Nightstruck - Jenna Black Page 0,35

were sweating and my pulse was thumping entirely because I was worried about what he would see when we passed the railing in question. Absolutely, definitely the only reason.

“Thanks so much,” I said in a rush of breath. “I feel like such a chicken asking, but—”

He made a short, dismissive sound. “You’re not a chicken. You’re just being practical. I saw on the news tonight that a woman was jumped in a parking lot not three blocks from here. I wouldn’t let my mom walk to the store alone at night right now.”

I suppressed a shiver. Dad had talked about the crime spree in very basic terms, and I hadn’t asked for details. I certainly hadn’t realized anything had happened that close to our home, though Dad had said it was happening all over the city. Maybe asking Luke to walk with me to the grocery store wasn’t such a bad idea after all. If I’d actually needed to go to the grocery store, that is.

“Thanks again,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. See you in a few.”

* * *

I bundled up and took one more look at the photos on my phone as I waited for Luke to arrive. Those photos remained stubbornly the same, the railing appearing identical both day and night. I might be going nuts, but it seemed I was at least consistently nuts.

I shoved the phone into my pocket when Luke knocked at the door. Bob barked loudly enough to rattle the windows, running to the door and preparing to rip the potential intruder’s throat out.

“Bob!” I shouted over the racket he was making. “At ease!”

When my dad gave that command, Bob would shut up practically midbark and politely move aside so that Dad could get the door. With me, the response time was considerably slower, and he stayed parked in front of the door, so I had to shove him out of the way.

“Sit,” I ordered him sternly.

He parked his butt down obediently, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. His tail thumped against the floor, and he wasn’t snarling, but his neck hair was still suspiciously fluffy looking.

“It’s just Luke,” I explained, as if I thought Bob would understand me. “You know Luke. The guy who gives you Milk-Bones?”

For whatever reason, Bob had never warmed to Luke, always watching him suspiciously whenever they were out in the courtyard together. Dad had Luke give Bob treats in an effort to foster good will, a tactic that met with mild success. Bob still didn’t seem to like Luke, but he tolerated him.

I checked through the peephole to make sure it really was Luke before I opened the door. He gave me a lopsided grin and held out his hand, showing me the Milk-Bone in his palm. “I came prepared with a peace offering for the man of the house,” he said.

I gave a little snort of laughter and opened the door wider. Luke might not be Bob’s favorite person, but a little bribery went a long way.

Bob’s tail thumped louder on the floor, his ears perking forward, his eyes fixed on the treat in Luke’s outstretched hand. A thin whine rose from his throat, and he leaned forward eagerly, but he waited for me to give him permission before he stood up and swept the Milk-Bone off of Luke’s palm.

“Good boy,” Luke said, giving Bob a quick scratch behind the ear. “We’re best friends now, right?”

Bob licked his chops, and I could almost hear him saying, Sure, we’re friends, as long as you give me another treat in the next five seconds.

Belatedly, I noticed that Luke was carrying an empty grocery bag. Because, duh, he thought we were going to the grocery store.

“I’ll be right back,” I told him, then darted to the kitchen to grab a bag. If Luke saw the railing and saw nothing but a fleur-de-lis, I would just have to go through with the grocery shopping charade and try to act natural.

I gave Bob a pat on the head on my way out, then locked up and tried to keep myself relatively calm. Which was a pretty tough challenge when Luke was around, even when I wasn’t fearing for my own sanity.

“Sorry about Bob,” I said, because I felt the need to say something and it was the only thing that came to mind.

“Don’t be,” Luke said as we started off toward the grocery store. “You don’t want a wuss for a watchdog. He’s just doing his job.”

There was