Made to Be Broken by Kelley Armstrong Read Free Book Online Page B

highway.
    I knocked, counted to five, and knocked again. The first would wake him. The second would confirm he really had heard a knock. I listened, heard nothing, but didn't knock again. He'd be up. Sitting on the edge of the bed now, listening as he pulled out his gun. Then making his way across the room as silently as he could with his injured foot. A peek through the curtain crack. A whispered curse when he couldn't see who was at the door. Circling around to the other side of that door, so he could watch the window at the same time. Reaching for the dead-bolt ...
    "It's me, Jack."
    A muffled "Fuck" from exactly where I'd pictured him. The chain rattled, but when the door opened, it stopped short, the anchor still in place. The aura of calm I'd spent four hours gathering slipped away.
    "Na – Dee."
    I could only see a sliver illuminated by the porch light through the door crack. One dark eye. A slice of stubbled cheek. A bare chest. I pulled my gaze back up to the eye.
    Jack leaned against the door frame, his gun clacking as it brushed the wall.
    "What's up?" he said.
    "Not much. I was just driving by and thought I'd stop in, say hi..." I lowered my voice. "What the hell do you think I'm doing here, Jack? Who else knows where you are?"
    "Evelyn. Fuck."
    He shifted, his hand splaying over the crack, moving not to open the door but to block that gap.
    "Look," I said. "If you've got someone in there, just come outside – "
    "Someone – ? Fuck, no."
    "Then open the damned door. I just drove four hours because Evelyn called me last night, freaking out, and I'm not going to stand on the sidewalk whispering."
    "Hold on." He undid the chain, opened the door another six inches, but only moved into the gap. "Diner down the road. We'll grab coffee. Talk. Meet me in ten min – "
    I slammed my palm against the door hard enough to startle him into letting go.
    "I don't want coffee, Jack," I said and pushed my way past him.
    I stared at the room, fighting the urge to flinch as my gaze tripped from the pizza box to the tossed beer cans to the piles of newspapers to the overflowing ashtrays. My shoulders tightened. I tried to ignore the mess, but it was like spiders creeping up my spine, making my skin itch, stopping only when I scooped up the nearest pile of papers.
    "Don't – " Jack began.
    "I see housekeeping wasn't included in the rent." I tried to laugh, but it came out tight. I grabbed another stack of newspapers.
    "Leave it." The thump of his cast on the floor. A hand gripped my elbow. "Nadia."
    "I've got it."
    "That's why I said 'wait,' " he muttered. "Just – "
    "I've got it. Go get dressed so we can talk."
    A grumbling sigh, underlain with another oath. Then the thump of his retreat. I snuck a glance over my shoulder. It didn't look like he was wearing a walking cast, but that wasn't stopping him. A single crutch rested against the door, as if he only used it for going out. From the looks of this room, he hadn't been doing much of that.
    The place wasn't dirty, just untidy. Not like Jack. Still, it wasn't as if there was a crate of empty whiskey bottles. Alcoholic binges required relinquishing control, and Jack couldn't abide that.
    He dealt with stress another way, and evidence of it rested in every overflowing ashtray. Jack had almost quit, but got stuck at one cigarette a day. The only time he smoked more than one was when something was bothering him. As an ex-smoker myself, I know that urge all too well.
    Dumping the ashtrays, I noticed they were all American brands. Jack smoked a very specific brand – Irish, hard to find. He only resorted to American cigarettes when the need outweighed his distaste.
    I stacked a couple of crossword puzzle books, and couldn't resist thumbing through them. Most were done. Surprising. I'd never known Jack to do crosswords. But then, I'd never known him to do anything that qualified as recreational.
    A noise from the bathroom. I looked up to see Jack in the doorway, surveying the room,