Page 4 of The Enemy Plot

Lola isn’t as lucky.

“You don’t have to talk to me, Deacon. But I encourage you to try. It might help, and I’m sure I can understand.”

I almost let out a laugh. Dr. Stewart might have a degree from Harvard, but I don’t think some piece of paper is enough to understand the depth of desolation that is my life. I don’t even know how to process it myself.

At half past two, I head downstairs to pick up Lola from the Mercer School of Performing Arts in Lower Manhattan. Taking after her mom, Lola is some sort of dance prodigy, and she got accepted into the program when she started middle school. I listen carefully as I walk down the stairs, puffing out a sigh of relief when I realize the creaking sound has stopped. I spent a solid two hours on that step earlier, and I’m glad it did the trick.

The street is livelier than ever, with shoppers wandering by and store owners busy at work. Thankfully, everyone has already greeted me for today, so I’m in the clear.

Alice is engaged in an animated conversation with Marissa and Beth, the café owners from across the street. All smiles.Ugh.

As they chat, an old lady walks by, dropping the envelope she’s carrying. Alice seemingly plunges to the floor, giving the lady her envelope back.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Does she have to be so annoyingly nice all the time? I swear, she’s like a Disney princess, happily skipping around with flowers in her hair, singing her heart out. The only thing missing is the army of animals fluttering and scurrying around her.

Well, there’s always the cat.

I lock the door to the bar and steal one last glance, but her gaze lands on me at the same time. Her warm chocolate eyes narrow into slits, like they always do when she sees me. I don’t get the same cheerful treatment as everyone else. Though it might be better this way. I haven’t decided yet. Saying something to her friends, she smooths down her dress, and I force myself to look away from her luscious body. But that’s not easy, considering she’s walking right toward me.

Oh, heck no. What does she want now?

My heart quickens with every step she takes.

“We got your mail.Again.”

“Where is it?”

She lets out a frustrated sigh and props a hand on her hip. “Your question should be, ‘Gee, why are you getting my mail?’” She pretends to think, tapping a finger on her pink lips. “Is it because I still haven’t put my name on the mailbox?”

All I can do is scowl. She has way too much energy for a person her size. “Can you just give me my mail?”

Her eyes blaze with anger. “I put it in your mailbox.I’ma good neighbor.”

“Then why are you over here, bothering me with this, Frenchie?” I spit out, surprised by my tone. I’m not sure what it is about Alice Beaumont, but she always seems to bring out the worst in me. “I don’t have time for this. Some of us have real lives, real problems, and real jobs.”

With that, I turn and stalk away. Who does she think she is? The girl reads books all day. Of course she has time to organize every single detail of her life. I just moved to the city, gained custody of a teenager who hates me, and abandoned my bar to open a new one here. All against my will.

“Because you’re a terrible neighbor,” she yells behind me, her pitch rising, and my blood pumps faster in my veins. “Add your name to the mailbox already.”

I hold back a growl of rage. Why does she insist on getting under my skin? I shouldn’t even care what she thinks. Adding names on mailboxes isn’t required by law. So what if our street has an odd numbering system? It’s not my fault they numbered the buildings in the order of construction. The postman should know that by now. I have bigger fish to fry.

Thirty minutes later, I’m standing in front of Mercer School, and Lola’s curly brown hair comes into view. She notices me, walks over, and continues without stopping.

Yeah, she’s not a fan of me picking her up and dropping her off every day, but what am I supposed to do? Let her take the subway by herself? We live inNew York City. This may be her home, but it’s not mine, and even if she doesn’t see the dangers lurking around every corner, I do.

I follow after her with a sigh. Frankly, New York is the last place on earth I’d have chosen to live. It’s big, polluted, dirty, and there are way too many people per square foot. But it’s the only home Lola’s ever known, and there’s only one Mercer School, so here we are. As much as I would have loved to bring her back to New Hampshire, I didn’t want to tear her away from the last bit of stability in her life. So, we compromised and settled on Brooklyn, which is a little more laid back while not being too far from her school. She and Amelia used to live in lower Manhattan, close to her school, but neither of us wanted to keep the lease on the apartment.

“When are you going to let me go to school by myself?” she grumbles as we sit down in the J train.

I stare into her deep green eyes, and my heart breaks. They’re the same as Amelia’s. “You’re too young,Lola. It’s not safe.”

She lets out a frustrated sigh. “It’s one train ride! And I’m thirteen.”

I cross my arms and look out the window, but I’m distracted by a loose screw. “Exactly.”

“Argh! I hate you. You’re the worst.” Grabbing a book from her backpack, she opens it and starts reading, preparing to effectively ignore me the rest of the trip.

I don’t mind it. Nor do I mind the nasty words she just threw at me. They’re not nearly as cutting as the ones I use for myself.

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