Page 60 of Stepbrothers

“I know.” She kicked off her shoes. “I’ll call the landlord again tomorrow.”

He turned to her. His eyebrows low and his mouth a flat line.

“Where were we?” she said as the rain hammered against the window. Perhaps it had turned to hailstones.

“I think maybe you were going to show me your bedroom?” His features softened.

“This way.” She turned and sashayed her ass from side to side, leading the way to her bedroom.

Quickly, she scooped a pile of clothes off the bed then pulled the curtains. When she turned, he was standing in the doorway with his attention on the ceiling.

“Oh no,” she said, seeing what he was staring at. She grabbed a pan from her dressing table. It was used frequently when it rained, but this was a new steady drip that had set up residence above her pillow. She put the pan beneath the flow of water.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Does it always do this?” he asked.

“Usually it comes from there.” She pointed to a dark stain above her dressing table.

He frowned. “You can’t live like this, Clarice.”

“I know.” She knotted her fingers. “But I’m on the case with the landlord.”

“How can you be when he never returns your calls?”

“He will. I’m sure of it.” She shrugged and frowned down at the threadbare carpet. The truth was, her meagre wages wouldn’t stretch to anything better.

Parker placed his hands on his hips and studied the room.

She may as well have been naked and being scrutinized. That’s how his perusal of her home made her feel.

“Pack a bag,” he said after a few moments.

“What?”

“Pack a bag. You’re coming to stay with us until we sort this out.”

“But…I can’t do that?”

“Why not? We have a dry apartment. Three bedrooms, one of which isn’t being used because Trig isn’t here. And no mice, always a bonus.”

“But you don’t want me there? And—”

“Whywouldn’twe want you there?” He paused. “And besides, you’re family. And we won’t rest knowing you’re here, in the damp, with the mice. It’s not healthy. You’ve already got a cough, no doubt from that mold over there.” He pointed at the corner where a patch the shape of Africa was growing larger by the day. “So snap to it. Pack a bag.”

“You’re very bossy, you know that?” She frowned.

“It’s for your own good.” He stepped up to her and pinched her chin. “Now pack your things, little sis, we’re out of here.”

She pressed her lips together, holding in protests. Because although she was embarrassed about the state of her home, it was becoming impossible to live in when it rained. And after seeing that mouse, she wasn’t sure she’d sleep. And if she did, her dreams would be full of the revolting creature running over her bed in the night. Nibbling her hair, her toes, or worse, getting under the covers and scurrying all over her skin.

She shuddered. “Okay. I’ll pack.”

“You’ve got five minutes.” He reached a Nike holdall from the top of a freestanding wardrobe that always sat at an angle as one leg was shorter than the others. “I’ll be in the living room.” He turned and left the room.

“Fuck.” She glanced around. What would she need? Sleepwear, work wear, loungewear and toiletries.

She set to throwing things into the bag. She didn’t bother to fold. Then she added shoes, a dressing gown, and scooped all the toiletries from the bathroom into a carrier bag. Also for speed, she emptied the contents of the top drawer next to her bed—contraception, a slim golden vibrator, book, and spot cream—into the holdall bag.

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