Page 41 of Cruel Kiss

"One day, you'll learn how to say something that doesn't sound like it belongs in a spy movie," I sigh.

Ronan laughs. "Maybe. But today is not that day."

I don't know exactly why I'm bracing from head to toe, but you'll catch me dead before you catch me easing up until I know where we're going. I haven't forgotten about just what kind of guy Ronan is. Even though he says and does nothing but nice things to me and my children, there's always the possibility that one day the other shoe will drop.

Turns out that's exactly what happens.

But not in any way I ever expected.

Ronan pulls to the curb in front of a big, old brick building. Three stories. Tall windows. A little iron fence around a courtyard on the side.

There's a sign over the door.

THE ANNA HOUSE.

"What is this?" I ask.

"Come inside," he says. "You'll see."

I don't move right away. My hand stays on the door handle. Every instinct I have is telling me to be careful, to keep my back to a wall and my eye on the exits.

But Ronan is stepping out of the car, coming around to my side, and opening my door for me.

Inside, it's cool. The air conditioning hums somewhere in the walls. It's a nice building. Clean. There are drawings taped up on the walls, crooked crayon masterpieces, suns with too many rays and dogs bigger than the houses next to them. A rack of small shoes by the door, all different sizes.

A woman comes down the hall toward us. She's maybe sixty, gray hair in a bun, glasses on a chain. When she sees Ronan, her whole face lights up.

"Mr. Akov!" she says. "We weren't expecting you today."

"Louisa." Ronan takes her hand in both of his. "I'm sorry to drop in unannounced. This is a friend of mine. Calista Meadows. I wanted to show her the place."

"Oh, how wonderful." Louisa turns to me, beaming. "Any friend of Mr. Akov's is welcome here. Come in, come in. Let me show you what this man has done for us."

What this man has done for us.

I follow her. I don't know what else to do. Ronan hangs back a step, letting her lead. She doesn'tlooklike a killer. But I won't assume anything about anyone just yet. Not even sweet old Louisa here.

"Eleven years I've been running this place," Louisa says as we walk. "And in that time, Mr. Akov has never once said no. Not once. You know what we had before he came along?"

"No," I say.

"Nothing," she laughs, "that's what! Two ancient window units that broke every July. Kids sleeping and sweating their booties off in the heat. Now, look." She gestures up at a vent. "Central air, every floor. Heat in the winter that actually works. It's nothing short of a miracle."

She takes us through a laundry room. Big new machines, gleaming, humming through a cycle. Baskets of small clothes folded on a table.

"Six of these, too," Louisa says. "We used to do the wash at a laundromat down the block. Carted it in bags. Now, we do it right here. You have any idea how much laundry forty children make?"

"A lot," I say.

"You must be a mother." She cackles again, and I can't help but join her this time. Little by little, that gut-clenched bracing impulse is easing off.

She shows us a reading nook. It's a cute little alcove built into the wall, lined with soft cushions and low shelves packed with books. There's a lamp shaped like a mushroom. A kid, maybe seven or eight, just shy of Hayden's age, is curled up in the corner with a picture book, sounding out the words under her breath. She's so happily engrossed that she doesn't even look up when we pass.

"His idea," Louisa says, nodding at the nook. "He said every child should have one place that's just for them. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere soft."

I look at Ronan.

He's not looking at me. He's looking at the girl with the book, not smiling, but somehow expressing happiness on some invisible frequency I can feel but not see.