Read Online Dirty Deeds by Sheri Lewis Wohl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sheri Lewis Wohl
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would let it out. Weariness finally overcame fear, and he drifted into an uneasy rest.
The shadows were thick when the sound of footsteps snatched him from sleep. He jerked and banged his head on cold steel. "Fuck," he muttered, then slapped a hand over his mouth.
The footsteps grew closer. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Nothing. Not a single thing to use as a weapon.
A bad smell reached him before a dark mound settled into the dirt not far from Jamie's feet. He tensed and waited, praying his bladder would hold. Every sound the intruder made sent Jamie's pulse racing. Minutes ticked by like hours punctuated by the rattling coughs of the man beneath the mounds of clothing.
Finally, dawn sent shafts of thin light to puncture the darkness beneath the bridge. Hunched against the damp cool air of the early morning, Jamie crawled out into the daylight. His legs were so stiff it was hard to straighten them. His back and shoulders ached.
Dirt stuck to his jeans and he brushed it away as best he could. He started to walk way and then stopped. Crouching, he peered beneath the bridge. In the morning light he was able to get a better look at his evening's companion. Throughout the endless night, a deep, rattling cough had shaken the huddled mass of clothing. Jamie still didn't know if he was young or old. He did know the man was sick.
The other man was still curled up in the shadows though now enough light cut into the space Jamie could see his dirt-streaked face. He couldn't have been more than twenty if he was even that old. What could have driven someone this young to the underbelly of the city? The cough made him sound like he was eighty and Jamie worried he'd die lying in the dirt.
"Hey," Jamie said to him. "I think you need to see a doctor."
The kid's blue eyes were watery as he looked up and shook his head. "No, man. I'll just lay here a while."
Jamie didn't like it. What could he do? He was in so much trouble himself that he wouldn't—couldn't—be much help. He did the only thing he could think of. He dug in his pocket and pulled out one of the fifty dollar bills. He held his hand out to the sick kid.
"Maybe some food and cough medicine?" Jamie suggested.
At first, the kid didn't move. His narrowed gaze seemed to assess Jamie's face. He didn't look at the money Jamie held out. Slowly, a hand came up and took the offered cash. "Thanks." The hand and the cash disappeared into the folds of what Jamie could now recognize as a grimy plaid jacket.
Jamie nodded and walked away as the echo of the man's cough faded. He hoped the money would give him a little comfort. He was already responsible for the loss of one life; he didn't want another one on his conscience.
With his head down, he walked west with no particular destination in mind until once more he stood on the overpass. He gazed down at the traffic on the bridge. The morning commute was gearing up. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he once more stared at the cars zipping north and south on Maple Street. Everything around him continued in a business-as-usual fashion. He wished his own life could be the same. Wishes didn't count for much.
The only upside was he'd made it through the night, but now he had to come up with a plan. He had to figure out how to stay alive.
* * * *
When Louie left the house, it was still dark, and barely light by the time she pulled up to the office. She wasn't surprised to find another car in the lot. By the looks of him, Paul hadn't gotten much, if any, sleep. His red hair was damp and it curled around the collar of his shirt. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he walked closer. Damn but he looked fine, and he sent a flush of desire washing through her.
"Did you hear from your brother?" She didn't see the point of niceties or of giving him any idea that her fingers itched to run through his curly damp hair. Instead, she lifted her chin and got right to the point.
He stopped a couple feet away and shook his head.
The shadows were thick when the sound of footsteps snatched him from sleep. He jerked and banged his head on cold steel. "Fuck," he muttered, then slapped a hand over his mouth.
The footsteps grew closer. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Nothing. Not a single thing to use as a weapon.
A bad smell reached him before a dark mound settled into the dirt not far from Jamie's feet. He tensed and waited, praying his bladder would hold. Every sound the intruder made sent Jamie's pulse racing. Minutes ticked by like hours punctuated by the rattling coughs of the man beneath the mounds of clothing.
Finally, dawn sent shafts of thin light to puncture the darkness beneath the bridge. Hunched against the damp cool air of the early morning, Jamie crawled out into the daylight. His legs were so stiff it was hard to straighten them. His back and shoulders ached.
Dirt stuck to his jeans and he brushed it away as best he could. He started to walk way and then stopped. Crouching, he peered beneath the bridge. In the morning light he was able to get a better look at his evening's companion. Throughout the endless night, a deep, rattling cough had shaken the huddled mass of clothing. Jamie still didn't know if he was young or old. He did know the man was sick.
The other man was still curled up in the shadows though now enough light cut into the space Jamie could see his dirt-streaked face. He couldn't have been more than twenty if he was even that old. What could have driven someone this young to the underbelly of the city? The cough made him sound like he was eighty and Jamie worried he'd die lying in the dirt.
"Hey," Jamie said to him. "I think you need to see a doctor."
The kid's blue eyes were watery as he looked up and shook his head. "No, man. I'll just lay here a while."
Jamie didn't like it. What could he do? He was in so much trouble himself that he wouldn't—couldn't—be much help. He did the only thing he could think of. He dug in his pocket and pulled out one of the fifty dollar bills. He held his hand out to the sick kid.
"Maybe some food and cough medicine?" Jamie suggested.
At first, the kid didn't move. His narrowed gaze seemed to assess Jamie's face. He didn't look at the money Jamie held out. Slowly, a hand came up and took the offered cash. "Thanks." The hand and the cash disappeared into the folds of what Jamie could now recognize as a grimy plaid jacket.
Jamie nodded and walked away as the echo of the man's cough faded. He hoped the money would give him a little comfort. He was already responsible for the loss of one life; he didn't want another one on his conscience.
With his head down, he walked west with no particular destination in mind until once more he stood on the overpass. He gazed down at the traffic on the bridge. The morning commute was gearing up. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he once more stared at the cars zipping north and south on Maple Street. Everything around him continued in a business-as-usual fashion. He wished his own life could be the same. Wishes didn't count for much.
The only upside was he'd made it through the night, but now he had to come up with a plan. He had to figure out how to stay alive.
* * * *
When Louie left the house, it was still dark, and barely light by the time she pulled up to the office. She wasn't surprised to find another car in the lot. By the looks of him, Paul hadn't gotten much, if any, sleep. His red hair was damp and it curled around the collar of his shirt. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he walked closer. Damn but he looked fine, and he sent a flush of desire washing through her.
"Did you hear from your brother?" She didn't see the point of niceties or of giving him any idea that her fingers itched to run through his curly damp hair. Instead, she lifted her chin and got right to the point.
He stopped a couple feet away and shook his head.
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