I felt an odd tingle run through my arms but didn’t respond.
Tria stopped in front of a three-story apartment building with faded brown paneling that tried to give it some sort of Tudor flair but failed miserably. There was a barred door painted black with one of those keypad security systems attached to it. The windows on the ground floor also had bars though the ones higher up didn’t. I glanced up the fire escape stairs next to the door and saw a black-haired girl swinging her legs and smoking a cigarette. The ash flicked out into the air and landed beside me on the chipped sidewalk.
“This is where you live?” I tried to stop from smiling too much. I mean, what were the odds?
“Yes,” she said. Her tone was dark. “It’s not as bad as it looks from the outside.”
“Heh.” I snorted. “Yes, it is.”
I reached forward and gave the barred door a good yank. It opened immediately, even without entering a code or anything. Bullshit security system hadn’t worked in at least eight months. Tria kind of glanced at me sideways as I held it open and made a grand gesture with my arm.
“After you,” I said.
“It’s supposed to be a secure building,” she said. “They said they were going to be getting that fixed soon.”
“Yep,” I replied, “that’s what they tell ya.”
“I’m not really supposed to let anyone inside the building.” She looked off to the side, like she was afraid to send me away while looking me in the eye.
I chuckled.
“You aren’t home yet,” I told her. “I said I would walk you home.”
“It’s just inside,” she said.
“First floor?”
“Yes.”
“What number?”
Her jaw tensed and she continued to look away from me. It looked like she was focusing on a stack of broken up pieces of brick lying in a haphazard pile near the entrance to the apartments. She glanced up at me before blowing out a big gust of breath.
“Fine,” she grumbled. “Come on in.”
Tria led me to the fourth door on the right, which had faded, not-really-brass numbers tacked up on it. Number 142.
I laughed in one quick burst.
“You live here?”
“Yes,” she said as she fished around in her purse for keys.
I had been wondering if my nights were going to be a little quieter, and now I had my answer. I chuckled softly to myself.
“Why is that funny?”
I shook my head as she glared at me.
I started to consider the reasons it was funny, but the reasons that all of this was not funny popped into my head instead. They were especially obvious as she continued to fumble around for her keys with her head practically buried in her monstrous over-the-shoulder bag.
I mean, she had just led a perfect stranger—hero or not—right to her door.
“Tria…” I shook my head a little to try to keep my cool. I started counting on my fingers. “One, stop being so trusting—this ain’t the small town you grew up in. Yeah, I’m not one to rape you in the street, but that doesn’t mean I’m not the kind of guy who would get you back somewhere private and do the same. Two, get your keys out before you get to the door. Hold them in your hand—like this.”
I grabbed her wrist before she could move and pushed a little, rubbery, lobster-shaped keychain against her palm. Then I positioned the keys on the ring between her fingers.
“Go for the eyes,” I said. I raised her hand up with mine and wrapped her fingers into a fist. The keys jutted out between her fingers, turning her