“You really don’t have to come.”
“Then why you call me?”
The question shut her up.
I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. I genuinely wanted to know since now she was kicking it like she didn’t want me there. Milan had my number for days and hadn’t used it once. Now somebody had gotten into her apartment, and out of everybody she could’ve called—the fucking police, for one—she’d called me.
Maybe she didn’t realize it, but that call meant something.
“I don’t know,” she finally said.
I didn’t believe that shit one bit, but I didn’t press it. Whatever made her reach for my number instead of anybody else’s, I’d figure it out another day. Right now, all I cared about was getting to her.
“A’ight.”
“That’s it?”
“What you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we both don’t know.”
She let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, and some of the tension sitting on my chest eased. She was scared, whether she’d admit it or not, so if I could get her to breathe for even a second, I’d take it.
“Stay downstairs. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“You know where I live?”
“You sent me the address.”
“Oh…”
“Fear got you forgetting shit already?”
“Shut up, Vice.”
This time I did smile. It wasn’t much, but hearing a little of that attitude come back told me she was okay… at least for the moment.
“A’ight. I’m hanging up, but keep your phone in your hand. You see anything that don’t look right, you call me back.”
“I will.”
“And Milan?”
“What?”
“Don’t take yo’ ass back upstairs.”
“I heard you the first five times.”
I rubbed a hand over my face before shaking my head.
“Make it six.”
She sucked her teeth before the line went dead.
I stared at my phone for a second before throwing it on the passenger seat and pressing harder on the gas. Whoever thought they could scare her had just made this shit personal.