you have a particular brand or…?”
“Right now that doesn’t matter.”
“Okay.”
“But thank you.”
As we pass my building, she and I cut glances to the quiet of it. How we want to be inside there right now. Her boyfriend could appear at any minute. He has no idea where I lay my head at night but this child is a siren heard for blocks if you were searching. We’re vulnerable.
“What am I doing?” I groan, flipping around.
With questioning eyes, Stacy remains with me, hurrying back toward my place. I usher her into my building, muffle Celia’s cries by closing the door with a rough tug to ensure the lock engaged.
“Tonk—”
“—I’ll go to the store alone as soon as you two are safely inside.”
We run up the stairs, our footsteps echoing along with Celia’s wails. The sobs are halting. She’s running out of steam, or she’s distracted from the bouncing. I don’t know much about children this young but I can’t wait to learn. Another level of human nature for me to investigate and help. Sounds right up my alley.
As the key lets us in, Stacy is stroking her baby’s head. “Soon, honey, soon.” Her arm falls as we enter the occupied space that for once isn’t congested with pot smoke.
Daniel appears in his bedroom’s doorframe, eyes pretty much sober, voice urgent as I lock the deadbolt. “You got them? Stupid question. What do you need from me? How can I help? I aired out the place like you asked.”
“Dan, I shot him in the leg, and broke his nose.”
“Whoa!”
“He might be looking for us right now.” Handing Celia over to Stacy I lock eyes with her and run my hand down the side of her worried head. “I’ll be careful. You stay with Daniel. He’s a good guy. He knows what’s going on. I had to tell him because he’s my roommate. But I’ve lived with him for more than a year and his character is sound.” Glancing over I add, “If not a little lazy.”
The corners of Daniel’s lips twitch. “Guilty on all counts.”
“Let’s not use court language right now.”
Us joking like this wins a small smile from Stacy. I give her a kiss, our first, and hold here for just a second as comfort travels between us.
“Hurry, Tonk. Be careful.”
“I’m going to grab whatever they have and get the hell out of there.”
“Wait,” Daniel says, stepping forward. “Where are you going?”
“Celia needs formula.”
The levity vanishes from his face as his eyes dart around. He’s even less of a fighter than I am. At least I had training, no matter how much I loathed it and bowed out early.
I rip my jacket off the chair and snatch one of Daniel’s Mets hats from a hook. Slapping it into place I tell him, “Lock the door behind me!” and run down the stairs.
At the bottom I pause before walking outside and back into visibility. There is a small window in this old wood door. Through it I scan both directions for feet underneath a bush or anything that might tip me off that he is out there biding his time.
Taking a deep breath, I merge with foot traffic, face casual, footsteps falling with a naturally fast New York City pace.
Speed walking is fine.
If I run, I’m obvious.
Blend in.
That’s the key.
My heart is hammering as I covertly survey my surroundings, mind on high alert, face passive. The red hand is lit when I get to the intersection, but nobody cares. Few residents obey these lights anyway.
You have an in, you take it.
And I’m taking mine.
I edge away from the sidewalk, the bodega in my
