Kiss the Girl by Susan Sey Page A

you after we’ve both gotten some sleep.”
    He forced himself to meet that steady gaze.  She finally nodded.  “Okay,” she said.  “Okay.”
     
    It was nearly midnight when Nixie climbed out of Erik’s beat up Jeep Cherokee . 
    “I’ll walk you up,” he said, but Nixie waved him off. 
    “There’s a doorman,” she said, pointing to the brightly lit awning protecting the entrance to the Watergate.  “I’ll be fine.”
    The uniformed doorman swept open the doors as she spoke and Erik frowned, but nodded.  “Okay.”
    “You’ll call me first thing?” 
    “Yeah, sure.” 
    Nixie gave him a skeptical look, but he didn’t catch it.  He was too busy looking innocent and studying the steering wheel.  The man was a terrible liar.  She shook her head.
    “See you tomorrow, then.”  She wanted to leave but worried guilt hung in the air around him like a miasma.  She reached over and touched his arm.  “She’s fine, Erik.  I really think she is.”
    “Yeah.”  He gave her a crooked smile that clearly cost him an effort.  “Of course she is.” Nixie shored up the crumbling walls around her heart.  God , she was a sucker for the stiff upper lip. 
    She squeezed his arm, and it felt so solid and strong under her hand that she took an extra second to bask in the unexpected sense of safety.  She was used to giving comfort, not taking it.  Funny how she could do both with this man. 
    “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said again.
    He waited until she was safely inside the building before pulling away and Nixie smiled.  Wouldn’t his mother be pleased to see her boy showing such a decent set of manners?  She glanced toward the Senator’s door as she was fitting her own key into the lock.  It was silent and dark.  Either nobody was home or nobody was up.
    She hesitated a moment, then made a decision.
    She rapped smartly on the Senator’s door.  It took a few minutes, but eventually a light flipped on and the Senator herself appeared, wrapped in a brilliant blue silk robe.
    “This had better be good,” she said.
    “It is.”  Nixie studied the Senator.  “Your son is a terrible liar.”
    “You didn’t have to wake me in the middle of the night to tell me that.”
    “He’s trying to cut me out of something I need to do.  I want you to help me get around him.”
    The Senator stepped back, opened the door.  “Come in.”
     

 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
    Mary Jane hefted the emergency kit onto her shoulder and swallowed a huge lump of terrified rage.  She didn’t look at the adolescent goons flanking her, just kept her eyes on her shoes.  She didn’t need to look up to know they were marching her deep into the bowels of the Wash.
    Washburn Towers was one of the newer projects and as such, its stairwells stank of cheap paint and exposed insulation along with the usual stew of grease, pot smoke and abandoned bodily fluids.  Mary Jane was no snob.  She handled the rawer elements of the human body all the time.  A little puke and piss on the landing didn’t normally faze her.  Neither did blood, but they were following fat black blobs of it like it was a trail of bread crumbs and Mary Jane couldn’t deny the little darts of panic streaking through her stomach.  
    Embrace it, she told herself.  Use it.  Let it make you stronger, not weaker.  But her imagination loaded up horrifying images of Ty sprawled somewhere at the top of the stairs in a pool of his own blood, far beyond her ability to help him.
    They turned a corner, started up another flight of stairs.  Still following the trail of blood. 
    “Is it Ty?” she finally asked. 
    No answer. 
    She picked up the pace.  If he wasn’t dead, she was going to kill him herself.  Hippocrates would surely understand.  Though at this point, breaking her o ath woul d be the least of her transgressions.
    The goon on her left knocked on the door, a specific-sounding combination of raps and pauses.  Mary Jane closed her eyes.  Boys