Chapter Sixteen
A ubrey left the shelter twenty minutes before six o'clock and turned right toward the parking lot. The moment she headed away from him, Serge stepped out of the BMW to call for her, but something stopped him. Where was she going?
She understood he planned to pick her up after work.
He crossed the road, following her.
The only thing ahead of her was the homeless camp taking up most of a city block. He slowed his pace. No one, not even in the daylight, had any business walking into the homeless camp unless they were indeed homeless and had no life worth risking.
Commonly known as tent-city for the makeshift shelters, questionable livelihood, and territorial thirst, the vagrants who'd claimed the area would not let just anyone wander into their encampment.
A young adult male flashed a light underneath the old Army tent at the entrance, prickling Serge's skin. In ten seconds, everyone would hear that a stranger had come into the encampment.
At one time, he'd had the job of alerting the others, as had his brother and any other teenage kid with good ears and a solid head on his shoulders—not filled with drink or drugs. He wouldn't expect Aubrey to know what was happening around her, but he also hadn't thought her a fool. Everyone in Spokane knew the dangers and how to avoid homeless camps.
For the most part, even the police ignored the city’s non-taxpayers. Legally unable to ask them to move, law enforcement stayed away unless an emergency occurred or someone called because another John or Jane Doe had overdosed or died from exposure. Even then, it was too easy to blame the lifestyle, the elements, or the questionable cause of death on anything but hard living.
With no family and no name, an individual was carted away to be cremated on the state's dime. No service provided for his or her friends, no gravesite, the person merely disappeared. Just like how they lived life. His gaze remained on Aubrey as he took in the rest of the occupants watching her.
Aubrey hesitated at the edge of camp and lifted her hand to shade her eyes against the lowering sun, trying to peer into the deeper regions under the bridge. An old man approached her. Serge forgot about keeping his distance, hurried toward her, and looped into a jog when the man reached for her.
Too far away to hear, he watched her speak to the man and then follow him into the bowels of the camp. The silent alarm went off—the young man reappeared from inside the tent with a shiny blade clutched in his hand. A couple, he guessed in their thirties, approached from the other side of the street and stood between him and Aubrey.
The shaded eyes, hardened by life, warned him without uttering a word. He refused to listen. Aubrey was his primary concern. These people did not instill fear in him.
Living on the streets, protecting what belonged to him was ingrained in him from the time he was ten years old. He could never outrun his past. Once part of the family, the only way he would leave was if he were dead.
He paused in front of the three misfits. No match for his size or skill, he relied on his reputation.
"The Point Ghost," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The young man's eyebrows raised as he controlled his reaction to hearing the name that Serge had used many years ago. The boy, in truth, likely wasn't around at that time, but he had heard the name before.
"We watch," the other man said, stepping back.
He slipped past them. The knife, the weapons, and the defensive stances were no match for his hands, but any of them could kill Aubrey.
He weaved through trash, cardboard huts, and people sprawled out, either knocked out cold or merely sleeping during the day, as it was safe, so they could remain alert at night when the real danger awaited them. He strained to see ahead. He knew no one would help him find Aubrey if he lost sight of her.
At first glance, it seemed as if she'd disappeared. He jumped on top of a wooden crate, hoping it'd withstand his weight.
At the added height, a flash of lavender vanished behind a large pillar. He jumped down and ran. The fabric of his jeans strained against his thighs as he picked up speed.
He caught Aubrey by the arm before she dipped her head below the tarp.
She froze and whipped her startled gaze at him. "Serge," she said on an exhale.
"You can't be here." He tugged on her hand and dragged her two steps before she struggled. "Aubrey. Come with me now."
"No." She ripped out of his grasp and glared. "I have something to do."
"Not here you don't." He growled. "What the hell are you thinking? This isn't some place you go for a walk. Do you have any idea what kind of a risk you've taken?"
"I need to find someone." Her voice rose. "She left before I could help her."
The tarp stirred, and a woman, no older than twenty-five years, emerged and stood beside Aubrey. Motion from behind the homeless woman caught his attention. He clenched his teeth.
No more than five or six, a dirty child, he couldn't guess the sex, slipped between the woman and Aubrey. He frowned as the kid raised her hand and clasped onto Aubrey's fingers.
Aubrey forgot her anger toward him and kneeled on the ground, ignoring the filthy street strewn with discarded cigarette butts, sewage, and debris. The child stood on one shoeless foot until she lost her balance, then tried again with her other foot.
His gaze darted between the child's face and Aubrey's eyes. His chest tightened as he struggled to comprehend what was unfolding before him. All he could sense was the peculiar attentiveness radiating from Aubrey.
She forgot about him. Her focus was solely on the child.
Aubrey raised her gaze to the woman. "I have the information for you," she whispered, a gentle but genuine smile on her face. "There's a women's shelter two blocks away that will welcome you both."
The child shook her head. The motion created a deep hacking cough.
Aubrey straightened. "They'll have resources so you can have your daughter checked by a doctor."
Confused and fascinated, Serge rocked back on his heels. The scene made him uncomfortable, as if his clothes were too small and constricting his breathing.
He experienced the same odd feeling during his first boardroom meeting, the first time his brother overdosed, and the first night he spent inside his house.
Yet, these people were familiar to him. Even the sick kid, the hungry woman, the desolate stench in the air comforted him.
Aubrey mumbled comforting words. She was taking care of someone. He couldn't stop staring. She'd bred an emotion that was foreign to him. He wanted to admit he enjoyed the feelings Aubrey pulled from him, but it hurt.
Aubrey stroked the child's head. He wanted to warn her that there could be lice, bedbugs, and all kinds of germs on the kid, but he couldn't look away. No one had ever given him a soft, gentle hand when he was young.
"Thank you," the woman whispered.
Aubrey's actions shocked him. He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the encampment, not stopping for anyone. He wanted her far away from here. His two worlds couldn't collide. Aubrey belonged in his house, not in the encampment.
He hustled her into his car and drove away without waiting for any answers. He focused on the road ahead, not even tempted to glance at the rearview mirror. He'd never survive if he looked back at the familiar, at the comfort, at his past life.
He belonged on the street. Aubrey did not.
"Serge, slow down!" Aubrey clutched his arm.
He eased off the accelerator and downshifted. "I'm this close to stopping and dragging your ass out of the car and showing you exactly what you do to me."
"The woman came to the shelter, needing help. I'm not permitted to let in anyone under eighteen years old." Her face transformed from confusion to anger. "The child is sick. Bad sick. Do you know what happens to a baby with strep throat that goes untreated? She could die or get rheumatic fever. I will not let that happen."
He pulled over to the curb in front of the shelter and dropped his hands to his lap. He had never thought she'd step into his world. He would never want her near the lifestyle of those living on the streets. It was hard enough to accept that she played the hero, putting a roof over the homeless and helping them survive.
"Grab your things and get back out here. I'm taking you home." He gripped the steering wheel. "Don't make me come in there and get you."
She flew out of the car and rushed across the sidewalk. He fisted his hands, needing to rid himself of the violence that came over him at seeing her mixed up with the homeless. Opening the shelter and inviting people off the street was one thing, but it was unacceptable for Aubrey to walk the streets among the homeless.