Touch (Denazen #1)(3)

“Some punk came barreling through a few minutes ago.” I stomped my sock-clad foot. Mud sloshed through the material and oozed between my toes. Ick! “Stole my damn shoes!”

“Which way did he go?”

Was he serious? I was about to make a joke about not being allowed to talk to strangers, but the look on his face made me think twice. Mr. Mime didn’t seem like he was rocking a sense of humor. I threw my hands up in surrender and pointed in the direction opposite the one I planned on going.

Without another word, the men split into two groups. Half of them heading the way I’d directed, the other half taking off opposite. Huh. Guess they didn’t trust a semi-drunk chick with a nose ring and no shoes.

I waited till they were out of sight before making my way over to where the boy crouched, still hidden behind the brush. “They’re gone. I think it’s safe to come out and play now.”

He held my gaze and maneuvered out of the hiding spot. When he made no move to remove my sneakers, I nodded to his feet. “Planning to give my kicks back anytime soon?”

He shook his head and folded his arms. “I can’t give them back to you.”

“Why the hell not? Because seriously, dude, red is not your color.”

He looked at the ground for a moment, then let his gaze wander over the path he’d traveled earlier. “I’m hungry.” He was staring again. “Do you have any food?”

He gets my shoes then asks for food? The guy had some serious nerve.

The gash on his head still oozed a little and the faint bluish-purple of a bruise was beginning to surface across his left cheek, but it was the haunted look in his eyes that stood out above everything else like a flashing neon sign. He kept flicking his fingers, one at a time. Pointer, middle, ring, and pinky—over and over.

An owl hooted and I remembered the time. Dad would be home soon. This might work to my advantage. I knew bringing the guy home would royally piss him off. He’d have puppies if he found a stranger in the house. Hell, he might even have a llama.

But while the thought of pushing Dad closer to the edge gave me warm tingles, it wasn’t my only motivation. I kind of wanted a little more time with the guy. Those arms… Those eyes. We were all alone out in the middle of the woods. If he’d wanted to go serial killer on me, he would have made a move by now. I didn’t believe he was dangerous. “My house isn’t far from here—Dad went to the grocery store the other day. Lots of junk food if that’s your thing.”

The look in his eyes made me think he didn’t trust me—which I didn’t get. I’d given him my shoes for crap’s sake. “I don’t know who your friends were, but they might double back. You’ll be safe at my place for a while. Maybe they’ll give up.”

He looked downstream and shook his head. “They are not the type of men who give up.”





2


It was a straight path through the woods and across to Kinder Street. The small cul-de-sac bordered the Parkview Nature Preserve and was home to five houses, all painfully similar except for their color. As we walked, I tried to get the guy to talk a few times, but all I got were simple, one-word answers that told me jack-shit. Eventually, I gave up and settled on counting the heavy fall of my shoes—still on his feet—as they clomped against the earth.

By the time the house came into view, I was dying of curiosity.

“So, ready to fill me in yet? Who were those guys in the fruity leotards?” I fought with the front door lock. Damn thing always stuck. “Did you piss off a herd of male ballet dancers?”

Silence.

The door finally gave way and I stepped aside, waving him in. He didn’t move. “Well?”

“You first.”

Alrighty then. Someone had a serious case of paranoia. I stepped in and waited. It took a few moments, but finally, he crossed the threshold.

“Can you at least tell me your name?”

He wandered the room, running his fingertips along the edge of the couch and over some of Mom’s old knickknacks. “Sue calls me Kale,” he mumbled after a minute of hesitation. He picked up a small crystal horse, held it to his ear, then shook it several times before setting it back down and continuing on.

“Kale what?”

The question halted his inspection and earned me a funny look. In his hand was the tile ashtray Mom made at an arts and crafts fair the week before I was born. It was cheesy and cheap looking, but I was still afraid he might drop it.

“As in your last name?”

“I don’t need one,” he said, and returned to his surveillance. It was like he was searching for something. Picking apart each item in the room as if it might contain the clues to a mass murder—or maybe he was looking for a breath mint.

“How very Hollywood of you.” I hefted the laundry basket off the floor, set it on the couch, and rummaged through it till I found a pair of Dad’s sweatpants and an old T-shirt. “Here. The bathroom is upstairs—second door on the right. There should be clean towels in the closet on the first shelf if you want a shower. Take your time.” Please take your time.

This would be the perfect payback for the ass-chewing Dad gave me for sneaking out last week. That, and it didn’t hurt that Kale was a total hottie.

He made no move to take the clothes from me.

“Look, no worries, all right? Dad isn’t due home for awhile and you’re covered in mud and gunk.” I set the clothes down on the seat in front of him and took a step back to grab a pair of my jeans from the basket.