When I attempt to close the distance between Katie and me, two burly men wearing stained jeans and misbuttoned shirts step into my path. Even frightened at their standoffish composure, nothing can dampen my eagerness. I stomp on one of the brute’s feet and sidestep the second man before rushing to Katie. My movements are so agile, I slip by the two men before they have the chance to formulate a reaction.
“Katie!” I call out again when a man with platinum blond hair and a wonky nose hurriedly guides her into the back of an SUV idled at the curb.
Dust kicked up from the roadside burns my eyes when the driver of the SUV slams his foot on the accelerator and dangerously merges into the heavy flow of traffic surrounding us. Ignoring the fear spurring on my furious pulse, I dart into the street and signal for a taxi. Thankfully, with it being midafternoon, my request for a taxi is filled remarkably quickly.
I crawl into the backseat of the cab and instruct the driver to follow the dark SUV. As I fasten my seatbelt, I turn my eyes back to the two men who accosted me on the sidewalk. The crazy beat of my heart weakens to a gallop when I fail to notice them anywhere.
Over the next ten minutes, the taxi driver follows the SUV through the streets of Ravenshoe, going from the newly built-up areas to a side of town that isn’t as well maintained.
“Don’t get too close,” I instruct the driver while touching his shoulder. The rattle of my shaky hand ruffles the collar on my crisp white dress shirt. “I watched reruns of a 70s-era cop show with my dad for years. Even back then, the biggest mistake the person tailing made was announcing their interest.”
The taxi driver tightens his grip on the steering wheel before nodding. His eyes are as wide as mine, but he has an edgy grin stretched across his face, like he appreciates the unexpected action I’ve forced into his life.
“Pull over here,” I request to the taxi driver when the SUV stops in front of a poorly lit nightclub.
After scanning my eyes around the less-than-stellar surroundings, I shift my dilated gaze to the cab driver. “Can you keep the meter running?”
Relief engulfs me when he nods without a moment of hesitation. After handing him a selection of bills from my purse to express my appreciation, I exit the cab and pace towards the club I saw Katie and the blond-haired man entering. My legs wobble with every step I take, but my poise is determined. As I walk past a group of men eyeing me with zeal, I give myself a mental pep talk that I'm stronger than I’ve ever been, and that I’ve got this.I hope.
I clutch my purse close to my chest when my goody-two-shoes outfit gains me the attention of a large beast of a man guarding the nightclub doors. He takes a few moments running his eyes over the length of my body before he lifts his hardhearted gaze to my massively dilated eyes. With a belligerent grin, he opens the cracked wooden door for me. I force a neutral expression onto my face before walking into the premises like I’ve always belonged here.
Clearly, I don’t belong here.
Considering my clothing has ten times more material than every scantily dressed woman mingling in the dingy club, I stand out like a sore thumb. I look like a kindergarten teacher walking into a biker’s bar.
I get eyeballed by people with every step I take, but I continue with my mission, not willing to wait until I’ve built up enough courage to tackle this task head on. It’s taken ten years to find Katie, so I can’t give up now.
My steps become shaky when a dark-haired man in a booth on my right lifts his chin, inviting me to join him. I shake my head before changing the course of my direction. My wobbly steps come to a dead halt when the strobe lighting shackled to the roof bounces off Katie’s vibrant hair.
Tucking my clutch under my arm, I rush towards the fiery redhead.
“Katie,” I call out, fighting hard to raise my voice above the horrid techno music booming out of the speakers.
When I reach the redhead, I grab her by the shoulder. Disappointment smashes into me when she turns around to face me. Her eyes are brown in color, and her face lacks Katie’s turned-up nose.
“Sorry,” I apologize to her annoyed expression.
When the unnamed redhead returns to dancing with her friends, I roam my eyes around the space, seeking any indication of which direction Katie went. I freeze when my eyes lock in on a figure moving quickly towards me.
Blood roars to my ears as the man whose foot I stomped on thirty minutes ago briskly strides towards me. His steps are unhindered as everyone surrounding him moves out of his path when they see him coming. His lips are set in a hard line, and his nostrils are flaring. My brain screams at me to run, but I instinctively loosen my muscles as my body prepares to assert the maneuvers Colt has been teaching me the past six weeks.
Just as the large brute grabs ahold of my forearm, a gun being fired shrills through the filled-to-capacity club. Panic overwhelms me as patrons of the club scramble, pushing and shoving past me as they scamper to get out of the firing zone. I stand frozen, unable to move out of fear. Flying fists I’ve learned to dodge. Bullets, though – I don’t stand a chance against them, and neither does my baby.
My fear switches to confusion when my eyes lock in on my attacker lying in the middle of the now isolated dance floor. His face is scrunched; his eyes are tightly shut. While muttering obscenities under his breath, he holds his right knee with both of his hands. From his squirming movements alone, I can tell he's in an immense amount of pain. The thump of my heart turns wild when I notice blood seeping between his interlocked fingers.
With my heart dropped out of my ribcage, I shift my eyes to the direction the smell of gunpowder is coming from. I gasp, beyond shocked when I spot the cab driver standing near the entrance of the club with a gun braced in front of his body. He lifts his right hand to his mouth and mumbles something into the sleeve of his white dress shirt before he houses his gun into a holster wrapped around his waist. My eyes grow wider with every stride he takes towards me.
“We need to leave before the authorities arrive.” He slings his arm around my shoulders and drags me toward the exit. Panic rages in my stomach me when I recognize his accent. He's Russian.
“Who are you with?”
My eyes frantically shift in all directions, soundlessly requesting aid from the people gawking at me with a snick of fear in their eyes. When my silent pleas fail to secure any assistance, I lift my eyes back to the man beside me.
“I have full sanction.” My words are hoarse, strangled by fear.
Acting like he can’t hear a word I'm speaking, the unnamed man ushers me to his taxi idling at the curb in front of the club. After opening the back passenger door, he places his hand on the top of my head and assists me inside. His eyes scan the premises as he slips behind the steering wheel and lurches the cab into the heavy flow of traffic.
My shocked state amplifies when I notice the taxi identification hanging on the glass partition doesn’t match the man driving the taxi. The picture resembles a man in his mid-sixties with a receding hairline and a round tummy. The man driving has slicked-back black hair, a fit body shape, and couldn’t be older than thirty.
