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chair slightly forward and lean toward her, offering my own hand in greeting. She looks at me uncertainly like I'm some
dolboeb
who won't cross the distance to her. I should've beaten that man unconscious so I wouldn't have to be worried about him. I rise up slowly to see if there is any reaction, and I hear a slight movement. Gripping the chair as I stand up, I swiftly lift and then bring down the leg of the chair on some body part of the thief. It might be his calf. I hear a choked sound.
    "Do you hear something?" Daisy looks around, and I take the opportunity to shove the chair back. The sound is cut off. The thief has received my message.
    "I do not. Nick Anders." I say, walking toward her. My given name is Nikolai Andrushko, but I tell that to no one. I pull her tiny hand in mine and lift it to my mouth. It smells of lemon and detergent. I brush my mouth lightly over it, amazed I do not fall onto her and ravage her like an animal. Rather than tempt myself further, I let her hand drop to her side. She is blushing now, and her other hand is covering her mouth. I rub a thumb across one flushed cheek. "Daisy. It is a lovely name."
    "Thank you."
    I hear more sounds in the corner. "This place sounds like there are animals in the walls. I think unsafe, perhaps, for someone like you?"
    "Like me?" She frowns. She does not like this. I grapple for a better response.
    "For anyone. For women, especially alone. Come," I draw her toward her washing machine. "Let's finish this."
    "Um, you don't have to wait for me. I'm just going to drop this all in the dryer and then come back when it is done."
    "
Da
, I will watch," I offer. I want to wait with her, but I have a loose end I must take care of.
    She looks uncertainly at me again, and I offer her a benign smile. It is enough, because she quickly transfers her items from one machine to another, although it is apparent she is separating out her tender under-things to take somewhere else. She pauses and then looks back at me, still flushed. Is she embarrassed? She shouldn't be. She should know that her delicate items only make her more desirable. I frown, wondering if the jackal behind me can see. I spread my legs and cross my arms, hoping to make a bigger barrier so he cannot see. I do not want anyone to see her private things. I wonder if she should wash them again.
    Her unease is evident, and I know I should leave her. Not just because of the wary glances that she flicks toward me but because everything about her is in direct conflict to my entire existence. I can scarcely breathe standing this close to her, watching her in the flesh.
    Her thin but capable arms are moving swiftly to lift and carry her clothing. Her hands are delicate with elegant fingers, perfectly shaped for her body. I imagine those fingers stretched around my shaft. There are freckles on her cheeks and forehead. Standing so close, there are details here that I could not have captured from my scope, my night vision goggles, my paltry imagination. Daisy is a riot of colors with her chestnut-colored hair and her blue eyes. Her pale skin is lovely even in this dimly lit basement. It is a good thing, I decide, that I’ve yet to see Daisy fully exposed in the sun. I may die.
    Ah, but that would be a happy death.

Chapter Three

    DAISY
    He’s not leaving.
    My stomach is all nervous flutters. I should be concentrating on the machines, but all I can think about is the tall, gorgeous man standing down here in the laundry room with me.
    He kissed my hand. He touched my cheek. It’s like something out of a romance novel. I want to giggle like a schoolgirl, but I suspect he would think I’m silly. So I bite my lip and haul my basket of clothing to the dryer. My fingers tremble as I push quarters into the slot. Regan complains that the landlords charge us for the washer and dryer, but I like clean clothing, so I view it as a necessary evil.
    I notice things about him. I notice that he’s wearing nice clothes, or at least,