Plain Jane & the Bad Boy

Chapter 3

Buzz.

Liam reached for the alarm and swiped air. Confused, he jerked upright on the couch, in the living room, not his king-size bed. The party broke up shortly after Mack left, though Liam continued hitting the Jack until the couch did double duty, apparently.

There was that buzzing again. Now, it resided between his ears. He was slightly hungover. He hadn't been that drunk since Mack had no mercy and got him blitzed on his sixteenth birthday.

The buzzing settled into the distinctive sound of a lawnmower. Who the fuck mows their lawn at—he freed his phone from his back pocket—three in the afternoon? He rolled off the couch and headed to the bathroom to drain his bladder, then dunk his head in a sink full of cold water. While submerged, the night's events replayed in Mack's grating voice. Ten grand, man! And Michelle. He never loved her, but he had cared until she played him for a fool. That shit wouldn't happen again.

The lawnmower was still buzzing when he exited the bathroom somewhat refreshed, though the motor had a strange whine to it.

Better go out there and stop Mack from shooting the damn thing. The mower shut off as he stepped out his front door. Expecting to see Mack, he spotted his renter across the street sitting on her front lawn with the mower on its side and her hand between the blades.

"That's a bad idea!" He darted across the street.

Her head snapped up and the whites of her eyes caused him to falter. He'd seen that wide-eyed stare before, and his blood ran cold.

Initially, she froze, which was a good thing since she could've lost a hand. Then, she scrambled away as fast as she could.

He held up his empty hands in a classic "I'm not here to hurt you" stance and slowed his approach. "Didn't mean to frighten you, but you're about to lose a hand."

That look on her face, the stark terror, he'd seen that expression on patrol in Syria when a citizen had spotted his unit. Were they there to help or to slaughter them? He'd seen it so often he'd become numb and then filed all of that away when he touched down on US soil. Now, all those memories rushed back because he never expected to see that terror in America from a person looking at him.

Eyes wide as saucers in a pale, gaunt face, the woman continued to back away until she practically merged with the siding of the house. He had the urge to say, "I come in peace," instead, he said, "I'm Liam Callahan. I own the property you're renting. I'm also your neighbor." He didn't hold out his hand because he doubted she'd take it.

He dropped to one knee for a look at the lawnmower. It was old, patches of rust chewed through parts of the body, the blades worn. He'd forgotten this was in the backyard shed on the property.

"I'm tossing this and I'll set up a service to take care of the lawn so you won't have to." He glanced over his shoulder and was pleased she'd climbed to her feet. God, she was thin, painfully. The sleeveless red shirt and blue skirt hung on her body. Her long neck balanced on knobby shoulders. Her head resembled a bobble as she trembled. His presence frightened her so much, she shook like a leaf in the wind.

Her hair was shoulder length and a soft black, and with her chin buried in her chest, it covered half of her face. He got the sense that was her default, to hide in plain sight, to use her hair as a curtain to hide behind.

A baby's gurgle came from the porch. He glanced over to see a chubby, dark-haired bundle of fluff strapped into a stroller. Before he could ask her name, the woman rushed over and hauled the stroller back inside the house.