Target on Our Backs (Monster in His Eyes 3)

She throws on a long shirt and slips into her shoes, not saying a single word to her roommate as she stalks out the door.

"Uh, bye," I mumble, giving an awkward wave, but the girl doesn't even look at me, much less say anything back.

When we step outside, I pull my phone out to call for a car, but Melody waves me off. "Look, come on, there's a cab right there."

She flags it down.

Who am I to argue?

I'm not taking it alone.

That means it doesn't count as breaking Naz's rule, right?

I slide in beside her and she rattles off the address, flubbing up the street numbers, but I correct them. As the cab pulls into traffic, I glance in the front out of habit.

It takes a moment, but recognition strikes me.

Abele Abate.

Man with the unfortunate name.

He drove me home just the other day from the deli.

He glances in the rear view mirror, smiling just like last time. I don't know if he recognizes me, but it's doubtful. He certainly doesn't say anything. He probably drives hundreds of people around every day.

When we get to the house, the first thing I notice is it's empty. Naz is gone. Killer greets me as soon as I open the front door, wagging his tail excitedly.

"Hey boy," I say, rubbing his head. "You all alone?"

Melody skirts right past the dog, holding her hands up. "Oh my God, don't jump on me or I might smell like you."

I laugh. "He doesn't smell that bad."

"Really, Karissa? When's the last time you bathed the poor thing?"

"Uh, it's been a while."

I have a hell of a time doing it myself, and Naz is no help. He's nice enough to drive him to the groomers for me in the Mercedes when I ask him, but Killer doesn't like getting in that car.

"Seriously, hose the poor puppy off out back if you've got to," she says. "He's starting to smell like my roommate's feet. Ugh, they reek."

Rolling my eyes, I head to the back door of the house, opening it to let him run out. The yard isn't very big, but that never seems to bother him. I've tried to take him to the park before, but that requires getting in the car, and well... like I said, that doesn't make him happy, so the backyard it is.

"I'm sure you can figure out which one's my closet," I tell her. "Upstairs, first door on the right."

Melody disappears while I put out some food for Killer, making sure he's satisfied before I join her upstairs. Less than ten minutes have passed, but half of my clothes are already scattered around the bedroom. She slips on a little black dress, one I've never had a reason to wear. "God, this thing is gorgeous. Who's the designer?"

She glances at me like I'm supposed to have an answer to that. "Uh, that guy, you know... the one who did that thing that time. Him."

She cracks a smile. "You're so full of shit."

I am.

"It looks great on you," I tell her. "You should wear it."

She squeals, dashing for the closet again. "Got any shoes to go with this thing?"

Five minutes later, she's standing in the bathroom, fixing her hair in the mirror and borrowing my little bit of makeup. I leave her to her primping and head back downstairs. Man, just watching her get ready makes me all frazzled. It's exhausting.

"You're home early today."

The unexpected voice startles me. Grabbing my chest, I take a step back, looking toward the front door. Naz stands in the foyer, hands in his pockets, newspaper tucked beneath his right arm. After all this time, how does he still sneak up on me?

"Jesus, Naz, I didn't hear you come in."

"I didn't think you did," he replies, his voice flat. "You seem to be quite busy."

"I was just... I mean, we were... you know."

I motion behind me, up the stairs. I don't know if that's enough for him to go on, for him to riddle out what I'm saying. But my nerves are suddenly completely shot, waves of nervousness running through my body, as I look at him. He's not moving, not at all. He stands there like he's standing guard.

I wouldn't say he looks angry, because he doesn't, but something feels off.

"Yes," he says. "I know."

"Melody has a date tonight," I tell him, as if he actually cares, but if he's upset that she's here, maybe he'll understand if I explain why. He's always been weird about people being inside the house. "She needed something to wear, and well, she didn't have anything. I mean, she had stuff, but nothing, you know... to wear. So we came here, to see if I had anything, and I did, so she's wearing it, because, well, she didn't have anything."

As I babble like an idiot, his expression shifts, his brow creasing. "Why are you nervous?"

"I'm not."

"You're lying."

I sigh. I am.

He breaks his stance, stepping toward me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Another lie."

"Ugh, okay," I say, waving his way. "You're just, you're being all you and it's throwing me off."

"I'm being me," he says, "and it's throwing you off."

"Yes! I didn't expect to see you here."

"You didn't expect to see—"

"Ugh, and there you go!" I say, cutting him off. "You're doing it!"

"I'm doing it."

"You're repeating everything I say."

That stalls him for a moment.

Yeah, he knows now how annoying that is.

"I'm just trying to understand what's got you nervous," he says. "Other than me being me, whatever that means."

"I don't know." Not a lie this time. "You're just standing there and it caught me off guard because you weren't here and then suddenly there you were."

"Ah." He steps closer as his posture relaxes a bit. "I was just off getting the car detailed. I didn't expect you home until later. Thought you had classes."

"I did," I say. "Or I do. I skipped them."

After Math was English, but really, who needs that either? I already speak it pretty good.

Or... well?

I speak it well?

Who knows?

He steps even closer, pausing right in front of me. He nudges my chin with his hand, tilting my face up. "Skipping classes? How very delinquent of you, Jailbird."