Without saying a thing, I slowly walked over to them. I knew Mr. Boyd flirted with the college kids, the younger the better, all day every day. But this was different. This kid couldn’t have been more than fifteen. And honestly, the guy was in his early fifties with a huge black mustache and a belly Jabba the Hutt would be proud of. What on earth made him think any of these young girls would be interested in him? Was he truly that delusional?

I slowed when the kid shook her head at him, pulled the strap of her backpack over her shoulder, and turned to walk away. She’d turned in my direction and spotted me instantly, but I was too busy giving Mr. Boyd the evil eye to offer her a hello.

“What?” he asked, taking a step in my direction.

I lowered my head and took another one in his. Then another until I was between Boyd and the girl. If he wanted a confrontation, he would most definitely get one. I’d been waiting for an opportunity to give him a piece of my gray matter. All squiggly and covered in slime.

Before it came to that, he noticed a couple of people noticing us. Things could get sticky fast for a perv preying so close to a very forward-thinking college campus. He backed down, throwing his hands up and walking back into his store.

When I turned to check on the girl, I’d expected to see her backside hustling down the street, putting as much distance between us as she could. Instead, I found her right where I’d left her. Her black jacket and black hair made her look more Goth than I guessed she was, considering she carried around a pink blanket and backpack.

“This from you?” she asked, pulling a ten out of her front pocket. It was all the cash I’d had yesterday when I stashed it in her things.

“Nope.” I pushed my bag higher on my shoulder. “I don’t carry cash.”

Her lids narrowed as she studied me. “Thanks,” she said anyway, not buying it.

I’d totally have to work on my sales pitch. Nobody was buying what I was selling these days. Maybe I’d lost my touch. Or left my touch in New York. Darn. I’d have to go back for it.

Road trip!

“You hungry?” I asked, pointing out the fact that the Frontier was a mere two blocks.

She looked back and then shrugged a shoulder. “I could eat.”

I wondered why she hadn’t already bought herself something to eat. She was shaking with hunger. Or fear. It could have been the fear causing her slim body to quake.

“Come on. I’m starved.”

Thankfully, even though I’d already had a lovely breakfast compliments of Cookie Kowalski-Davidson of runny eggs and burned bacon, I’d left room for Reyes’s homemade chips and salsa. Just in case a basket happened to end up in my arms as I took a shortcut through the restaurant, turned down the scenic route through the kitchen, then headed up the stairs. It was odd how often that kind of thing happened to me.

We ordered breakfast and then navigated the maze that was the Frontier to find a quiet table in the very back room. By the time we found a spot, our number popped up on the screen.

“I’ll get it,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t change her mind and bolt out the back door that stood ten feet from us.

She was uncomfortable but hungry. Her gaze had darted from plate to plate as we’d stood in line to order.

“Well, this looks amazing,” I said when I got back. I handed her the orange juice and #1 breakfast plate while I nibbled on a side of carne adovada with a side of carne adovada. One could never have too much carne adovada.

“It does,” she said, her wary expression doing a one-eighty and sliding headfirst into lust.

I liked her.

“So,” I said, taking small bites. Mostly because I wasn’t the least bit hungry. “Got a name?”

She hesitated, then gave me her real name. I was worried she wouldn’t. “Heather.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Charley.”

I reached over and took her hand for a formal shake. She let me and then went back to tearing into her food.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Going on?” she asked, stuffing a huge bite into her tiny mouth.

“Why are you living on the streets? There are safer places to live, you know.”

“Right.” She swallowed and gulped half the juice in one round.

“Then can you tell me how old you are?”

“Eighteen.”

I gave her a moment, then asked, “Can you tell me how old you really are?”

She paused and looked at me from underneath her lashes, trying to decide if she could trust me.

“I guess I should have mentioned something before I invited you to breakfast. I have a superpower.”