“Sure you trust me?” he taunted in a deliberately lazy, seductive tone. A real streak of mischief seemed to creep over him.
The gap in both doorways widened. Dana saw what was happening across the hall and motioned him inside. “Get in here.”
“You don’t have to let the dude in,” a male voice said from behind her. The adolescent tone traveled over several octaves, but it was heavy with animosity. “You want him outta here, I’ll take care of it.”
Jason caught sight of the skinny young boy with blond hair and blue eyes that matched Dana’s. Sammy, no doubt. Jason took an instinctive and immediate dislike to him. If Dana puzzled and disturbed him, this boy was like an alien creature. The kid was in serious need of a decent barber. His expression was filled with hostility and his stance was brotherly protective. On one level Jason admired the attitude; on another he began to realize just exactly what Dana was up against with the little punk.
Dana sighed. “It’s okay, Sammy. I can handle Mr. Halloran.”
Jason’s eyebrows lifted a fraction.
She ignored the implied skepticism. “Do you want some coffee or something? We have a couple slices of pizza left.”
Sammy scowled at the invitation. Clearly he would have preferred to slug Jason or, at the very least, escort him forcefully from the apartment. It made him wonder exactly what Dana had told her brother about him. Or if the boy was simply savvy enough to understand the odd chemistry at work between Jason and his sister, a chemistry he didn’t begin to understand himself. Now that he was here, he realized he’d been drawn by more than a need to settle some crazy mix-up about a job.
“Coffee would be nice,” Jason said.
Sammy took a step closer to his sister. “Sis, you want me to hang around?”
Dana shook her head slowly as if she were reluctant to let him leave, but unwilling to admit to the weakness. “No,” she said finally. “It’s okay. Mr. Halloran and I need to resolve some business matters.”
“I’ll be at Joey’s if you need me.” He glared at Jason. “It’s just downstairs.”
Jason nodded seriously. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
When Sammy had gone, Jason observed, “Looks like he’s picked up your protective streak.”
“We learned a long time ago to stick together.”
There was a note of defiance in her voice, a warning that Jason couldn’t miss. How many times had Dana put herself on the line to bail out her troublesome brother? He’d figured it for a one-sided avenue, but seeing Sammy just now he realized that the guardian angel activities worked both ways.
“He looks a little the worse for wear. Did he run into a door?”
“So he claims,” she said ruefully.
“What happened to the VCR?” he asked, wondering how she’d handled that after she’d foolishly risked her neck to go after the thief who’d sold it to her brother.
“I made him give it to the church down the block.” She grinned. “I was hoping maybe it would make him go down there a little more often, instead of hanging out with those creeps he seems to like so much.”
“Has it worked?”
“Not so far, as you can probably tell from the black eyes, but I’m still hopeful.”
Dana started to lead the way into the apartment’s kitchen. Jason tossed his coat on a chair, then looked around as he followed her. He was hoping for clues that would help him to understand this woman whose personality clashed so with his.
The cracked walls had been painted a shade as bright as whitewashed adobe. A tall basket held paper flowers in poppy red, vibrant orange and sunshine yellow. Throw pillows in similar colors had been tossed on the faded beige sofa that looked uncomfortably lumpy. Clay pots of plants lined the windowsill with shades of green. Despite the frayed condition of the furniture, the room had a cheerful, homey air about it, all achieved on a shoestring. Books were stacked helter-skelter, worn copies of everything from business texts to art books, from history to philosophy. He doubted they were Sammy’s.
“You read a lot?” he said. When the question drew her back into the room, he gestured toward the well-dusted, obviously well-used collection.
“Buying books is cheaper than taking classes,” she said from the archway leading to the kitchen.
“Looks like some pretty heavy stuff. What made you pick it?”
“I got my hands on the reading lists for some of the courses at Boston College,” she admitted with a shrug, as if the act had been no big deal. Once again, though, Jason was impressed by her tenacious desire to improve her lot in life. He had taken so much in his life for granted. Dana would probably have made much better use of a college education than he had thus far.
“You amaze me,” he said quietly.
Dana’s gaze met his, lingered for a heartbeat, then skittered nervously away. Her cheeks turned pink and she hurriedly took the remaining steps into the kitchen. Jason went after her.
The kitchen held a tiny table for two. The red Formica top was decades old and the chairs didn’t match. The stove and refrigerator were so ancient Jason wondered that they worked at all.
Dana was silent as she made the coffee. Jason sat down and watched, surprisingly content for the first time since she’d slammed the phone in his ear an hour earlier.
Odd how little time he’d ever spent in a kitchen, he thought. His mother had been a haphazard cook at best, too busy with her causes to bake cookies or stir homemade soup, though he had a vague recollection of a time when that hadn’t
