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After an hour or so, Cat spoke. “I think I know what I want to do with my life.”
I grinned and turned toward my friend. “Really? That’s great. What were you thinking?” She was nearly off the heroin and it showed. Cat was the picture of health. Her skin glowed, she no longer looked gaunt, the shadows under her eyes had disappeared. The only reminders of her horrific past were the track mark scars on her arms and the haunted look she sometimes had. I glanced down at my own scars, faded but still visible on the inside of both elbows, and wondered if I had the same haunted look as Cat.
“I think I want to work at a women’s shelter or rape crisis center.” Cat pulled in a shaky breath. “I mean, I think I’d be good. I don’t really know what you need to do to be able to work there, but…” She flicked her dark eyes up to mine. “I want to try.”
I reached over and took her hand. “I think it’s a great idea, Cat.” Tears began to cloud my vision. “Let’s go inside and look up the qualifications.”
Cat smiled, a real smile reminiscent of the girl I knew before the shitstorm rained down on her—gave me a warm feeling inside. My friend would be okay. Like me, it would take time and she would need a good support system, but Cat would make it. We were the lucky ones.
We crossed the lawn, two of the Men in Black following several feet behind us, like big, annoying, Yeti-sized shadows.
Cat stopped and put a hand on my arm. “Did you hear that?”
I tilted my head to listen, but all I heard were birds chirping and insects buzzing. “No, what?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. It was like a thump or something.” I shrugged. “I guess it was nothing,” Cat said.
Then I heard it. And so did the Men in Black. One man grabbed me and one grabbed Cat, both shoving us behind their bodies at the same time. My ears rang from the loud pop of gunfire coming from our bodyguards. I screamed and covered my head. Cat dropped to the ground and curled up in a ball. I was about to grab her hand and pull her to the house, when the man protecting her staggered back. He fell, collapsing right on top of Cat, pinning her to the ground.
“Cat!”
“Go!” my bodyguard shouted at me.
“I can’t leave her!”
Without turning around, he reached back and shoved me toward the house. “Go inside!” His gun went off again and I shrieked.
The back doors flew open and men poured out of the house like angry bees from a hive, all of them brandishing weapons. I crouched low to yank Cat out from under the heavy man, his eyes staring blankly at the sky as a bright bloom of red spread on his chest.
Shit, shit, shit. He was dead.
“Oof!” I was knocked off balance as my bodyguard tumbled back. He flailed as he fell, his gun smashing into my head as he went. I groaned and crumpled in a heap on the grass, the man landing next to me. My vision wavered in and out and nausea burned at my throat.
“Miri!” Cat screamed.
I tried to reach her, but couldn’t. The side of my head was wet. I brought my fingers to my temple and they came back covered in blood. Blinking, I attempted to clear my head. It was useless, the yard was spinning around me. The last thing I saw as my eyes closed was Cat, shoving the dead man off her and running to my side. As the world went dark, a flurry of gunshots rang out and I had one final thought before blacking out.
Jag. Jag would help me.
Jag
The buzzer on my study door rang, sending a streak of irritation through me. I left explicit instructions that I was not to be disturbed while in my meeting with Brick and our lawyers. Obviously, someone felt as if my order didn’t apply to them. The buzzer rang again, and this time whoever was pushing it depressed their finger for so long the drawn out sound was grating.
Tamping down a wave of hostility, I pushed to my feet.
“Excuse me,” I said to my guests, buttoning my jacket as I crossed the room. On the video panel next to the door I saw George outside, slamming his hand on the buzzer over and over in a panic.
Adrenaline flooded my body. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Fumbling, I deactivated the lock and the door hissed. George barged in, covered in sweat and pale as a ghost.
“Boss! El Cuchillo… they’re here. Outside!”
“What?” I asked, George’s words not quite sinking in.
“Backyard,” he panted. “El Cuchillo is attacking. Killed a bunch of our guys.”
“Fuck!” I ran to my safe and grabbed my Glock. With my study completely soundproofed, I didn’t hear any gunshots. “Where’s Miri?” I demanded, storming out of the panic room. Brick and the lawyers were forgotten.
“Boss…” George said, his voice wavering. “She’s outside with her friend.”
