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“How soon can you get here, baby?”

“Not yet. Just, not yet. I’m just tired, Momma.”

“Come straight over here, do you hear me, Ororo N’Dare?” Ororo heard the sounds of Law and Order: SVU and a whistling kettle in the background.

“They’re getting ready to do a walk-through, Mom.”

“I just put Katie to bed.”

“Thank goodness!”

“She overheard me when you called. Child’s eyes were so big…she’s in bed fretting, baby. Come home soon.”

“I want to get some of Katie’s things, once it’s okay.” She bowed her head into her hands and rubbed her throbbing temples. The sound of footsteps on the slick pavement roused her from her numb haze. “Momma, I’ve got to go. Be home soon.”

“I’ll be waiting.’ Her mother’s sigh was heavy, but her voice remained steady. “Love you, baby.”

“You, too.” Her hands fumbled as she folded her phone shut.

“Ms. Munroe? I’m Officer LeBeau. We’re respondin’ to yer call ‘bout a burglary?” She nodded and tried to stand on shaky legs before he nudged her back onto the front stoop. “It’s all right, ma’am, don’t get up yet. Ya look a little overwhelmed.”

She nodded again. “Sure. You could say that.” Her breath froze in little puffs as it left her mouth. Old tear tracks felt clammy on her cheeks; she hadn’t checked her watch. It was past Katie’s bedtime, and hers, too. There was no help for it. She dimly heard a door slam on the patrol car. The red and blue lights atop the vehicle spun eerie prisms over the walls of the brownstone building where she’d waited for them to take her report.

“Ma’am, I’m Officer Howlett, and I’ll be joining Officer LeBeau in our search of your home.” His voice was calm, a deep and soothing rumble with an accent that was familiar.

Her breath caught as she looked up into the face of the man who’d handed her back Katie’s ball and chewed her a new one that morning. The gruffness was gone, and gradual recognition dawned on his face. “Ya just arrived home and walked in ta find yer home had been broken into?”

“Yes. I just came back from work.” He made thoughtful sounds as he made notations, nodding and training intelligent dark eyes on her face. “Thank God my daughter wasn’t here.”

“Can ya wait inside, close by, while we do a walk-through, Ms. Munroe?” Officer LeBeau and his partner were as different in their appearance as night and day. The taller man with the slightly southern patois was slender, almost “pretty” rather than handsome and he was built on long, lean lines. He was fairer skinned than Mr. Howlett, too, and wasn’t quite as hairy; he wouldn’t be one of those men who was cleanly shaven every morning and showing signs of new growth by mid-afternoon. Mr. Howlett, on the other hand, was exactly that kind of man.

Ororo had situated herself in a neighboring apartment building in the front lobby while she’d waited for them earlier, inside the door with a reinforced glass window. It unnerved her to be outside of her apartment building, feeling violated. It didn’t look like a home anymore.

It was a crime scene, now.

“I don’t want you to have to look far for me while you’re doing this,” she assured him weakly. Her nose tried to betray her; the tip was numb and she kept sniffling against the cold air. She heard a faint rustling, and a wad of clean, folded Kleenex was pressed into her hand.

“No, you’re right. I just don’t want ya ta get too cold while we’re working inside. Were gonna take a look around, ma’am, and look for signs of where they might’ve come in from. We’d also like to talk to your landlord.”

“Landlady,” she corrected him. “Her name’s Carol. She lives on the first floor.”

“We’d like ta ask her if she heard or saw any signs of a scuffle or anything out of the ordinary.”

“Great,” she muttered. “Maybe if she had, I wouldn’t have come home to such a mess. I’m just glad…glad that Katie wasn’t here with me when I came home!”

“Thank goodness fer small favors. Have ya got someplace ta stay tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Then give me a few minutes.” LeBeau had already gone inside. Officer Howlett was already checking his flashlight and preparing to enter the apartment.

He looked imposing, even powerful in his dress blues and black jacket; the uniform seemed to lend him more height, and he was a very compact man. She hadn’t noticed that before at the intersection.

It still nagged at her, the strange sense of déjà vu that she had the moment he’d rushed out of his car. Where on earth did she know him from?

Logan, on the other hand, had an epiphany when he spied her lanyard peeking out from the open flap of her coat.

Ororo M., RN. He hadn’t paid attention that morning to the fact that she was wearing scrub bottoms and sneakers. All he remembered were those eyes, that hair, restrained sensibly for work.

She’d witnessed the single worst day of his life. Now, he was an audience for hers.

His face was a mask. Neither one of them acknowledged the connection as he nodded to her one last time. She watched his broad, straight back disappear through the apartment door before she gave into the trembling shock and more tears.

“They were pretty thorough,” Remy informed him matter-of-factly. He paused by the smaller of the two bedrooms. “Looks like her daughter ain’t that old.”

“She ain’t,” Logan replied. Remy gave him a curious look. “That’s the woman I met this morning.”

“Damn,” Remy muttered under his breath. “First dat. Now dis.”

“Yeah. Ya don’t know the half of it. Check under the bed,” Logan murmured, pointing to the disheveled sheets. The room was a study in pinks and purples. A satin-covered picture board trimmed in ribbons and half-peeling stickers crowned the twin-sized bed. A grinning Katie and several of her friends hammed it up in what looked like Chuck E Cheese.

“Yep. They sure didn’t leave much.” He perused the kitchen, scanning the open cabinets and the overturned change box. Something red caught his eye. A construction paper Valentine’s Day card with “I love you, Mommy” spelled out in white puff paint was trimmed in macaroni noodles, hung up with a pizzeria magnet. Something inside Logan twisted and began to ache.

Gayle. Jean had kept a small cardboard memory box of goodies like that from their daughter in the attic. Keepsakes that they’d enjoy long after she was grown. Logan’s favorite had been a similar masterpiece she’d given him of a sunny sky with cotton ball clouds.

The interiors of closets were illuminated by their flashlights. There were signs like scratch marks and scuffs along the walls and doors where they’d been jerked open.

“Looks like they took dere time, mec,” Remy remarked. “Dey ate a san’wich.”

“Are ya kiddin’ me?” He huffed, taken aback by the otherwise spotless counter holding a plate of crumbs and a crust of bread. “Sheesh.”

“Dey came in through de front door. Someone had a spare, or dey got someone t’let ‘em in.”

“Time ta interview Ms. Munroe. I ain’t gonna enjoy doin’ this report.”

“Ya hate ‘em anyway, mon ami.”

“It’s one thing when ya answer a call on a 459 when ya haven’t met the caller before. But it’s different when they have a face.”

One of the last details he noticed was the cracked picture frame in the bedroom. He’d bet anything that whoever did it knew Ororo. And that unsettled him.

Just as telling was the lack of a father in the picture, in any picture in the house.

By the time they reached her again, she was flanked by an attractive blonde woman approximately the same age who was gently rubbing her back. Ororo’s eyes were red-rimmed and still moist, and the tissues were crumpled and tattered in her grip.

“Was that it? Can I get some of my things?”

“Yes,” Logan replied. “In a minute. I’d also like ta talk with yer landlady?”

“That’s me. My name’s Carol. How can I help?”

“Didja hear anything or see anything outta the ordinary?”

“No. Not so much as a scuffle. The only thing I heard before Ororo got home were some male voices in the front lobby, but none in the hall outside her door. They could have been anyone, and I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry,” she apologized, to Ororo. “You might want to ask her downstairs neighbors if they heard feet overhead.”

“Ms. Munroe, can ya think of anyone that had access ta yer home?”

“The only person who has a spare key anymore is Stevie, my babysitter.”

“When’s the last time ya talked ta her?”

“Yesterday. She wasn’t due to come over today because my mom’s watching Katie.”

“All right. The two of ya get along fine?”

“She’s my best friend.” Logan made some more notes. Both men listened with intent interest.

“Anyone else ya come into contact with that knows where ya live?” He saw the wheels turning in her head and watched her lips move silently until she met his gaze.

“My ex. I mean, Katie’s father. He and I haven’t lived together for about five years.”

“Okay.” He made a few more notes. “Thanks for filling us in, ma’am.”

“Of course. I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.” Remy gave her the police station phone number and directions for contacting them. She thanked him quietly and turned to Logan.

“Could you let me inside to collect some of my things?”

“I’ll escort you in.” Logan motioned for her to follow him. He brushed past her as he held open the door. She picked up various scents, including aftershave and something faintly metallic and fresh. She nudged open her door and the flood of emotions from her first sight of the damage came rushing back. Something inside her snapped.

“Oh, God, I can’t handle this right now,” she wailed. She leaned back against the wall, not trusting her legs to support her, until she finally slumped to the floor and hid her face behind her knees. She sobbed loudly, unabashed and unchecked. Her shoulders shook. “Why the fuck would someone…someone just come up in here and do this? What did I do? What did I ever do!”

“This might be a lot ta expect of yerself right now, comin’ back in when it looks like this. Do ya need a couple of minutes?” She nodded. Her voice was a hoarse squeak in the back of her throat, and when she peered back him, messy tendrils of hair framed her blotchy face. She looked vulnerable and deflated. Frustration on her behalf mingled with a need to protect her as he knelt beside her. “I’m not leaving ya alone for the moment, let me know what ya need, Ms. Munroe.” He didn’t touch her, but his eyes seemed to stroke her, cataloguing the emotions that flitted over her face, the grip of her arms around her knees.

“I’m okay,” she insisted. She pushed away from the wall, and a strong hand caught hers, helping her rise to her feet. “I’m getting Katie’s things,” she announced.

“That’s fine.” She paused uncertainly at the bedroom door, her chin set as she once again surveyed the damage.

“They’d do this to a little girl’s room.”

“I know.” He nudged her gently forward. “It’s okay, get what she needs.”

“I almost don’t want to bring her back here. I just need to get back to her. This was a jacked up, messed up thing to do.” She moved more purposefully around the room, peering in drawers and removing clothing, folding it neatly on top of the bed. She dug a handful of hair elastics and barrettes from a cup on the dresser, and she tugged three paperback books from the pink case.

“I know. Yer home’s yer sanctuary. And a kid’s room is their own place ta think.” She paused a moment to stare at him.

“Yes, it is.” The silence between them was charged and heavy. He moved aside as she stepped into the hall, heading toward her own room.

She selected fewer things for herself: Pajamas, socks, underthings (Logan turned away for a moment as she dug in the upper drawer), a hairbrush, and a fresh pair of scrubs. Now she was in more of a hurry to leave. She shoved everything into a small blue duffle bag and zipped it.

“There. Let’s go.”

“All right.”

“D’ya need a ride, ma’am?” LeBeau inquired.

“She’ll be fine,” Carol intervened. “I’ll take her. Her car’s in the shop.”

“That sounds good,” Ororo agreed. “No offense,” she offered, “but I don’t want my momma’s neighbors to see me getting out of the back of a patrol car.” Remy suppressed a smile.

“Keep in touch,” Logan admonished. Aside from a call back to dispatch, their ride back to the station was relatively quiet.


~0~

Luke Cage sat huddled deep in his lumpy sofa as the large screen television broadcasting the UFC match threw bluish light over his face in the dark.

Easy in, easy out was what he told himself as he keyed his way into O’s place. She didn’t know he’d made himself a copy of his old key, and she never had her apartment manager change the locks. He fished his key ring from his pocket and examined it in the dim light, fiddling with it as he turned the volume up with the remote.

Danny played it cool outside his old place, parking three buildings down in Luke’s battered old Dodge. He’d sold his Charger, even though it was two years old, and he’d taken care of it like a child.

~0~

He’d come up short the last time Fisk’s right hand man, Bullseye, knocked on his door. He never knew his real name, only that he was one mean sonofabitch with a wicked tattoo on his cheek of a leaping cobra. Several more of them seemed to drip down his neck, bleeding beneath the collar of his Southpole jerseys.

Eyes as hard and flat as old pennies sized him up when Luke exited his apartment the night before.

“Ya fucked up,” he told him by way of greeting.

“S’up,” Luke shrugged, reaching into his pocket for a pack of gum to give himself something to do with his hands.

“Word’s out that you were there when Tiny got busted with Farouk’s man on Gifford.”

“Tiny? Who dat?” Luke cracked his gum, but he began to sweat. “I dunno shit.”

“You don’t, eh?” Luke shrugged.

“Some of Fisk’s shit didn’t make it where it was s’posed ta go.”

“Don’t lay that shit on me, ese!” Bullseye’s smile was reptilian, revealing a chipped tooth and stretching his tattoo more tightly against his cheek.

“Fisk is gonna lay some shit on you if he doesn’t get his goods back. Or if he doesn’t get his money. One or the other, dumbfuck! Make up your mind, eh?” He closed the gap between them, coming close enough for him to smell the clove cigarettes on his breath and to see the broken capillaries in his eyes. “Between you an’ me, might be easier t’get him the money!” he muttered, elbowing him to let him in on the joke. Luke reared back as if he’d been stung.

“You didn’t see me. I didn’t see you.”

“It’s like that?”

“It’s like that. I’ll talk to Fisk. Not you.”

“Wrong answer, ese. When you talk to Fisk, you talk to me.” He shoved his hands into deep denim pockets, and Luke noticed his hand wrapping ominously around something inside. Word had it, Bullseye was handy with a blade… “Be seein’ you.”

“Where you think you’ll be seein’ me, huh? HUH?” he called after him as he sauntered away, ducking into a subway tunnel. His blood ran cold.

~0~

Luke knew the best way to cover his tracks was to make it look like he had nothing to hide. Ororo’s computer ended up in an old box, packed on a handcart. He looked like a delivery man, dressed in nondescript clothes, smiling at her neighbors in passing as he made his way out through the security door.

He knew her habits. She squirreled away spare change throughout the house, whether it was laundry money, or a rainy day stash in the kitchen cabinet for things like car parts or a late utility bill. He felt no compunction about the jewelry he’d taken; he’d bought her the gold necklace back in the day, when she knew how to treat a man. Before she started bitching and picking him apart. Memories of those first days sometimes rocked him to sleep, or sometimes made him sour. He refused to let them make him guilty.

He needed the money more than she did. Hell, she’d get it back from him, anyway, if she went to the DA about the late payment.

Danny Rand eyed him coolly as he climbed back into his car with the take. “Let’s roll.”

“No shit.” He had to meet his fence by three. He silently fingered the tiny gold identity bracelet engraved with his daughter’s name. Katie had to be big by now…

And that brought him here, still short by a grand and with no alibi for where he was when he saw Tiny and Mick riding away in the back of the Crown Vic. The drop had gone wrong. All wrong.

He finished watching the fight and a movie he didn’t remember the name of until his eyes grew heavy and dry. He ignored the dirty dishes in the sink on his way back to bed. He stripped off his clothes and chucked them at the hamper, then paused as something fluttered out of his sweatshirt pocket.

He stooped to pick up the photograph of Katie and Ororo and gently smoothed it before setting it on his bedside table.


~0~

At home in the dim lamplight of his bedroom, Logan stared at the faded blue piece of construction paper, scrawled in crayon of a rainbow and smiling sun. He fingered the deteriorating cotton balls before returning it to the box by his bed and extinguishing the light.

Red-rimmed blue eyes dogged his sleep.





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