The Other Twin

“Now I can finish running the tape for the footings.” Relief eased out of him like a curl of wood from a plane. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She dusted off her hands. “Anything else you want to get done tonight?”

“I’ll mark the wall and doors.” That way, if the crew moved the tape when they did demolition, he’d know where everything was supposed to go. He’d developed tricks over the years to convince people that he was in control.

“Then I’ll head home.”

“Thank you.” Too bad Cheryl had a kid. Otherwise he would ask her out.

She moved to the door, stopped and turned back. “Do you...have trouble reading?”

Reality slapped him in the face. “I can read,” he growled. Sometimes.

“I could help.” She gave him a small smile. “At the army school, I worked with kids who had trouble reading.”

His face heated with shame. Kids. She’d helped kids. “I don’t need help.”

She jerked back a step at the snap in his voice. The woman was scared of her shadow. “It’s just...”

“Thanks for the help.” He pulled the flask out of his pocket. He wouldn’t admit his flaws.

Her face paled and she crept backward again. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t drink in front of my son.”

“I’ll bet you would.” He took a big swig. Not wanting her to see she’d hurt him.

She dashed outside. Her footsteps pounded the stairs to the carriage house apartment.

He twirled the cap back on. He’d been a jerk. But he didn’t need any help from a do-gooder like Cheryl Henshaw. His flaws couldn’t be fixed.

* * *

THUMP!

Cheryl jolted out of a deep sleep.

Josh? Had he fallen out of bed?

She raced into his bedroom. When she didn’t find him on the floor, she scrambled up the ladder. He was still asleep, his hand tucked under his pillow.

She rubbed her forehead as she headed back to bed. Maybe she’d been dreaming.

Her alarm clock flipped to six thirty. Her first morning to sleep in for five days and she was already awake?

Thump!

The noise came from the second floor.

It had been a week since she’d helped Nathan measure. Since then, the work crews always arrived at seven thirty and they only worked on the first floor. This noise was next door. A chill raced over her skin.

Cheryl threw on yesterday’s shorts, tucked in the T-shirt she’d worn to bed and grabbed her phone. Slipping her feet into her Keds, she hurried to the kitchen.

The carriage house apartment had two doors. The main door led to the outside steps and down to the Fitzgerald House courtyard. The kitchen door opened into the interior of the carriage house’s second floor.

Holding her breath, she put her ear to the kitchen door.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

She dug out the dead bolt key from the kitchen drawer and paused in front of the door. The key jangled in her shaking hand. Who was back there? Thieves? A homeless person?

Forcing herself to breathe, she shoved the key into the lock. For Josh and the Fitzgeralds she had to be brave. The Fitzgeralds had done so much for her—saved her. It was her turn to stand up for them.

Before turning the key, she punched in 9-1-1 on her cell phone, but didn’t hit Dial.

Inhaling, she unlocked the door and twisted the knob. Nothing.

She pulled and tugged, then put her foot on the door frame and yanked. The door gave way with a soft whoomp. She stumbled, clutching the knob to stay upright.

In the dark hall, she waited for her eyes to adjust and her heart to stop pounding.

A screech of wood on wood came from around the corner. So did a sliver of light.

Cheryl tiptoed silently toward the light. Her childhood had taught her well. She touched the scar next to her ear. Mama had been a mean drunk.

Before she rounded the corner, she heard a deep voice swear. Her phone clattered to the floor. As much as she wanted to escape to the apartment and throw the bolt, she didn’t. She snatched up her phone and held her thumb over the dial button.

“Who’s here?” she called.

Silence.

She turned the corner. The door was ajar, weak light leaking out. “I’ve called the police.”

“Now, why would you do that?” A man moved into the hallway, blocking the light.

All she could see was big. Big man. Big shoulders. Big hands fisted on his hips.

“Get out before they arrive,” she whispered through chattering teeth.

“Cheryl.” The man moved closer.

The man knew her name. He rushed toward her.

She turned to run, pressing the dial button on her phone.

“Wait,” he said.

She knew that voice. “Nathan?”

“Did you really call the cops?” he asked.