Page 45 of Enemies with Benefits (Finding the Right Brother #1)

My boots thumped heavily, echoing off the walls.

The wallpaper of the stairwell had peeled away for the most part, exposing the crumbling drywall that should have been replaced years ago.

I could tell from the musty and sour smell filling my nose that there was plenty of mold in with the mildew, and any self-respecting building inspector would shut the building down.

Then again, you weren't going to find some pencil-pushing bureaucrat in this part of town without an armed escort, so.

..never. The tenements were desperate and squalid even by the most run-down and poor standards.

The apartments were for people who could scrape enough money together to save themselves from homelessness, not anywhere you'd ever want to live.

I would know, I once lived in the building right next door.

"What apartment was it again?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder even though I knew Kayden would be hot on my heels while keeping an eye behind us.

Another thing about the area, other than its desperation and crime rate, was that uniforms were not welcome, and any cop who showed their face had to be diligent to make sure they weren't caught off-guard.

It had gotten to the point that only those who volunteered would be assigned to the area, and that was a short list. The benefit, at least for us cops, was that only those who knew or learned quickly how to operate in the area were on the list. That meant fewer cops getting hurt or killed because they were oblivious or too hardheaded, and fewer incidents with the locals.

"Third floor, apartment four," Kayden said, his voice tense.

Whether that was because we were here or because of the call, I couldn't tell.

He didn't like working a shift in the neighborhood, but that wasn't because of the danger, he could handle that.

What he didn't like, and wasn’t shy about saying, was me being in my childhood neighborhood.

Admittedly, there were a lot of bad memories lurking in every alley, but it was the kind of shit that could go down here that worried him most. Yet, I'd gone through several rotations in the area without anything happening to me, so I'd think he would be less worried.

As for the call...well, that was valid. No cop liked getting a call where you knew it was about a kid.

A neighbor had called to report that a little kid had been screaming for a couple of hours before suddenly going quiet.

Not exactly uncommon to hear kids crying around these parts, but the screaming followed by the sudden silence had worried the woman.

Of course, the cynical side of me thought she was only calling because the screaming was getting on her nerves and the come down from her drug of choice, but I kept that voice in its little box.

I'd seen what happened to officers who let their bitterness fester and grow inside them, and I didn't want to become one of those sharp-edged, emotionally drained for life men who let awful things happen simply because they were always going to happen.

Taking the last flight of stairs, we reached the third floor, and I glanced through the open doorway.

Other than scuffed and faded carpet, dirty walls that had flecks and splotches of what had probably once been slate gray paint, there were only the closed, battered doors of the apartments, and a familiar face huddled under the yellowed window at the end of the hall.

Donna had been old when I was growing up in the next building, but now she was positively ancient, wrapped up in clothes that were probably older than me, and as dirty as the building itself.

Her heavily lined face peered from under the clothes that were practically rags, her lower lip quivering.

"Heya Donna," I said in a low voice, knowing she'd need to hear my voice before she recognized me.

Her sight was steadily going, but it was her mind that was the worst. She'd never been quite...there, but that was living on the streets for God knew how many decades and surviving. Insanity wasn’t her problem nowadays, but the onset of age and probably some form of dementia.

"Well, if it isn't Little J," she said with a chuckle, the trembling in her lips steadying as she smiled, peering up at me from her spot on the floor.

Most of the homeless were chased off by residents when they tried to take refuge in their buildings, out of fear of drawing in more of them, but Donna was one of the exceptions.

Everyone, even the hardest gang member, desperate junkie, and terrified child, knew Donna was harmless.

Obviously capable of surviving on the streets, meaning she wasn't helpless, but definitely no harm to anyone.

It must have been her chosen building of the day for her napping spot before she rose for the night to wander and do. ..whatever it was she did.

"I haven't been little for a long time," I chuckled, walking to the end of the hallway, glancing at the last door on the right with the yellowed outline of the number four where a number had once hung. It was definitely quiet, but I didn't know much about the people who lived there.

"You're always going to be Little J," she said, holding out her hands. "Help an old lady up. If you and that handsome partner of yours are here, that means trouble. Old Donna has had enough trouble today."

I frowned as I took her hands and helped her up as gently as I could. "Someone giving you a hard time?"

"Oh, just Oscar being a dirty bastard."

"I remember you yelling at me once because I said rats are dirty."

"Yes, well, this one is a dirty bastard. There's exceptions. Have to be, or rules wouldn't make much sense."

"Mmm, where, uh...is Oscar?"

"Ran off. Acts like he doesn't need me, but he'll be back. Always comes back."

Having a rat that often lived in her pile of rags wasn't even the strangest animal she'd adopted over the years.

To this day, I had no idea where she had found a damn parrot, but thankfully, she had been talked into giving it up to a rescue because the cats would have gladly eaten it given a chance.

The same was true for the turtle she'd carried around in an old Rubberware container until we pointed out that the cold weather was coming and would probably kill it.

I'd found out later that turtles do a version of hibernation, though I couldn't remember what it was other than it started with a 'B', but it was better if she wasn't responsible for something that couldn't survive on its own.

"You, uh...know what's going on in there?" I asked, nodding toward the door behind me and keeping my voice low.

Donna looked at me, face screwing up, and thinking hard. "Trouble. There's always trouble around here. Didn't use to be like that."

"Like...recently?"

"Always been trouble. Even when I was young and pretty. Wasn't when I was a girl. But there was trouble."

"Ah, I see," I said, though anyone with their senses still intact would know I didn't see a damn thing.

Used to be that when Donna would get lost down whatever mental hole she was in, you could pull her out, but lately it took a lot more work, and I didn't have the time.

It would have been nice to have some information before trying to deal with the call, but I had taken up enough time.

"Well, why don't you get somewhere else before there's even more trouble? "

"Poor girl," Donna said with a shake of her head after glancing at the door and beginning to shuffle off. "So sweet. And with a mom like that. Always bringing men in and out. Some of 'em even look at that little girl...like my daddy used to look at me. Poor thing."

"Well...fuck," I muttered. It didn't take a psychic to understand what she was getting at, and I felt my nerves tighten even further.

I met Kayden's eyes after he watched to make sure Donna had moved on.

Once she was out of sight, we would be able to move, the other residents on the floor would stay out of the way if things got messy, people around here were a little loose and fast with their lives when it came to drugs, drinks, fighting, and fucking, but they were quick to keep their skin intact when someone else's trouble boiled up.

Kayden thought for a moment and then nodded at me.

One thing we’d worked out was which of us would be the one to approach a situation.

If we needed someone with social graces and a trustworthy face, then it was Kayden who would step up.

If we wanted to start on a stronger foot, then it was me who took the lead.

I thought it was stupid to assume that Kayden didn't know how to handle himself, and that I wasn't capable of being nice, but first impressions were important for dictating how an interview or interrogation would go.

Clearly, he was ready for us to go in hard and aggressively if he wanted me to take point.

Grunting, I stepped forward and pounded on the door, hearing the banging echo through the apartment and then through the hallway around us. “Cresson Point police!"

I had to repeat it a few times, all while banging my fist, before I heard something shuffling on the other side of the door.

Stepping back from the door, I heard the faint groan of the locks, which were always flimsy as hell, before the door cracked open.

Only half a face peered out at us, a woman, her long face marked by deep circles under the eyes, lines in her skin that I bet were premature for someone her age, her skin stretched giving her an almost mask-like appearance, and a suspicious expression pulling it all tighter.

"What?" she asked flatly, and I immediately noticed the weariness in her voice that made me think she was either coming down off something or was on something. Anything that made someone that sleepy-sounding meant I'd prefer she was on something, coming off a downer could make someone...erratic.