Ari left the apartment and stepped into the dark. Wasting no time, she rushed to her car, passing several men sitting on the front steps of their homes. Her car wasn’t as close as she’d liked it to be, but the lot had been full when she’d arrived. After dark in the housing projects held a general danger, but a caseworker had a particular target on her head. No one liked people prying into their business and even though Ari’s main goal was to help, not everyone saw it that way.
Fall had come to Glory in full force, bringing a sharp chill to the air. Ari reached her car safely, only encountering a group of kids tossing a basketball. Their ball echoed against the pavement as they laughed and joked, but she just kept her head down, searching for her keys, ignoring the mounting panic in her chest. Her leather gloves made it hard to find the keys, but she fumbled them out of her pocket and they clattered to the ground beneath her car.
“Motherfudge,” she muttered, looking around before she ducked down to the ground. A car drove by, flashing its lights across the pavement, giving her the light she needed. Ari hurriedly plucked the keys off the ground and unlocked the car. Without wasting time, she jumped in, relocking the door. Taking a deep breath, she realized she wasn’t in danger, but what if she had been? What if she was in trouble? Would the mystery guy know? Would he know how to find her? Would he even care?
Her questions made his interference at the hardware store even more compelling. He knew her name, but had he been there for her or for the robbery?
Ari started the car and pulled away from the curb, confused and more curious than ever about the guy the media called the Vigilante.
***
When Ari arrived home, the house was quiet. Disappointed, she realized Oliver must’ve still been at work or out with Veronica. Or maybe both, she thought.
Standing in the middle of the living room, she turned on the TV. Cop show, cop show, dance show, cop show, show about some guy that shot up a movie theater, Desperate Housewives …
Via text, she’d learned Nick had plans with friends that night and he didn’t suggest she come along. It wasn’t that she wanted an invite, Ari just didn’t feel like being alone. Or thinking about her job, which wasn’t happening with the television options so far. Dropping the remote on the couch, she turned the television off and walked to the kitchen. Ari pulled a cold piece of pizza out of the refrigerator and took a bite.
Barf.
Tossing the pizza on the table, she went to her room. There, she stripped off her work clothes and opened her dresser drawer to look for her pajamas. How pathetic was it to go to bed at 9:00 p.m.? Her teenaged self would have mocked her. Dang. Her adult self wanted to mock her. With a slam, Ari shut the drawer and instead crossed the room to her closet. She unearthed a pair of leggings and an oversized black and gray striped shirt. Cut low in both the back and front, it revealed more than one of Ari’s tattoos. Before she could back out, she laced up the chunky-soled boots she liked to wear, and rummaged through her jewelry box for her favorite silver hoop earrings.
Satisfied, Ari grabbed the cold piece of pizza off the table before rushing out the door in an attempt to fight off another night of bad dreams and numbness.
***
Spontaneity could be rewarded, or in Ari’s case, a total letdown. She went back to the club, Glorious. She danced and drank and looked good, if she said so herself. But as she moved through the crowd, it became tragically clear Davis was nowhere in sight. Ari had an itch that needed to be scratched, and it radiated off of her like heat from the sun.
The other men in the club felt her energy, sidling up to her. More than one took the liberty of grinding up behind her. She shot those guys down with a dirty look while moving away. She only had interest in one guy. One connection, and he wasn’t anywhere in sight.
She’d retreated to the corner to drink a bottle of water when she heard the commotion over the music. Shouts and cheers brought her out of the dark to see what the excitement was about, to see if he’d appeared after all. One look proved it wasn’t Davis on the floor this time, but another guy, younger—African-American with tiny dreads crowning his head.
Ari looked around for Davis—maybe this wasn’t his crew. She turned to look behind her, over toward the bar and found herself face-to-face with his dark, watchful eyes. The white scarred slash through his eyebrow.
Reality crashed down.
What was she doing? She worked with him, and … the other time had been a mistake, but this? This was no mistake. Ari was trolling for him, which was just … wrong.
“Ari,” he said, but she’d made her decision.
She ran.
She bolted through the crowd, thick with spectators. They fought back, unaware that she just wanted to get away. They were hoping to get an eyeful of the tricks being performed on the stage. Regardless, Ari was determined to get away from him and this clusterfeck of a mistake she’d made, so she struggled through, squeezing and ducking between sweaty bodies. She’d go to Stanton tomorrow and tell him to remove Curtis from her caseload. Let someone else take the case and not embarrass herself any further.