Veil of Lies

To my beloved C and J: When you came into my life, I didn’t want you, didn’t know how much I needed you. But you persisted and worked your way into my heart, bringing joy and laughter and warmth. I’ve come to believe that you were sent for a purpose, enriching my life and making me a better person. You showed me light when life was dark, listened without judgement, forgave without malice and loved unconditionally. Our time together might be drawing to a close but you will live on in my heart forever.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to give a special shout-out to Elizabeth Orfanidis for her help with regards to the use of Québecois French within this book. It was through discussions with her that I gained a better understanding of the differences between the French spoken in France and Québec, especially with regards to cursing! I greatly appreciate the time she took to read the draft of the story and to provide suggestions on ways to make Armand’s character more authentic.

Also, I can’t neglect to mention my lovely Beta readers: Norma, Carmen, Suzi, Lorna, Kalia, Nydia, Melonie, Leila and Susan. They gave the story a ‘test drive’ to alleviate my doubts as to whether or not the story worked, and showed me a few plot points that needed tightening! Their input was invaluable.

Thank you, ladies!

Foreword

Many years ago, when I wrote The Keeping, Armand, the owner of the Broken Antler, appeared in my imagination. He was a simple secondary character, meant to round out the population of Stump River and perhaps provide a bit of humour. I had no plans to use him in another story and the fact he looked like a bear was not intended to mean he was a bear-shifter, or at least it wasn’t until the end of the book when Ryne revealed Armand’s true identity to me!

It was an interesting turn of events, but I tucked it away in the back of my mind, still not intending to include him in future stories. Oh, how naïve I was!

Readers, to my surprise, had become attached to him and upset with me (rather than the villain, Aldrich) for ruining his happy ending. The emails began to arrive, private messages were sent, comments were left on Facebook… I began to realize I had underestimated the impact of the character.

Still, I couldn’t write about him if I didn’t have a story in mind. I mulled over various ideas, but none seemed right and those that had potential required certain other events to occur first. Plus, there were characters who were very demanding about getting their stories told and jumped to the front of the figurative line. Armand, thankfully, was very patient and let me attend to the others, but he never quite stopped hinting he’d like his turn.

Well, finally his time has come, and Armand is getting his HEA. I hope you like it because it was a ‘bearish’ story to write, if you’ll pardon the pun! (It might be a while before Jan forgives me for all the rewrites that were required!)

P.S. This story takes place in a timeline parallel to For the Good of All and Deceit can be Deadly. Keep this in mind while reading!

A word of caution…

Or perhaps a plea?

There’s a certain character that you will meet in this story who might surprise you. I will call him/her ‘the character who must NOT be mentioned’. As a courtesy to other readers, please don’t spoil the surprise by using the name in reviews or posts on social media. Try to use general terms such as ‘he/she’ or ‘a certain person’.

Thank you!

Veil of Lies

Lycans, like all shifters who integrate into human society, must live their lives behind a veil of lies, never revealing their true identity to any but the most trustworthy of humans. Measuring that trust can be difficult and an Alpha must put aside all personal feelings when making a determination. An error in judgement can have catastrophic consequences both for shifters and humans alike.

Source: - Book of the Law

Prologue

Stump River, Ontario, Canada…

Armand St. John narrowed his eyes as he watched the scene unfolding. While a casual observer might well assume nothing was happening, he knew differently.

It was dusk, the solid shapes of trees and shrubs slowly blending with the growing shadows as his eyes struggled to adjust to the changing light. The conditions were perfect for a foe to strike and so he searched the treeline looking for an anomaly in the shape of a trunk, some hint that an individual was using it as cover. When nothing revealed itself, his gaze shifted lower to the tangle of grass and weeds; the height was sufficient to hide someone crawling on their belly. Not even the tip of a blade twitched yet still he watched and waited.

A minute ticked by and then another. While his partner’s breathing pattern showed signs of impatience, his own was calm and steady. Self-control was second nature, experience having taught him the reward at the end would be all the sweeter because of it.

Evening damp crept into the air, the musty smell of soil and decaying foliage teasing his nostrils. The wind stirred, the trees moved in response before stilling once again. Clouds drifted past the moon, fireflies flickering against the dark canopy replacing the now obscured stars.

Staid complacency settled over the scene. His eyelids lowered to half-mast, his muscles felt loose and then…then it happened.

A hint of movement near the perimeter, a shift in the depth of the shadows. It melted away only to reappear nearer the building.

They’re making their move. He mouthed the words to the man beside who nodded in understanding.

He didn’t bother to test the air for a scent. The identity of his quarry was already known to him; their strengths and weaknesses taken into consideration, the trap prepared accordingly. His foe had spent weeks studying and planning how to penetrate the target, but he and his partner had also been at work. Now it was down to a contest of cunning and skill.

The first barrier, a high fence around the property, had been breached with ease and the second, a set of laser beam triggers scattered throughout the forest, had also failed to foil their attempt. No doubt they were riding high on their success and that would be their downfall.

His companion nudged him, gesturing towards a window, half-hidden by a large shrub.

He nodded and, with a stealth born from years of practice, began to move.

The invaders were intent on their task, their actions revealed by the metallic glint of a knife, a soft sound as the alarm on the window was disengaged and the frame slid upwards.

They’re in! They shouldn’t have gotten this far. Disbelief laced his partner’s voice. I say we move now.

He stilled the man with a shake of his head. Wait.

Barely a second later, an alarm went off, the siren piercing the night as the lights in the house flashed on and a pair of strangled cries filled the air.

Dammit! I thought we were in!

Armand, turn this stupid thing off before we go deaf!

Chuckling, Armand rose from the crouched position he’d been maintaining some distance from the pack house. Beside him, Ryne did the same, nodding in approval.

That worked well. Ryne clapped him on the shoulder as they walked towards the house. All the months we spent pouring over possible systems and installation companies paid off. I was worried for a minute, before I remembered the secondary alarms on the window.

The research was a good way to pass the winter months.

He followed Ryne into the house where Bryan and Daniel were sulking over their failed break-in.

Good thing you sent everyone out of the house, Bryan shouted to be heard over the alarm.

Yeah, that noise would wake the dead, Daniel agreed, his hands cupped over his ears.

Armand disarmed the security system, the resulting silence greeted with sighs of relief before practicality took over. Bryan and Daniel helped themselves to the supposed ‘treasure’ they’d been seeking—a plate of brownies—while he and Ryne discussed how the control panel worked and examined the window.

A breeze drifted in through the opening, bringing with it a sweet flowery scent and he sneezed loudly. There was a lilac bush planted directly outside and he was allergic to the damned thing.

Maybe I should just plant flowering shrubs around the house. It would keep you out at least. Ryne laughed at his own joke and the others joined in.

Armand grumbled good-naturedly. His allergies were a source of amusement each spring and he knew his friend was trying to lighten his spirits given recent events. The loss of the woman he’d hoped to claim as his mate had sent him down a dark path from which he was only now emerging.

The locals had been good to him as he worked through his grief, invitations to dinner and requests for help felling trees or doing repairs had come pouring in as everyone sought to keep him busy. Even Ryne’s sudden desire for a security system was yet another example of the residents rallying around him. It made him uncomfortable to be the focus of such attention even though he knew it was well-intentioned. He was more used to giving aid than being on the receiving end.

Still, he was happy to spend his time with the local pack. After all, they’d been good friends to him since they’d moved to Stump River, the first shifters to do so since he’d settled in the town ages ago.

The wolves are like family, but we still do not have our mate, his bear murmured.

His smile faltered at the reminder before he pushed it to the back of his mind. Life wasn’t always going to be perfect and pining for what you couldn’t have was a fool’s game.

He cleared his throat. This was a good test but there are a few things I think you should ask the security company to change. Spotlights should go on outside the house if the laser beams are tripped and the volume of the alarm—

Is too loud. Ryne nodded. If it ever goes off by accident it will scare everyone half to death, especially Gracie.

Isn’t the point of an alarm to scare criminals away? Bryan asked between bites of brownie. It helps prevent property loss.

I’m sure they could arrange some kind of interface with the phones. We’d get a warning, but the intruders wouldn’t know. Daniel made the suggestion as he took the milk from the fridge. He was about to drink straight from the carton, but Ryne glared at him. With a sigh he went in search of a glass. Anyway, a silent alarm might allow us to catch them red-handed.

Ryne considered the point. What about a compromise? Alarms on the fence and the laser beam triggers...

A few hours later, Armand strolled down the road that led into town. After discussing possible upgrades to the security system and sharing a few drinks with his friends, he was heading home. Ryne had offered him a ride, however he preferred to walk, the night air clearing the alcohol from his head.

The breeze had faded, not a leaf moved. Moonlight illuminated the path he travelled, the gravel on the side of the road crunching under his feet. As he passed by the cemetery he paused as he always did, his eyes drawn to a well-maintained grave.

Lucy’s grave.

At its base, he could see the shadowy outline of the bouquet of wildflowers he’d placed there a few days ago. They were drooping, the brightness of their petals already dimming. Like the woman in the grave, their cheeriness had been destined to fade.

His heart ached at the harsh reality and, shoving his hands into his pockets, he stared at the cold slab of stone that was supposed to remind the world of Lucy’s existence. Her name, date of birth and death. Stark facts that conveyed nothing of her essence. What of her beauty and laughter? Her wisdom and kindness? Her generous heart?

Forgotten. Erased from the face of the earth by a criminal act. She’d been a lovely flower plucked in her prime. While her energy no doubt survived in some new form, it was a cruel twist of fate that she’d been taken so young.

As it often did, darkness filled him at such thoughts and he quickened his pace, wanting…no, needing to exorcise those feelings before they dragged him down into a pit too deep to escape.

He unlocked the back door of the bar and climbed the stairs to his private rooms. Passing the bedroom and small sitting area with its sturdy wooden furnishings, he entered his art studio, put a fresh canvas on his easel and grabbed his paints and brushes.

Dark blues, purples and black, hard-edged shapes that spoke of his grief and torment, bold strokes that spattered paint on his forearms and shirt. He vented his feelings through his brush, unaware of the passage of time, his whole being focused on the creation before him. There was no beauty in the piece, no hope or light, just rage and sorrow and darkness.

When he was done, he stood back weary yet at peace after the cathartic process. The painting now held his feelings, leaving his mind clear and his spirit calm.

As he cleaned his brushes, he studied the work. It was good, not that any of his friends or neighbours would realize it. He favoured the modern art movements of the early twentieth century, especially the style of Les Fauves or The Wild Beasts. Not only did the name appeal to his sense of humour, the style allowed him to express his personal experience of his subjects, his visceral response, without having to stay true to reality. The real world had many constraints but, in his art, he could be as free and impulsive as he wanted.

Long ago he’d made apologies for his painting, the activity not seeming to suit the burly bear that he was. Now he lived to please himself. He was who he was. There was enough deception in his life due to being a shifter, he wasn’t going to complicate matters by lying about what made him happy.

With a sigh, he dragged his hands through his hair, combing the wild curls back from his face and then rolling his shoulders. Too many memories filled his mind tonight and it would be dawn soon. He should go to bed, try to get a few hours’ rest. When the painting was dry, he’d find a place to hang it downstairs. The walls of his own rooms were reserved for more uplifting pieces; canvases covered in pure, bright colours and natural forms that spoke of nature, beauty and all that had been Lucy. It was his private collection, the emotion too personal to share.

A yawn cracked his jaw and he rubbed his eyes. Sleep. That was what he needed, energy to face the day and all that it might bring.

Our mate? His bear hinted.

No. Not Lucy. She was gone. But someday, maybe the right woman would walk through his door. Life was about moving on, or so he told himself.

Giving the painting one last look, he turned off the light and shut the door.

Chapter 1

Two years later in Chicago…

Here.

Thanks.

A small item was handed over, a twenty-dollar bill given in exchange and the two participants parted, lost in the shuffle of morning commuters swarming the sidewalks.

Hands shoved into his pockets, the courier headed on his way, not in the least interested in why he’d been hired to make the delivery or what it might have contained. Legal, illegal, it was all the same to him. It wasn’t like anyone’s fate rested on what he did, right? It was just a job. Pick up an item, deliver it, get a large tip to forget about it. Yep, easy money.

Later that day on the other side of the city…

The hands on the clock eased forward, settling on the twelve and the two, an event that brought a silent sigh of relief to the waitress who had been working since early morning. She arched her back and wiggled her toes in her shoes, thinking longingly of sitting with her feet up once she got home. Too bad it wasn’t going to happen for another three hours. When she’d agreed to fill in for a friend at the drop-in centre after work, she hadn’t anticipated being this tired. At least when she was done, she could relax. Her community college classes had finished—she’d taken summer session courses hoping to fast track through her program—and now had a few weeks of freedom before starting more in the fall.

I’m done for the day. She called out to the cook.

See you, tomorrow, Lou. Jeff the chef—not his real name but rather his stage name as he referred to it—replied to her from the kitchen. He was flipping a burger with one hand while lifting a basket of fries from a tub of hot oil with the other. Jeff was a small, wiry framed man with aspirations of being famous, maybe one of those fast-talking guys you saw on late-night TV selling speciality knives and kitchen gadgets. In the meantime, he was gaining ‘real life experience’ as he called it. The others often laughed but she figured everyone had to have some kind of dream to aspire to.

I won’t be in tomorrow. I have the day off.

Lucky you!

Yep! After waving to Jeff, she took her purse from a hook in the employee closet and dropped her tips into it.

Gin, one of the other waitresses, exited the small utility room just a few feet away and began to take off her apron. Another day in the hellhole done.

Hey, this place is a regular palace compared to some of the dives I’ve worked in! Jeff called out.

She had to agree. The diner wasn’t exactly fancy, but it wasn’t that bad. Mostly it was worn, like an old sweatshirt or a favourite chair that really should be thrown out except it was comfortable and familiar, so you kept putting off replacing it.

Gin didn’t appear to agree with Jeff’s opinion, her expression dour as she tapped her foot, waiting for her turn to access the small closet.

I’ll be out of your way in a second, Gin. Giving the closet a last scan, she snagged her box of tampons off the shelf. No point leaving them there for the month. She tucked the box into her purse and tossed a general ‘goodbye’ to the others before heading towards the door.

Just before exiting, she paused to take out her bus pass, idly noting the words fuck-off had been scratched on the glass door. The vandalism wasn’t surprising; the King’s Plate was a promising name for a restaurant but did little to promote truth in advertising. Located on an obscure street on the wrong side of an urban renewal zone, it was a typical tired, greasy spoon, its one claim to fame—if it could be called that—was being next door to a bowling alley, so the clatter of plates and pans was often drowned out by the rumble of bowling balls or tinny music if it was a ‘rock and bowl’ event.

What are you looking at? Andrew, one of the regulars was waiting to enter.

Someone left a comment. She nodded towards the epitaph.

His brows beetled together. A nice girl like you shouldn’t have to see profanity like that.

I’ve heard and seen worse at the drop-in centre. She patted his arm. You know that. Andrew stopped by the centre from time to time, mostly looking for company and a free cup of coffee rather than the counselling that was offered.

It’s still not right. He shook his head again. He was typical of the diner’s clientele. Rough around the edges with a heart of gold.

Maybe they didn’t like the chilli, she suggested while adjusting her purse over her shoulder.

He laughed and held the door open for her. I’ll keep that in mind.

As she stepped into the sunshine, her first thought was that it was even hotter outside than inside. She untucked the shirt of her uniform in the hopes a bit of a breeze might waft under the hem and cool her skin. The old air conditioner mounted in the diner’s window was wheezing as it tried to combat the summer heatwave. Water dripped constantly from the corner of the machine and trailed across the sidewalk creating a muddy streak before disappearing over the curb and combining with the dirt and debris in the gutter.

Got plans for the evening? Kathy, one of the other waitresses, appeared beside her, looking around as if expecting someone.

Nope. I’m doing a shift at the drop-in centre until five then picking up some groceries and heading home. I have tomorrow off, and I don’t even plan to leave the apartment.

The woman nodded. Sounds nice and relaxing. Me, I’ll be wrangling the kids.

As Kathy turned to leave, the edges of their purses somehow caught. Both bags landed on the ground beside each other and the two women bent simultaneously to pick them up. Like a slapstick routine, their heads banged together.

Ouch!

Ow!

Rubbing her head, Lou grabbed her own purse, thankful it hadn’t spilled its contents on the sidewalk.

Kathy muttered an uncharacteristic curse while retrieving her own.

Sorry. Lou apologized. You okay?

Yeah. Kathy opened her mouth as if to say something and then hesitated. Umm…

She looked at her expectantly but the bus was approaching. Sorry, I have to run. I don’t want to be late for my shift at the centre. Talk to you later!

Hold the bus! Gin hurried out of the diner. She arrived just in time and slid into a seat across the aisle. Beyond a tired sigh, she made no attempt to start a conversation.

Lou placed her purse on her lap and tried to zip it shut. After the close call on the sidewalk she didn’t relish the idea of another accident which could very well result in her possessions rolling about under the bus seats while she crawled around trying to retrieve them. She gave the zipper an extra firm tug and the lid of the tampon box caught in it. Muttering under her breath, she freed it then tucked the cardboard flap into the little slot that locked it shut. Once again, she tried to close her purse.

That’s never going to zip up with that box in it, Gin observed. Here, I have a shopping bag with me. Use it.

Thanks. She accepted the offering and dropped the box into the bag, then closed her purse securely. Finally feeling organized, she sat back to look out the window.

A digital sign caught her attention. It revealed the temperature was in the high nineties and she wished she hadn’t looked. Knowing the number seemed to make the heat even worse. If past experience was anything to go by, her short shift at the crisis centre would be busy. Rising temperatures seemed to correlate to escalating tempers and bigger problems; the reception area at the centre would likely be full.

I hate summer, Gin grumbled.

Taking the remark as an invitation to talk, she responded and they discussed the weather. It wasn’t a scintillating conversation, however, considering it was with Gin that wasn’t surprising.

The bus approached her stop and she stood up, purse strap slung over her shoulder.

Don’t forget your stuff. Gin jerked her chin towards the shopping bag that sat on the seat.

Thanks. She should have just left the darned things at work!

Once at the centre, she stowed her items under the reception desk and started her shift. Clients came and went, some for counselling while others used the pool table or cooled off in front of the large fans that were strategically positioned around the building.

Hey, Lou! Neil, one of the counsellors, gave her a wave. He was a nice guy and had shown an interest in her, but getting involved with someone wasn’t part of her plan. She had her eyes set on earning a degree and in the meantime worked at the diner to pay the bills and helped at the centre to gain experience.

While she wasn’t allowed to counsel the clients at the centre, she helped with filing and fielding non-emergency phone calls, made sure the pamphlet racks were filled, sorted mail and offered a friendly smile to those who were waiting in the reception area. All the while she was watching and listening to the professionals. It was knowledge that might help her in her own career one day.

Hi Neil. Looks like a full house today.

Yep. He handed her a file and lingered to talk for a few minutes before heading back to his office for his next appointment.

If she were looking for someone, Neil would be the kind she’d choose. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance, but he was calm and steady and seemed the sort who would stick around for the long run. In her experience, most men were about as reliable as an ice cube in the desert. If you found a good one you had to hang on to him with both hands or he’d melt away.

One hour passed and then another until it was closing time. She and Neil checked no one was left inside and locked the door.

Can I give you a ride home? Neil paused at the bottom of the steps. The car’s air-conditioned.

She nudged her glasses up on her nose, sweat already dewing her skin even though they’d only been outside a minute. Tempting, but no. I have to get groceries on the way home.

He nodded, his shoulders slumping. Then I’ll see you in a couple of days.

Right. She gave him a polite yet distracted smile, not wanting to encourage him. Here comes my bus. Bye.

He watched until she was inside and seated, then gave her a wave through the window. She nodded and sank down in her seat wishing he hadn’t.

It was awkward, constantly rebuffing his attempts to start something between them.

It wouldn’t have been a problem years ago, her old self reminded her. We would have accepted anyone who’d shown an interest.

And look where it got us, she countered. Nowhere.

Folding her arms, she firmly ignored the voice in her head. Chicago hadn’t always been her home, but she was making a new life for herself here. She had goals and she was sticking to them. The mistakes of the past—expecting to find the perfect man to complete her life and make her happy—wouldn’t be repeated.

As the bus wound its way through the streets, she mentally reviewed her shopping list and, at the stop for her local grocery store, jumped off the bus to join the throngs on the sidewalk, all of whom looked equally hot and tired now that their workday was over. When she reached the store, she lingered inside longer than necessary, enjoying the cool air until one of the clerks began to look at her suspiciously.

He glanced at a sign on the wall. No loitering.

She gave him a broad smile. Just getting my second wind before heading back out.

Yeah, well do that somewhere else. We’re running a business here, not a cooling station.

Part of her wondered if he would have been so rude if she’d looked like she used to. Glasses and mousy brown hair didn’t gain her special favours the way blond hair and tight clothing had. Not that she was complaining; her current appearance was better suited to her goals.

She smiled sweetly at the clerk. And you have a lovely day, too.

Not surprisingly, he took no notice of her comment.

Back home, people lingered in the stores chatting with the owners or other customers, her old self said, but not here.

She had to agree. Everyone was always in a rush to get somewhere, not quite meeting each other’s gaze. She’d found it odd at first, still did if the truth be told. Not everyone was like that, just enough that it could get discouraging.

The groceries paid for, she stuffed them in the shopping bag Gin had given her and started the walk to her apartment.

Her old self made disparaging comments as the heat reflecting off the concrete made it seem hotter than it already was. Back home, the streets are lined with trees, their leaves rustling gently and casting shade onto the sidewalk.

Giving her head a shake, she halted her journey down memory lane. This was home now. No point in moaning about what you no longer had. Instead, she focused on getting to her apartment, taking a shower, cool clothing, a fan pointing straight at her…

She twitched her shoulders as she paused at an intersection waiting for the light to change, a sense of discomfort coming over her as if someone was studying her. Looking around, she didn’t see who it might be. No one appeared to be paying attention to her. Maybe it was the heat getting to her. Sweat dripping down your spine was enough to make anyone twitchy.

The light changed colour and she crossed the road, walked one more block, then turned the corner. A bunch of young men were gathered near a car, looking under the hood, laughing and jostling each other. They barely glanced her way.

Just a few years ago, she would have put an extra sashay in her walk to draw their attention instead of ducking her head as she did now. Funny how life changed a person.

Her building came into view and she quickened her pace, the image of a cold glass of water acting like the proverbial carrot. When a blur of movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention, she instinctively turned her head towards it, half-stepping aside in expectation of a skateboarder or a cyclist zipping down the sidewalk. Instead something…or someone…rammed into her shoulder.

With a cry of surprise, she stumbled, her arm tightening on her bag of groceries, the other shooting out to offset her shifting centre of gravity. What the…?

Two words were all she managed before the momentum had her crashing into a brick wall. Her glasses went flying, her teeth clicked together. Sickening pain exploded in her head while the bag of groceries slid from her now limp arm and the skin was abraded from her cheek by the rough surface of the wall.

A kaleidoscope of self-defence pointers from a class she’d taken swirled through her head. Before she could even grasp onto one of them, someone snatched her purse.

Some say your life is worth more than your luggage. Too bad her reflexes hadn’t remembered that. As the strap slipped down her arm, she automatically tightened her grip, jerking it back towards her.

Give it to me! The mugger yanked harder on the purse.

Kicking sideways at her attacker, she tried to use her elbow as a weapon but somehow her finger became caught in the strap, her nail ripped back and she cried out, instinctively pulling away. It was enough to change the balance of power.

Her assailant gained possession of the purse and fled down an alley.

She took a staggering step after him then stopped. It was pointless. He’d moved incredibly fast and super-human speed hadn’t been covered in her class. Maybe she should ask for a refund. The small huff of laughter that accompanied the thought threatened to dissolve into tears and she blinked hard, pressing her trembling lips together.

Falling apart isn’t an option, the voice inside reminded her.

Right. It was a fact she’d learned young in life. When things went wrong, you pulled yourself together and carried on, trying to find a hint of a rainbow amongst the rain. She wasn’t injured—at least not much—and now she had an excuse to buy a new purse. Yeah, that was a cause for celebration. Sort of.

She leaned against the wall, cradling her hand to her body and trying to steady her nerves.

Hey lady! You okay? The sound of pounding feet accompanied the shouted words and then she was surrounded by the young men she’d seen moments before.

My purse… Still stunned, she mumbled the words.

Where’d he go? One of them asked.

She nodded towards the alley and a few of the men took off running in search of the mugger.

Are you hurt? Those who remained behind hovered around her not seeming to know what to do, some shifting their attention from staring at her to picking up her groceries.

She reached up to check her head. No blood. Her finger throbbed where her nail had ripped and her cheek and arm hurt, but it could have been worse.

I’m fine. Thanks. Just a bit shaken. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled while trying to believe her own words. Do you see my glasses?

Someone found them and handed them to her. At least they weren’t broken. Another bonus.

Sliding the glasses on helped, and the world coming back into focus gave her a sense of control. She took another deep breath and watched her groceries being stuffed back into the shopping bag. The carton of milk must have survived; there was no puddle on the pavement though the bread looked lop-sided from its rough treatment and tampon box no longer sported sharp ninety-degree corners.

Maybe we should call the cops?

No! Her reply was sharper than intended yet no one made a comment. In fact, they seemed relieved which had her wondering if they’d been hot-wiring the car rather than fixing it. Or maybe they just didn’t want to waste time being interviewed by the police.

This yours? One of those who had chased the mugger reappeared holding her purse.

Yes, it is! Thank you. She reached for it, hope momentarily surging. Getting her things back was better than a new purse any day.

We found it tossed in a corner. He probably took your money then dumped it.

Right. She did a quick search of the contents. Her phone was still there. Her tips were gone though, and so were her wallet and ID.

Can we walk you home or call someone?

Wetting her lips, she tried to control the panic that was filling her at the thought of her missing ID. I…I live over there. She gestured towards her building. I’ll be fine. Thanks for the offer. Forcing her lips to curve upward, she looked at her rescuers. I really appreciate your help. It’s good to know there are heroes in the neighbourhood.

Hey, no problem. They puffed up at her choice of words, no doubt pleased with themselves. If we’d noticed what was going down, we would have got here sooner. The bastard wouldn’t have stood a chance against us.

I’m sure. She smiled again, accepting the bag of groceries that was handed to her, hugging it and her purse to her chest. I’m going to head home now. Thanks again.

Not wanting anyone to see how truly shaken she was, she walked away with her head up and her pace steady. When she reached the entrance of her building, she glanced back. The young men were still standing at the sight of the mugging, talking and high-fiving each other. The tale would grow to epic proportions before the night was over. At least her name wouldn’t be part of it. Anonymity was one of the bonuses of living in a big city.

She entered the building, only relaxing when the door shut behind her and she was safely ensconced in the familiarity of the foyer.

When she’d first come to the city, she’d envisioned living in some swanky high-rise, maybe even meeting a rich executive like you’d read about in a book. Now she was happy to be in her old walk-up with no air conditioning. It had been a nice enough place in its day but, like the rest of the neighbourhood, it was showing its age. In a few years, it would probably be turned into upscale condos but for the time being it was shabby yet affordable, the latter being the important consideration.

Before heading upstairs, she took one last look outside, scanning the street. Not that a mugger would stay in the area, she assured herself. He’d be off spending her tip money or trying to use her credit card. She’d need to cancel it and her debit card, too. And replace her ID. Damn!

She began the climb to her apartment. The stairs were good for her butt, or so she told herself each time she made the trek up the numerous flights. Unfortunately, it was also hotter, the warmth from the other units rising to hers while the sun beat down on the flat roof, turning her place into an oven. It had been hard enough to find an apartment within her budget and close to work, amenities like A/C were out of her reach.

By the time she was at her door, sweat had her glasses sliding down her nose and the tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail sticking to her cheeks. She fumbled with the key, trying to fit it into the lock and had just succeeded when the door suddenly swung open.

Hey there, Lulu. Perfect timing. Roxi, her roommate, grinned at her not seeming to notice her reaction. Instead, she reached for the bag of groceries and emptied the contents on the entryway table. You remembered the bread. Yay! I’m starved.

Yes, I remembered. She pushed the door shut and locked it then gave the handle an extra tug just to be sure.

How was your day? Roxi didn’t wait for an answer and continued talking as she made her way to the kitchen. Mine was miserable. She frowned at the misshapen loaf. What happened to this?

I...er…dropped it. What made your day miserable? She didn’t want to talk about her own experience yet, needing time to absorb the comfort and safety of being home behind a locked door. On autopilot, she picked up the milk and cheese from where Roxi had dumped them; the girl really was a slob.

I had a go-around with my mother again. Roxi was smearing peanut butter on a slice of bread, her shiny black hair pulled back in a high ponytail that bobbed with each movement.

Roxanne Dominique Accardo was perpetually hungry yet never seemed to gain an ounce, her figure model-thin whereas Lou’s tended to be more rounded. It wasn’t a fact that bothered her too much; the world needed a variety of shapes to keep things interesting, right?

I should have known better than to call her. Roxi spoke around a mouthful of food.

Is she upset because she hates your new boyfriend, Joe, or whatever his name is?

No. I dumped him last night. Good riddance, too. He was a douche. Make that an asshole and a douche!

Oh. She side-stepped around Roxi to put the groceries away, then took an apple