Audition - Skye Warren, Amelia Wilde Page 0,11

shelf ends up taken anyway. So Josh has no reason to object when I open the door to my apartment and cross the small hall to the bathroom, still fully dressed in coat and shoes.

I close the door behind me, staring blindly at the window that’s perpetually cracked open. Large enough for a body to fit through. Barely. I’ll make it work. After I pee, because I really do have to go. I try not to think about how long Josh will wait for me before he realizes I’m gone.

You’re coming even if I have to carry you out.

Joshua North isn’t a man who makes idle threats. I figured that out a long time ago. As tempting as it is to imagine that he represents safety, I know better. There’s no safety—not in the tiny Toulouse or the rebuilt New Orleans. Not in the whole world. There’s no safety, but I’m after something else. Redemption.

The chance to breathe without this terrible weight on my chest.

I change my clothes without much fanfare. My muscles have tightened up because I didn’t do my usual cooldown stretching routine, but there’s no time for that. Instead I reach up, high enough that my fingertips brush the popcorn-textured ceiling. That will have to be good enough. Next I crank the metal handle until the window’s as wide as it can get.

This is basic acrobatics. Pretend these are bars in a gym. This is part of a dance routine.

I hook my fingertips over the tile edge and pull. Then I’m pushing through the space the same way someone dives into water, arms first, holding my breath. The textured glass presses against my breasts. I wriggle against it harder and gain an inch. Then two. It’s easier through my waist, but my hips are the hard part. No amount of sucking in my breath will make them smaller. In the end there’s a heavy pain through my side. Enough that I’ll be bruised come tomorrow.

There’s a two-story drop onto the awning below. Another fifteen feet to the floor. You’re an acrobat. Be light and quick and strong. The voice sounds like my grandmother, with her smoker’s rasp and thick accent. I study the jumps. One wrong move and I break my arm. Or worse.

My heartbeat slows. My focus narrows. It’s the exact same thing that happens when I’m about to perform. It’s the same thing that happens when you see Joshua North. That one doesn’t sound like my grandmother. It sounds like me.

I leap from the window, and I know the angle’s right, I feel it from the moment my foot leaves the brick—until my messenger bag catches on the window’s ledge. I’m yanked back. Not light or quick or strong. My body lands hard against the building. Thud. Then I’m slipping and sliding down the awning. There’s the sound of a tear. Then I land hard on the ground. Not my most graceful maneuver, but not bad considering I’m holding an uneven weight.

Without pausing to see if anyone saw me, I set off briskly in the direction of the train. Once I make it on, I can go anywhere. Such as the stately brownstone where Marlena lives. The good news is that it isn’t listed under her name. Which means Josh won’t be able to find me there.

I only hope Scott Castle doesn’t read too much into my late night arrival.

A threesome is really not in the cards.

Josh, present time

I grew up in a town too small to appear on most maps. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone else’s business. Which means everyone knew that the North boys were wild animals. The single-wide that groaned every time a brisk wind ran through, the field thick with burs and trash—that was our forest. We ran and fought and grew like goddamn weeds. Didn’t matter that there was hardly ever food in the pantry. We turned big and strong anyway.

My brother left to join the army as soon as he could. I stuck around as long as legally required until I could do the same. When I took the entrance exam at the high school recruitment office, they put me into a special program. Officially the title on my pay stub says Information Analyst. I’m told there’s even a cubicle somewhere in an office building with my name on it. The more correct name for what I do is operative. I go to whatever country good old Uncle Sam wants me to go. I