One week later Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Michelle Taylor stared at the contents of her wallet and groaned. She barely had enough money to buy groceries this week, much less pay the rent that was due five days ago. She'd lost her job at a local coffee shop a month ago and hadn't been able to find another position. What little money she had saved went to pay last month's rent. Soon Mr. Henson would be hounding her for June's rent, and if she didn't come through, he'd probably throw her out in the street, like he had the last tenant.

Michelle looked around her shabby studio apartment. It came fully furnished but didn't include more than the basics — a few dishes and cooking utensils, a small kitchen table with two chairs, a well-used sofa, and a bed that pulled down from the wall. In the cramped kitchen area, peeling linoleum held little appeal, nor did the water-stained ceiling. The vinyl on the wall near the kitchen table had been ripped, and the chipped cabinet doors where she kept her canned goods hung askew. The rust-stained sink and crooked blinds on the window completed the gloomy picture in this room, not to mention the hum of the old refrigerator that just about drove her batty.

Then there was the pathetic bathroom. The toilet ran unless she shook the handle a couple of times. Chipped grout, blackened in places with sickening mold, made the faded tile behind the tub/shower combination anything but pleasing. Hard water stains covered the shower door, and some of the tiles on the floor had begun to buckle. The sink faucet dripped constantly, even though Michelle had tried several times to fix it — a job her landlord should have taken care of. There was nothing high class about this dwelling, but at least it gave Michelle a roof over her head — same as it did for the rest of the building's occupants. No one in this building was high class, most certainly not Michelle.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, she moved from the kitchen area and sank to the outdated, black, imitation-leather sofa. Leaning her head back, and using her fingertips, she massaged her throbbing forehead. What I should do is get out of Philly and make a new start somewhere else. Guess I could go back to Ohio and see if Al and Sandy will take me in again. Course, it's been so long they might have moved, or at the very least, taken in more foster kids, so they wouldn't have room for an unwanted guest.

Michelle hadn't seen her foster parents since she graduated from high school and went out on her own six years ago. She hadn't called or even sent a postcard to let them know where she was or how she was doing. "They probably wouldn't care anyhow," she muttered. "Truth be told, Sandy and Al were probably glad to get rid of me."

Michelle squeezed her eyes shut, wincing as her headache worsened. Shoulda kept my grades up in school. I may have had a chance at a college scholarship and might be workin' at a decent job by now. Guess this is what I get for being a know-it-all and running off the minute I got out of high school.

When Michelle left Columbus, she'd gone from town to town, taking whatever menial jobs she could find. When things went bad, or she ran low on money, she moved on, always searching — always hoping — wishing she could put down permanent roots. All Michelle had ever wanted was to feel loved and accepted — to feel like she truly belonged. Of course, it was only wishful thinking. At the rate things were going, she'd never have a place she could call "home" and mean it. It was doubtful Michelle would ever know what the love of a caring family was all about.

Her head jerked when someone pounded on the door. Oh great. I bet that's Mr. Henson, coming for the rent I don't have. If I don't answer, he'll think I'm not here and go away. She sat perfectly still and didn't make a sound.

The pounding continued. "Michelle! Come on, sweetie, I know you're in there, so open this door."

Relieved that it wasn't Mr. Henson after all, she called, "Coming, Jerry."

Michelle jumped up and hurried across the room. Jerry had been kind of edgy when he came to see her last night, and she didn't want him to make a scene outside her door. A few times before when she'd refused to let him in because he'd been drinking too much, he'd become loud and boisterous. After some of the other tenants complained about the noise, the grumpy landlord warned her that she would have to leave if it happened again.

Another loud knock on the door, and Michelle jerked it open. "Said I was coming. Didn't you hear me through the paper-thin door?"

Jerry's eyelids lowered as he stepped inside and slammed the door shut. "Yeah, I heard ya." He reached out and pulled her close.

Michelle smelled the rotten-egg scent of beer on his breath as soon as he kissed her, and she nearly gagged. Michelle had never acquired a taste for alcohol or appreciated the smell of it. The same thing held true for cigarette smoke. It wasn't that she thought she was too good for those things. They just made her feel sick.

"How'd your day go?" Jerry held Michelle so close she could barely breathe. "Did ya find another job yet?"

"No, I did not. Nobody seems to be hiring right now." Michelle pulled on her shirt collar. "And if I don't find something soon, I'll be kicked out of this apartment building for not paying the rent." She didn't let on that Jerry's yelling outside her door could also get her kicked out. He wouldn't think twice about threatening the landlord.

Jerry released his hold on her and sauntered across the room to the nearly empty refrigerator. "Ya got any beer?"

"No, and I hardly have any food either. If my luck doesn't change soon, I could end up living on the streets with all the other homeless people in this town."

Jerry raked his fingers through the ends of his curly brown hair. It looked like he hadn't washed it in several days. "You ain't gonna end up on the streets, sweetie, 'cause I want ya to move in with me. I told you that last night, remember?"

Michelle did remember. How could she forget? After she'd declined his offer, they'd had a big argument that ended with Jerry grabbing her so tight, she'd been left with bruises on both of her wrists.

"Michelle, did ya hear what I said?" Eyes narrowing, he got right in her face.

She nodded. "I'm just thinking, is all."

"Well, don't think too long. Just pack up your things and let's go. You'll be glad to say goodbye to this place."

"I told you last night that I'm thinking about leaving town — at least for a while. I may go back to Columbus to see my foster parents."

Jerry's brown eyes darkened as his nostrils flared. "And I said I don't want you to go anywhere but with me." His features softened a bit. "I'd miss you, baby. And you'd miss me too. Ya know you would."

Michelle twisted a strand of her long auburn hair around one finger. If she stayed in Philly and moved in with Jerry, he'd want more than she was ready to give him. They'd known each other less than a month, and even though Michelle was attracted to Jerry's good looks, his possessive nature worried her. Almost from the first night they'd met in a pool hall across town, he'd acted as if he owned Michelle. What worried her the most about Jerry, however, was his temper. In her early childhood years, she been the brunt of her parents' anger, until child services intervened and put Michelle and her brothers, Ernie and...