Part 15 (1/2)
ANNE FRANK.
The angry fist banging on Rae's front door matched the accelerated rhythm of her heart. Trou-ble. Trou-ble. Trou-ble.
She took a deep breath, then shook her mahogany curtain of hair, filling the air with the scent of musk, quickly bolstering her confidence. After all, she was used to men knocking at her door, wasn't she? Lawmen, firemen, councilmen, chiefs. A throaty laugh slipped out as she turned the latch then opened the door only far enough to slide out one silk-stockinged leg.
”How can I help you, Officers?”
The four plain-clothes cops looked nonplussed for a heartbeat before the one in front a.s.sumed a practiced sneer. ”Two men ducked in your doorway. Where are they now?”
”Two men?” She forced her voice to remain steady. ”Perhaps you mean my brothers, who stopped by earlier today. Surely they haven't broken the law?”
”No games, Rae. We have everything we need to haul you downtown. Do I make my point?”
She shrugged and swallowed a smile. His Sergeant Friday growl was a lousy imitation. ”You win. Yes, two men were here earlier.”
”Uh-huh.” He tightened his tie, obviously proud of himself for getting a confession out of her, not realizing it was all she planned to give him. A bone thrown to a snarling dog. He ran an appraising eye over her, taking much too long about it. ”Did they tell you why they've come to San Francisco?”
She shook her head, swinging her dark hair around her face. ”Not a word. They got out p.r.o.nto when they...ah...uncovered my...line of business.”
His leer was predatory. ”Scared them away, did you?”
”Something like that.” She glanced at her watch, then up Kearny Street toward Vallejo. ”Look, I'm expecting someone, okay?”
His eyes became slits. ”My guess is, a woman like you is always expecting someone.”
A woman like you. How many times had she heard that in her lifetime? She wanted to tell him she was different now, that inside her something had clicked, something good for a change. Something like hope.
But he'd never believe her.
No one would.
Except maybe the two strangers she'd sent scurrying up to her roof mere minutes earlier.
”Which direction did they head?” The cop was persistent, she'd give him credit for that. ”South, toward Broadway?”
She fought a growing smile. No. North, toward heaven! Biting her lips into a narrow red line, she shook her head. ”Wish I could help you. The sooner you start looking the better, don't you think?”
He backed down her weed-infested sidewalk, his buddies following in silence, his eyes boring into hers as if searching for the truth.
The truth? Hadn't she been looking for that most of her life? She eased the door shut, then collapsed against it, tasting her lies like sour candy in her mouth.
Forgive me, Lord.
She straightened suddenly, her heart in her throat. What was she doing, talking to G.o.d as if he had time for the prayers of a prost.i.tute? She knew better. Surely the pair upstairs would agree.
They'd come knocking on her door. Desperate men, but clearly not dangerous, with their conservative clothes and earnest faces and talk of being on a holy mission of some sort.
Despite her misgivings, she couldn't bring herself to turn them away, not after they'd introduced themselves the minute their eyes met.
”I'm Stan, this is John,” the taller one had offered between gulps of air. ”Praise G.o.d you answered the door, miss.”
Miss? She'd pinched off a smile. ”The name's Rae. Keep talking.”
The one called John had stammered, ”We...we're from Caltech.” He'd looked over his shoulder, his eyes wary. ”Could we...would you mind if we stepped inside?”
Strangers had been stumbling over her threshold for years, Rae had reminded herself as she swung the door open wider and waved them inside. Besides, they'd looked harmless enough. ”Are you...teachers?”
”Seismologists,” they'd chimed in unison.
”Size what?”
”Scientists who study earthquakes.” Stan's explanation had kicked her heart into overdrive. People who lived near a fault line didn't take shakers lightly. Before John or Stan could speak another word, the cops had come a-knockin', and she'd shoved her two visitors in the direction of the roof, precisely where she was headed now, determined to get some information. And not just about earthquakes.
An oppressive blanket of unseasonably warm air pressed down on her as she reached the top step and pushed open the heavy steel door. The midafternoon sun blinded her for a moment. When her eyes began to focus again, she scanned the flat rooftop for her two unexpected visitors.
There. Under a pile of rags and debris, a telltale man's dress shoe gave away their hiding spot. ”John? Stanley? It's safe now. They're gone.”
Two men wearing wrinkled suits and sheepish grins rose from the refuse and brushed themselves off, their eyes fixed on hers. ”We owe you one,” the taller one said with a wink. ”And please call me Stan, will ya? Otherwise, I'll think you're my mother.”
In the shadowy hallway downstairs she hadn't noticed how handsome the man was, his thick, wavy hair like a mane, tamed by a narrow bit of leather at the nape of his neck. Not much older than she was. Definitely not son material.
Rae winked and tossed her head. ”Yes, you do owe me, Stan, and I intend to collect.” She marveled at the playfulness in her voice. What was she doing, letting her guard down like this? In a minute she'd be spilling everything-all her fears, all her questions. Could she trust them, these two strangers from the other side of the California desert?
”Why'd you help us?” John didn't waste time getting to the point.
She had no idea why. It wasn't rational, wasn't smart. Was downright idiotic even.
”Sit.” She waved at a circle of discarded porch chairs facing northwest toward the Golden Gate. When all three were seated, their knees almost touching, Rae offered them a tentative smile. ”I'm not sure why, but I trust you.”
John exhaled in obvious relief. ”All I can say is, thank G.o.d.”
”You're on the right track there.” She took a shaky breath and pressed forward. ”You two...know G.o.d, don't you?”
They nodded, exchanging some bit of information with their eyes. She couldn't guess what. Stan's gaze then settled on her, doing a slow sweep, from head to toe. Not degrading, just...looking.
Her throat tightened. What does he see? A small, dark-haired woman older than her two dozen years? A tattered soul in search of mending? Or merely a Kearny Street hooker wearing too much makeup and not enough clothes?
Only one way to find out, Rae. She'd start at the beginning, tell them her story, hope they'd understand. ”G.o.d was always real to me, but never...good. He was all about fear and judgment and being ashamed.” Despite her best efforts, her voice was starting to tremble. So were her hands.
She clasped them together and plunged forward. ”For the last couple of months, a woman who works at the grocery store on Montgomery has been slipping little pamphlets about G.o.d in my grocery sack.”
John looked startled. ”Tracts?”
”If you say so.” She shrugged, embarra.s.sed she hadn't known what they were called. ”Anyway, I usually toss them in the trash the minute I get home, but last Tuesday the woman looked right into my eyes and said, 'Young lady, do you know that G.o.d loves you?'” Rae's throat tightened, squeezing her voice to a raspy whisper. ”That was news to me.”
Stan's expression quickly softened. ”Good news, I hope?”
”You could say that.” She swallowed hard. ”Anyway, I read the...tract...and it mentioned some verses from the Bible, so I found a thick red one at a used bookstore and started reading.”