No Good Deed - Marie Sexton Page 0,28

an ice pack to keep the swelling down.

“Jeremy’s the boyfriend?” he asked, perching on his stool.

“He’s a real piece of shit.” Warren tested his stitched brow with his fingers, and Charlie resisted the urge to tell him to stop. Warren was familiar enough with these types of injuries. He swore quietly and put the ice pack back in place. “That’s the other reason I came over. I wanted to warn you. That guy’s trouble, man.”

“I can handle it.”

“He had a gun, Charlie.”

Charlie felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. Warren had faced somebody with a gun all because of Charlie. “Jesus, Warren, I had no idea. I never would have told her to call you—”

“Not your fault she was shacked up with a violent loser. Not your fault she called in the middle of a fight. Not your fault I went busting my way in there unarmed like a fucking idiot.” He shook his head. “If I’d known what I was headed into, I would have called Gray for backup, but I made the mistake of assuming he was just another harmless addict. He got in a couple of good punches before I knocked him down. She’d locked herself in the bathroom and was afraid to come out, even with me there. I told her to climb out the window. But when I turned around to leave, he had a gun in my face.”

“Christ, Warren.”

“Not like it’s the first time a pissed-off husband has pulled one on me, but it’s the first time since Taylor.”

Charlie didn’t have to ask what that meant. Warren had been borderline self-destructive before meeting Taylor. Half the reason he’d engaged in such risky activities was because he felt he had nothing to live for. But he did now. He had a husband at home, fretting over him, counting on him to come back safe.

Warren lowered the ice pack to meet Charlie’s gaze. “You remember that talk we had? About getting out?”

Charlie nodded. It had been the previous spring. Charlie had been sitting watch in his car outside Warren’s house, making sure he didn’t try to chase down Sugar’s killer. Warren had brought him a cup of tea, and they’d talked about whether Warren would give up some of his dangerous jobs and become a boring old electrician instead. “I remember. You thinking it’s time to give it all up?”

“I go back and forth. I hate the thought of these girls having no way out. I think about my mom. If she’d only had somebody she could call…”

“Would she have made the call, though?”

Warren dismissed the question with a wave of his beefy hand. “No. But these girls do. And I’ve liked being the guy who helped them.”

“But at some point, you have to wonder when enough is enough.”

Warren nodded. He set the ice pack aside and crossed the room to assess the damage in the mirror over the sink. “I feel obligated to help, but I don’t relish the idea of taking a bullet for one of them.”

Charlie nodded. He’d faced similar issues himself, over the years. It was a miracle nobody had ever pulled a gun on him. At least, not with the intention of actually using it. His house had been burglarized multiple times, but always when he was gone, and not for several years. He’d had a couple of gang members point one at him years earlier, until he convinced them he wouldn’t call the cops. But they’d been there asking for help, brandishing a handgun because they assumed it was the only way to get treatment. More recently, a gang member had told him he was protected—nobody in the gang world would fuck with him—but that wouldn’t stop a guy like Jeremy, who cared about nothing but his next fix.

“He’s trouble, man,” Warren said. “If he shows up, don’t let him in. Don’t try reasoning with him. Just call the cops and hide until he’s gone.”

“I will.”

But Charlie never called the cops. That was one of the unwritten pacts he’d made with his neighbors. Once upon a time, he might have called Gray. Gray could come over and act like a cop without making anything official, but that was no longer an option.

What would he do if Jeremy came to the door?

Charlie hoped it didn’t come to that.

Chapter 10

The day arrived for Jonas to endure six solid hours of physical and psychological testing to determine whether or not he was a suitable donor. Jonas could have driven