Cold Feet. Brenda Novak

      “And how long a lease are you willing to sign? A year?”

      “Six months,” he replied, letting her know by his tone that she wasn’t getting any more out of him.

      “And when would you like to move in?”

      “Tomorrow morning, if that’s okay with you.”

      “That’s fine.” Now she did smile, right before she turned back to Sanderson. “I’ve got your phone number, Mr. Sanderson,” she said. “If Mr. Trovato’s references don’t check out, I’ll give you a call.”

      Sanderson didn’t appear too pleased with the situation, but there wasn’t much he could do. Madison followed him out, probably to apologize for the wasted trip. Brianna stayed behind, still eyeing Caleb warily.

      “You don’t want me to live here?” he asked.

      Her bottom lip came out. “No.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because this is our house. My mommy draws here, and me and Elizabeth dance.”

      “I won’t be staying long,” he admitted. Then he remembered that Madison had started to tell him something out in the drive. “What did your dad have to say about the idea last night?”

      Brianna tucked her stuffed bunny protectively under one slender arm. “He said you should never rent out part of your house.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because you never know who might be moving in with you.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

       P OUNDING ON THE FRONT door dragged Madison from the depths of sleep.

      She glanced, bleary-eyed, at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was only eleven o’clock. Generally she wasn’t in bed so early on a Friday night. She stayed up on weekends, handling paperwork, e-mail, or working on the computer. But this hadn’t been a regular week. Ever since she’d found that box under her mother’s house, she’d been so tired it felt as though someone had tied ten-pound weights to each limb. She’d climbed into bed a mere thirty minutes ago but was already sleeping like the dead.

      Like the dead? Considering the recent disturbance of her father’s grave, that seemed rather chilling. She rubbed her arms as she shivered and groped for her robe. The knocking continued.

      “Mommy?” Brianna’s confused voice came to her from the other room.

      “Yes, honey?”

      “Is it morning-time?”

      “Not yet.”

      “Who’s here?”

      “I’m sure it’s just our new renter. He probably can’t find the remote for his television or doesn’t know how to run the dishwasher or something.” Madison tied the belt to her robe. “And he didn’t bother to notice that our lights are out,” she added under her breath.

      “We shouldn’t have let him move in,” Brianna said, as if this incident proved the point she’d been trying to make from the start.

      Brianna sounded like an echo of Danny. Sometimes Brianna also behaved a great deal like her father. Today she’d pouted and glowered at Mr. Trovato all afternoon while he was carrying in his belongings, which were rather sparse, along with a few groceries. “Try to go back to sleep, honey,” she said.

       Bang, bang, bang. The knocking was impatient. Demanding.

      How could Brianna sleep with all that noise? “Give me a minute,” Madison called out. As she stuffed her feet into the frumpy “housewife” slippers Danny had given her a year ago last Christmas, she pictured the diamond tennis bracelet he’d presented to his new wife the day she’d announced her pregnancy. After dropping out of college to finish putting him through school, Madison had come away from their seven-year marriage with probably a fifth of Danny’s net worth, a real estate license and a pair of ugly house shoes, while Leslie was living in Madison’s old mansion and dripping in diamonds. Somehow it didn’t seem fair. But Madison didn’t want Danny if he couldn’t stand by her “for better or worse”—although she hated the fact that her daughter had lost the firm foundation of having both parents in the home.

      “I’m coming,” she said when she neared the door. “Who is it?”

      There was no answer, but the banging didn’t subside. It came in loud, staccato bursts that grated on Madison’s nerves.

      “Who is it?” she repeated more insistently, and snapped on the porch light so she could peer through the peephole.

      It definitely wasn’t Caleb Trovato. She could see that right away. Mr. Trovato was probably six foot four, two hundred ten pounds of well-defined muscle. He was the kind of man who could turn a woman’s head from forty feet away. This person was skinny to the point of looking emaciated. His hair was almost as dark as Mr. Trovato’s, though not nearly as thick. And—

      Her visitor moved and she caught a glimpse of his face.

      Oh, God! It was Johnny.

      Unlatching the safety chain, Madison opened the door for her half brother. “Johnny! What are you doing here?”

      He sniffed as though he had allergies and shifted on the balls of his feet, regarding her with red-rimmed eyes. Behind him, headlights from some kind of car bore down on her, but the engine was off.

      “I need a few bucks,” he said, point-blank. “Can you help me out?”

      Johnny and Tye had come to live with Madison and her parents for the first time when Johnny was fifteen and Tye was sixteen. From the beginning, they’d been in and out of trouble with her parents, the school, even the authorities, and didn’t bother much with a little sister who was only eight. But for the eighteen months Johnny was living at the house, Madison had liked him a lot better than Tye, who was far more remote. She’d sort of idealized Johnny, because he did sometimes do her a kind deed. He’d let her play with the stray cats he brought home occasionally—before her mother made him turn them loose again. He’d share whatever candy filled his pockets. Tye ignored her completely.

      “Are you alone?” she hedged, caught completely off guard. Last she’d heard, Johnny was supposed to be in prison for another three years.

      “Yeah.”

      “It doesn’t look like you’re alone.” She shaded her eyes against the headlights and squinted, making out a shadowy figure sitting in the driver’s seat of what was probably an old Buick Skylark.

      “So I’m with a friend. Does it matter?” More nervous energy. More restless movements. From the way he was acting, he had to be on something.

      Evidently there wasn’t much about Johnny’s lifestyle that had changed over the years. “When did you get out?”

      He sniffled again. “Couple weeks ago, I guess.”

      He was so strung out, Madison wasn’t sure he could tell one day from the next. Maybe he hadn’t been released at all; maybe he’d escaped, and whoever was waiting in the car was his accomplice.

      She tightened her robe, wondering what to do. If she gave Johnny money, he’d only use it to buy more drugs. But she had to help him. Except for Tye, she was his only family. And she felt guilty for having had the love and support of their father and for having a good mother when theirs was so neglectful and abusive.

      “I’ve got twenty bucks,” she said.

      “Is that all?”

      “That’s all.”

      “Then how ’bout a drink? You got a beer for your brother?”

      Madison hesitated. Johnny had his better moments, but he could also be unpredictable and moody. And, for all she knew, the person