Bent nearly double, stroking Austin as he wound around black leggings and chunky ankle boots, the young woman in the lobby seemed to be neither a threat nor a guest. When she straightened, one hand rising to try and brush disheveled blonde curls down over the purple-and-green swelling on her forehead, Claire got the impression of a person just barely hanging on to the end of her rope.
A quick glance at Dean showed him ready to pound whoever, or whatever, had brought such a fragile beauty to such a state.
The delicate jaw moved slowly up and down on a piece of gum. The weary motion seemed so involuntary it came as a bit of a shock when she stopped chewing to speak. “I’ve been walking all night” she offered tentatively, “and I need, um…”
“A room?” Claire asked.
She glanced back over her shoulder before answering. “I haven’t any money.”
“That’s all right” Keepers went where they were needed; sometimes, need came to them. Without turning, Claire lightly touched Dean’s arm. “Go make up room three.”
“Sure, Boss.”
No one spoke again until he’d disappeared up the stairs.
“This is a beautiful cat.” A trembling hand ran down the black fur from head to tail. “Is he yours.”
“Not exactly.”
“I had a cat once.” She closed shadowed eyes. When she opened them again, she stared around the lobby as if wondering where she was.
Austin nudged her.
“I saw your sign. I thought, if I could lie down for a few hours, I could figure out what to do. But I can’t pay you….”
“The room’s there and it’s empty,” Claire told her, stepping forward. “You might as well use it.”
Clearly too tired to think straight, she shook her head. “That’s not how it works.”
“That’s how it works here.”
“Oh.” She looked up the stairs and thin shoulders sagged. “I don’t think I can.”
“I’ll help.” By the third step, Claire had wrapped the girl’s weight in power. Reaching the first floor hall, hoping the professor wouldn’t chose this moment to head downstairs for breakfast, she led the way to room three, pausing outside the door to allow Dean to leave.
When he opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head and pushed past him. He couldn’t help until they knew what was going on.
Settling the girl on the edge of the bed, Claire stepped back and watched Austin make himself comfortable beside her. “Do you mind if he stays?”
“Oh, no.” Her hand reached out to stroke him again. “You and that big man, are you happy?”
Claire blinked, completely taken aback. “There’s nothing between me and Dean.”
The ugly bruise on the girl’s forehead darkened, surrounded by an embarrassed flush. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that you looked…”
“Postcoital,” Austin murmured when she paused.
“Ignore that, please,” Claire suggested, spitting the magic word through clenched teeth, “I’ll leave you now, get some sleep. We’ll talk later.”
HELLO….
NOT NOW. I DON’T WANT THE PISSANT LITTLE ENERGY WE CAN PUSH OUT OF HERE WASTED ON TRIFLES.
YOU DON’T WANT? WHAT ABOUT WHAT WE WANT?
Time passing suddenly became the loudest sound in the furnace room. After a moment, the rest of Hell answered their own question.
NEVERMIND.
By the time Claire got back to the kitchen, Professor Jackson had descended for breakfast. He seemed extraordinarily pleased with himself as he ate his bacon and eggs. He hummed slightly as he spread jam on his toast, and he stirred his coffee with the air of a man who’d lived up to his own extraordinary expectations. Fortunately, he’d lifted himself to such exalted heights, he was far beyond making casual conversation with mere hotel staff.
Wiping his mouth, he rose from the table and graciously informed both Dean and Claire that he’d be leaving as soon as he packed.
“Well?” Dean demanded the moment the professor was out of earshot. “Who is she? What happened? Does she want us to call the police?”
“I have no idea, but Austin stayed with her so we’ll soon find out.”
“Austin?”
“Why not. She’s tired and vulnerable….”
Dean nodded, understanding. “He’ll be a nonjudgmental comfort to her.”
“No, he’ll take advantage of it. He’s a cat not Mother Theresa.” Claire poured herself a bowl of cereal and sat down. “It shouldn’t be much longer.”
On cue, Austin jumped up onto the counter. “All right; bacon.” Glancing over at Claire, he added, “Which I, of course, can’t eat even though I’ve been gathering vital information about the young woman in room three.”
Claire sighed. “One small piece.”
“Two.”
“One and the dregs of milk from my cereal.”
“Not if it’s bran; last time I was in the litter box all morning.”
“It’s not.”
“Deal.”
They waited more-or-less patiently while he ate and not at all patiently while he washed his whiskers.
“First of all,” he said, at last, “it’s not what you think. Her name is Faith Dunlop….”
“She told a cat her name?”
“Don’t be ridiculous; I hooked her ID out of her pocket when she fell asleep.” He snorted. “Who tells a cat their name?”
“Just get on with it.”
“Who hit her?” Dean demanded.
“No one. She walked into a door. Our little Faith was leaving in a hurry because she’d just helped her boyfriend rip off a convenience store out on North Montreal Street. When they split up to throw off pursuit, she had the bag of loot. Unfortunately, she left it on a bus and now she’s afraid to go home because this is the second time something like this has happened and the boyfriend is going to be very unhappy.”
Claire stared at Austin in astonishment. “This is the second time she’s left the loot on a bus?”
“If I understood her correctly—and between the sobbing and the gum she wasn’t very coherent—the last time she left it in the women’s washroom at a fast food restaurant but essentially the same scenario, yes.”
“She’s afraid of her boyfriend?” Dean growled. Behind his glasses, his eyes narrowed to a line of blazing blue. “Oh, I get it; first off, he forces her into a life of crime and then, when she can’t perform to his satisfaction, he beats her.”
“She walked into a door,” Austin protested.
“Sure. This time. But what’ll happen when she gets home? She’s terrified of him, or she wouldn’t have been out all night, forced to throw herself on the kindness of strangers.”
Claire sighed. She’d just discovered two things about Dean. The first, which was hardly unexpected considering the rest of his personality, involved taking the side of the weak against the strong. The second, that at some point in his scholastic career he’d been forced to read A Streetcar Named Desire. “You don’t know any of that for certain.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I know what I see in front of my face.”
“I don’t know how you can see anything with your eyes slitted closed like that.”
“It’s obvious what happened!” His jaw thrust slightly forward.
“It’s never that obvious.” Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she asked Austin if he’d got a look at Faith’s home address when he snagged her ID. When he admitted that he had, she headed for the phone.
Hurriedly picking up the empty cereal bowl and putting it in the sink, Dean followed. “What are you doing?”
“Calling Faith’s apartment and telling the boyfriend where she is. Once he’s here, I can protect her, but until I hear the whole story, I can’t help her.”
“You’re after helping her right into the hospital!” Rushing forward, Dean put himself between Claire and the phone. “Look, you can put yourself into whatever weird relationships you want, but you can’t make those kind of choices for Faith.”
“Weird relationships?”
“Uh, oh.” Ears close to his head, Austin ducked under the desk.