Target on Our Backs Read online

  I'm not much help. I mean, come on... does anybody expect anything different? I have more stuff now than I ever could've imagined, but I'm still wearing my favorite pair of old jeans, black boots, and a black top, one I'm about ninety-percent certain I found in Naz's closet. It's way too big for me. So I just sit there, trying to distract her from her panic, as she strips willy-nilly in front of me, trying on half of what she owns.

  An hour passes, and I miss my class, but it's nice to just hang out and laugh with my friend again.

  Besides, it's just math.

  Who really needs to know how to do that?

  The door to the room opens, and Melody is standing there in a bra and her panties, not giving any sort of fucks when her roommate walks in. The girl lets out a noise of disgust as she plops down at her desk, her back to us.

  "I have nothing to wear," Melody say, shaking her head, ignoring that I've given the thumb's up to at least a dozen outfits. "Like... nothing."

  "Well, where's he taking you?"

  "I don't know," she says, pulling on a pair of leggings. "But he said something about reservations, so I'm pretty sure it isn't Wendy's."

  "Huh, is there even a Wendy's here in the city?"

  "There are a couple." She shoots me a look. "That's not important here."

  Some fries dipped in a chocolate Frosty sound pretty damn important to me at the moment, but I let her slide on that.

  "Look, come on," I say, standing up from the bed. "It's obvious we're not getting anywhere here so let's go somewhere else."

  "Thank God," Kimberly mutters, not even under her breath, obviously not caring if we hear.

  Melody shoots daggers at her roommate before turning to me. "Like where?"

  "My closet."

  She scoffs, looking me over, judging my outfit, before something seems to strike her. "Oh! That's right! Naz updated your wardrobe! I mean, can't really tell it…" She scowls at my shirt, reaching over and tugging on it. "I was about to say, ain't no way I'm wearing one of your scarf-y ensembles on my date tonight. You can keep your damn Crocs."

  I roll my eyes. "I don't wear Crocs."

  "But you own some."

  I have half a mind to come to my own defense, but what's the point, really?

  Besides, I'm pretty sure she's right here, so I let her slide on that also.

  She throws on a long shirt and slips into her shoes, not saying a single word to her roommate as she stalks out the door.

  "Uh, bye," I mumble, giving an awkward wave, but the girl doesn't even look at me, much less say anything back.

  When we step outside, I pull my phone out to call for a car, but Melody waves me off. "Look, come on, there's a cab right there."

  She flags it down.

  Who am I to argue?

  I'm not taking it alone.

  That means it doesn't count as breaking Naz's rule, right?

  I slide in beside her and she rattles off the address, flubbing up the street numbers, but I correct them. As the cab pulls into traffic, I glance in the front out of habit.

  It takes a moment, but recognition strikes me.

  Abele Abate.

  Man with the unfortunate name.

  He drove me home just the other day from the deli.

  He glances in the rear view mirror, smiling just like last time. I don't know if he recognizes me, but it's doubtful. He certainly doesn't say anything. He probably drives hundreds of people around every day.

  When we get to the house, the first thing I notice is it's empty. Naz is gone. Killer greets me as soon as I open the front door, wagging his tail excitedly.

  "Hey boy," I say, rubbing his head. "You all alone?"

  Melody skirts right past the dog, holding her hands up. "Oh my God, don't jump on me or I might smell like you."

  I laugh. "He doesn't smell that bad."

  "Really, Karissa? When's the last time you bathed the poor thing?"

  "Uh, it's been a while."

  I have a hell of a time doing it myself, and Naz is no help. He's nice enough to drive him to the groomers for me in the Mercedes when I ask him, but Killer doesn't like getting in that car.

  "Seriously, hose the poor puppy off out back if you've got to," she says. "He's starting to smell like my roommate's feet. Ugh, they reek."

  Rolling my eyes, I head to the back door of the house, opening it to let him run out. The yard isn't very big, but that never seems to bother him. I've tried to take him to the park before, but that requires getting in the car, and well... like I said, that doesn't make him happy, so the backyard it is.

  "I'm sure you can figure out which one's my closet," I tell her. "Upstairs, first door on the right."

  Melody disappears while I put out some food for Killer, making sure he's satisfied before I join her upstairs. Less than ten minutes have passed, but half of my clothes are already scattered around the bedroom. She slips on a little black dress, one I've never had a reason to wear. "God, this thing is gorgeous. Who's the designer?"

  She glances at me like I'm supposed to have an answer to that. "Uh, that guy, you know... the one who did that thing that time. Him."

  She cracks a smile. "You're so full of shit."

  I am.

  "It looks great on you," I tell her. "You should wear it."

  She squeals, dashing for the closet again. "Got any shoes to go with this thing?"

  Five minutes later, she's standing in the bathroom, fixing her hair in the mirror and borrowing my little bit of makeup. I leave her to her primping and head back downstairs. Man, just watching her get ready makes me all frazzled. It's exhausting.

  "You're home early today."

  The unexpected voice startles me. Grabbing my chest, I take a step back, looking toward the front door. Naz stands in the foyer, hands in his pockets, newspaper tucked beneath his right arm. After all this time, how does he still sneak up on me?

  "Jesus, Naz, I didn't hear you come in."

  "I didn't think you did," he replies, his voice flat. "You seem to be quite busy."

  "I was just... I mean, we were... you know."

  I motion behind me, up the stairs. I don't know if that's enough for him to go on, for him to riddle out what I'm saying. But my nerves are suddenly completely shot, waves of nervousness running through my body, as I look at him. He's not moving, not at all. He stands there like he's standing guard.

  I wouldn't say he looks angry, because he doesn't, but something feels off.

  "Yes," he says. "I know."

  "Melody has a date tonight," I tell him, as if he actually cares, but if he's upset that she's here, maybe he'll understand if I explain why. He's always been weird about people being inside the house. "She needed something to wear, and well, she didn't have anything. I mean, she had stuff, but nothing, you know... to wear. So we came here, to see if I had anything, and I did, so she's wearing it, because, well, she didn't have anything."

  As I babble like an idiot, his expression shifts, his brow creasing. "Why are you nervous?"

  "I'm not."

  "You're lying."

  I sigh. I am.

  He breaks his stance, stepping toward me. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  "Another lie."

  "Ugh, okay," I say, waving his way. "You're just, you're being all you and it's throwing me off."

  "I'm being me," he says, "and it's throwing you off."

  "Yes! I didn't expect to see you here."

  "You didn't expect to see—"

  "Ugh, and there you go!" I say, cutting him off. "You're doing it!"

  "I'm doing it."

  "You're repeating everything I say."

  That stalls him for a moment.

  Yeah, he knows now how annoying that is.

  "I'm just trying to understand what's got you nervous," he says. "Other than me being me, whatever that means."

  "I don't know." Not a lie this time. "You're just standing there and it caught me off guard because you weren't here and then suddenly there you were."<
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  "Ah." He steps closer as his posture relaxes a bit. "I was just off getting the car detailed. I didn't expect you home until later. Thought you had classes."

  "I did," I say. "Or I do. I skipped them."

  After Math was English, but really, who needs that either? I already speak it pretty good.

  Or... well?

  I speak it well?

  Who knows?

  He steps even closer, pausing right in front of me. He nudges my chin with his hand, tilting my face up. "Skipping classes? How very delinquent of you, Jailbird."

  After kissing me, a simple peck on the lips, he steps back, snatching hold of the newspaper he's carrying, lightly tapping me with it as he walks away, heading for the den. I stand there for a moment before following, stopping in the doorway. I lean against the doorframe, watching him as he sits down at his desk and opens the newspaper in front of him. He skims through pages quickly, stopping somewhere in the middle, and stares down at it. I don't know if he's reading or what, but he's certainly transfixed by something he sees.

  Curiosity gets the best of me.

  Carefully, I stroll over to him, half expecting him to close the newspaper and throw it aside when I approach. That's what Old Naz would've done, anyway. Old Naz kept secrets. Old Naz sometimes shut me out. Instead, though, he simply pushes his chair back, putting a bit of room between him and the desk, as he looks away from it. His eyes turn to me, and he opens his arms, inviting me into his space.

  I don't know if I'll ever get used to the openness.

  I perch myself right on the arm of his office chair.

  My gaze goes straight to the newspaper.

  Fire Destroys Historic West Village Building

  Seven reported injured, two dead in the blaze.

  I'm not sure what I expected to see, but that certainly wasn't it. There's not much in the way of details, just that it happened the day before and the cause was still under investigation. I turn my head, glancing at Naz. He's staring at a fixed point on his bookshelf along the wall, that expression again on his face, the same one from the foyer.

  Not angry, no… more troubled.

  "You didn't?" I ask quietly. Okay, I shouldn't be asking at all, but I can't help it. This is bothering him. "I mean, did you…?"

  "No."

  "I didn't think so, but you know…"

  "But I wasn't home when it happened." It was when he'd left, telling me not to wait up because he had things do to. "I was somewhere else then."

  I turn back to the paper. If he says it, I believe him. "Did you know the people?"

  "Yes."

  "Were they friends of yours?"

  He lets out what sounds like a sharp bark of laughter, but there's no humor to it. "I wouldn't exactly say I have any friends, Karissa."

  "Then maybe you need to make some."

  I'm serious, but he laughs again, this time like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "I'm afraid my days of finding friends out on the playground are long over."

  "Well, what about the neighbors?" I ask. "This is a nice neighborhood. They look like they might be the dinner-party-on-the-weekend types. I could hang out with the Stepford wives while you, I don't know, go golfing or something."

  "Golfing."

  "Yeah, I bet you have a killer swing."

  He shakes his head. "With as many times as the police have visited this house, Karissa, I don't think that's going to work. I step one foot on their property and I guarantee they're already calling 911."

  "Well… then I'll go golfing with you."

  Raising his eyebrows, he glances at me. "You want to go golfing?"

  "No."

  "Me, either."

  Thank God.

  "We could always double with Melody and her new guy sometime."

  Naz reacts to that just as I expected he would the first time Melody suggested it. He stands up, laughing again, as he shuts his newspaper, balling it up and throwing it in the trashcan. "I've seen her taste in men, so I'll have to pass on befriending anybody she takes up with."

  "I don't know," I say. "This new one might be different."

  "Have you met him?"

  "Yes," I say, quickly correcting myself. "Well, not technically, but I've seen him."

  "You've seen him."

  "Yep."

  "Looks can be deceiving."

  "I know that," I say defensively. "I've just got a good feeling about this one."

  "Did you have a good feeling about me when we met?"

  "No." I hesitate. "I don't know, maybe? You were kind of intimidating, but I didn't have bad feelings about you, if that's what you mean."

  Naz strolls across the room, over to his bookshelf. His fingers graze the spines of a few books before he pulls one out. He turns back to me as he clutches hold of it, and I catch a glimpse at the cover. War & Peace. He pauses in front of me, tilting his head slightly as he studies my face. "This new guy, he's what? Nineteen? Twenty? Probably not even old enough to legally drink."

  "Probably."

  "And you think I'd have something in common with him?"

  His question is serious.

  He thinks I'm being ridiculous.

  Hell, maybe I am.

  But not for the reasons he thinks.

  "I'm only twenty, you know," I remind him. "My age didn't stop you from getting to know me."

  I think it's a goddamn good argument, personally, but I can tell he still thinks I'm just being ridiculous.

  "Karissa, baby, I love you. You know that. But do you honestly think, if I hadn't had other reasons, I would've even given you a second look?"

  I blanch. "Ouch."

  I stand up from the arm of the chair and attempt to walk away—because ouch—when he grabs my arm. "Don't act like that's anything more than it is. You're beautiful and wise beyond your years. But I'm pushing forty here, sweetheart. It wouldn't have even crossed my mind to pursue you. You're everything I'm not. Everything I'll probably never be. And just the simple fact that you honestly think it's possible for me to make friends in this city, after the things I've been involved in, proves what I'm saying."

  I almost do it, because part of me thinks he wants it. I almost bring up moving, the possibility of getting away from New York, like we've talked about before, when Melody shouts my name from somewhere near the foyer.

  Now's not the time for this conversation, I realize.

  "I'm in here," I yell back as Naz lets go of my arm. It only takes Melody a moment to appear, bounding into the doorway, her hair pinned up.

  "How do I look?" she asks, spinning, showing off the getup.

  "You're wearing the Moreau," Naz says.

  Melody looks down at herself as she stops. "The what?"

  "Moreau," he says. "He designed the dress."

  She looks at him with surprise. Hell, I do, too.

  "How do you know that?" I ask.

  He shrugs. "I know the guy. He owed me."

  "He owed you."

  Okay, now I'm doing the repeating thing, which Naz notices and narrows his eyes at me for. "Yes, he owed me, and that was his repayment."

  He motions toward the dress.

  "Oh shit," Melody says, swishing the bottom part of the dress. "Should I take it off?"

  "No," Naz and I say at the same time. I glance at him as he shrugs, continuing. "Karissa will never wear it, so you might as well. I just made sure he paid. That was all that mattered."

  Melody shoots him a questioning look but doesn't ask what making him pay means. We never broach the subject of what Naz does for a living. I'm pretty sure she's got most of it figured out, considering everything that happened last year. His name hit the newspaper when he killed Ray. Even though it had been done in self-defense, it didn't stop the reporters from speculating, dragging up every nitty-gritty detail they could get their hands on to insinuate he wasn't, exactly, the hero in the situation.

  She read the article. I know she did.

  The girl has probably never bought a newspaper in her lif
e, but she certainly knows how to use Google. She would've sought out information.

  "Thanks," Melody says, smiling. "I hope Leo likes it."

  Before I can tell her I'm sure he'll love it, Naz chimes in. "Leo?"

  "Makes you think of DiCaprio, doesn't it?" I ask.

  He shakes his head. "I thought of the lion."

  That gets Melody's attention. "You believe in astrology?"

  "No."

  Her expression falls. Melody's a horoscope-in-the-inbox kind of gal, the one who doesn't do shit when Mercury is in retrograde, whatever that means. She cheered herself up after Paul's disappearance by reminding herself that their signs weren't compatible, anyway, so it never would've worked.

  Naz and I?

  Total soul mates, she says.

  I thought it was all bullshit hocus-pocus until she said that.

  "I have some errands to run in the city," Naz says, tucking the book under his arm, his gaze flickering to me before settling on Melody. "Do you need a ride back home?"

  Melody shrugs. "Sure."

  "Do you, uh… do you want me to ride along?" I ask curiously.

  "Nonsense," Naz says, leaning over and kissing my cheek before heading for the door. "I won't be gone long."

  Melody grabs her things, waving goodbye. "Coffee in the morning?"

  "Sure."

  She jets toward the door behind Naz. I just stand there in the den, listening as they head outside.

  I don't think the two of them have ever been alone together before.

  And I trust them both, of course, but to be a fly on the wall of the car during that drive…

  It's only six miles from the house in Brooklyn to the dorms of NYU where Karissa used to live, but it takes more than a half hour to get there with traffic.

  Sometimes it's even an hour.

  I know, because I've clocked the drive numerous times.

  And traffic, at this hour, is on the heavy side, the Manhattan Bridge packed almost bumper to bumper. For the first time in as far back as I can remember, I actually turn on the radio.

  If there's noise to fill the silence, maybe Melody won't feel compelled to try to talk to me.

  It's a trick I learned from Karissa.

  I've transported plenty of people in this car, but other than Karissa, Melody's the first person to climb into it of her own free will. And I didn't necessarily want to invite her to, but I was heading that way and it would've been wrong of me not to offer.