Page 20 of The Kings of Kearny

Chapter Seven

Ipaused outside Gran’sdoor and took several deep breaths. Jakob stood just behind me. I’d agreed to let him come, even after our spat in the downstairs hallway, because he was right about the fact that I would make myself a target without him. I was less concerned with that, despite his insistence that I couldn’t take care of myself, and more concerned with the fact that by consequence, I’d make a target out of Gran too. If someone working here was corrupt, it’d be all too easy for them to strike out at her to get back at me, and I would never forgive myself if that happened.

My one stipulation was that we didn’t lie to Gran. I couldn’t play the part of Jakob’s girlfriend in front of her. Not now. Judging by the way he’d shut down, he wasn’t ready to fake being all loved up either.

I took one last steadying breath and turned toward him. The leathers he wore were matte black like his bike, and the light seemed to bend around his frame as if it were allergic to him. His blue eyes lacked any hint of warmth. He stood there like a sliver of night, projecting an aura of stygian violence. Thanks to the Kevlar padding in his jacket, he looked even larger than he was. If I didn’t know him, I would have given him a wide berth. As it was, I still wanted to take a step back.

His gaze fixed on me as I faced him, as intense and unyielding as it always was.

“No bullshit with her, right?” I said. “We tell her what’s really going on so she can agree to help us on her own terms.”

“No bullshit,” he said.

“She’s here because she has Alzheimer’s,” I told him. I’d hinted at it back at his apartment, but I hadn’t flat out said it, and I needed to prepare him for this visit.

He said nothing in response. Unlike Hank downstairs, I didn’t even warrant a nod of acknowledgment.

I gritted my teeth against a spark of annoyance and forced my tone to neutral. “I don’t know if today is a good day or a bad day, so get ready to repeat yourself a couple of times. She might ask the same question more than once. If she does, just go with it. Don’t point out the fact that she’s already asked the question. It’ll just confuse her and make everything worse.”

Again, he just stared at me.

My right hand twitched, itching to slap him. Instead, I turned and took my anger out on the door, knocking hard enough that it hurt my knuckles.

“Come in!” Gran called.

I pushed the door open and walked inside. Gran’s place looked like any other middle-class apartment might. To my right was a bright, farmhouse-style kitchen. Straight ahead was her living area, elegantly appointed in furniture from her last home. Opposite the front door was a large bank of windows with a slider set into the middle. Her rooms faced southwest, looking out over the grounds, and now that morning had bled into early afternoon, light flooded in. The slider led to a wide balcony, crowded with deck furniture and the terra-cotta pots that held Gran’s little herb garden.

She weaved through the living room and came over to me, arms outspread. “There’s my girl.”

I hugged her for longer than usual, needing her warmth and her comfort right now.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, pulling away. “Gran, this is Jakob Larson. Jakob, this is my grandmother, Isabelle Evans.”

A small indentation appeared between Jakob’s brows as he looked at Gran. Surprise maybe? Gran didn’t fit the stereotype of an Alzheimer’s patient. She was tall, like me, her spine unbent despite the fact that she was in her midsixties. Her blond hair was loose today, and it flowed down her back in a cascade of waves. She’d been outside a lot this spring, and her skin was flushed with the beginnings of a golden suntan. Her face was youthful, her green eyes sharp as they took Jakob in.

“Nice to meet you, Jakob,” Gran said, offering her hand.

I held my breath, praying he’d at least be civil.

---