Page 3 of Age of Shade

She doesn’t reply, still staring straight ahead, but I know she can hear me.

“Inside, there’s a hall that leads to all the chairs and procedure rooms. At the very end, my office is on the right. It says ‘Doctor Roth’ on the door, that’s me. I’m going to go back in and put some blankets on the couch in there. When I leave again, I’m going toforgetto set the code. The cleaning crew willhopefully be in at six. They’re not exactly reliable, but the place will definitely be empty until then. There’s a deadbolt on the front door, and my office. It’s safe…”

My words trail away and I gaze at the girl’s profile, hoping for some sign of acceptance or acknowledgement. After an age, something in her hardened expression seems to crack and she turns away from me, hiding her pale face in the thin, felt blanket she’s wrapped in.

Okay. She heard.

Striding back inside, I do exactly as I told her I would. After disarming the security system, I flick on the lights in the hallway and grab a stack of the blankets we keep for patients in recovery. I’m halfway back to the door when it occurs to me that she’s probably hungry. I don’t have much to offer for food, but manage to scrounge up a few granola bars and a can of grapefruit seltzer from my desk drawer.

Nothing will make this situation okay or erase the gut-wrenching sorrow that’s filled me for this stranger, but she’ll be out of danger.

By the time I step back outside, the place beside the trash cans is just a shadowy patch of empty sidewalk, now. I crane my neck, trying to spot her somewhere along the snowy sidewalk, but the street is completely deserted now. She might have run off or had a friend pick her up—Christ, I hope she has someone who cares enough about her to make sure she doesn’t sleep on the street during a snowstorm.

Still, I don’t turn back to lock the door.

My car is parked around the corner. Instead of driving toward the appointment, though, I circle the block and park across the street from the practice. From here, I have a clear view of the front door and the empty stretch of sidewalk on either side of it.

Five minutes pass, then ten, and I’ve almost decided to go lock up when movement in the shadows makes my heart leap into my throat.

She’s back.

I watch, pulse thudding, as the girl edges along the side of the building, carefully looking both ways to make sure I’m not waiting to ambush her.Smart. She lingers at the door for a long time, gazing at the cheerful, brightly colored logo on the glass. Finally, with one last cautious look up and down the street, she reaches for the handle and pulls it open, slipping inside.

The gnawing fear and panic inside me quiet a little, and I settle back in my seat as Christmas music plays softly on the radio. The snow is beginning to fall harder, accumulating on the hood of my car. I need to get to that appointment, but I stay where I am. It’s probably beyond idiotic to let a homeless girl—a possible runaway—into my practice unattended. The narcotics are safely locked up, but there are still plenty of things she could take. I might very well come back tomorrow morning to find the place has been robbed blind.

For whatever reason, the possibility doesn’t worry me as much as it should. I barely spoke to her, but that flash of emotion I glimpsed after telling her I’d leave the office open was enough.

She isn’t going to steal anything.

Filled with a grim sort of satisfaction, I’ve just shifted the car into drive when movement from the front window catches my eye. Until seconds ago, the waiting room was concealed by drawn blinds. Now they’re open, and a shadowy figure is moving around inside.

What the hell is she doing?

My question is answered almost instantly as the girl stands on the chairs lined up in front of the window, her hand moving in steady circles over the glass. I can’t see her face or even what she’s wearing, but the action is unmistakable.

Cleaning. She’s cleaning the waiting room.

Throat tight, I lean back, watching until she draws away from the glass and the blinds fall back into place.

My phone rings and I glance down at the screen, wincing at the sight of Lindsey’s name. I’m already fifteen minutes late, and it will take me another ten to get to the counselor’s office.

I hit accept. “I’m sorry. I’ll be there soon.”

“Asher, do you know—” I’m hardly listening to her frustration, though. Reaching into my center console, I pull out a pen and a pad of paper, then begin to write.

“I’ll be there soon,” I repeat as soon as Lindsey breaks for air. Before she can begin again, I hang up. Carefully folding the note, I ignore the ringing of my phone in the cupholder as I step outside and jog back across the quiet, snowy street. It only takes a few seconds to shove the paper under the door and retreat back to my car.

I’m already late and the damage is done, but I’m don’t regret it. My relationship isn’t more important than a girl’s life. I’ll explain what happened when I get there, and Lindsey will understand.

We’re going to be fine.

1

CHAPTER TWO

ADINA

Present Day

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