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I find the back door propped open. I sneak inside, picking my way past shelves of supplies—cups, napkins, sweeteners, bags of Good Earth coffee.
When I emerge, it’s behind the counter and I spot Burke standing in front of Ramses, hands up, talking in low tones.
Ramses has—you’ve got to be kidding me—a gun. He’s got Katia by the arm and holds his weapon against her head.
Burke is staying back, but I know he sees me.
And I smile.
Because I know exactly what to do, and I’m hoping, praying even, that Burke knows it too.
An imperceptible nod.
I move behind Ramses.
It happens in synchronicity, almost like a dance. But that’s how we are, Burke and I. Partners. Brothers. We’ve always been able to read each other’s minds.
He dives at Katia, tackling her away from the gun as I simultaneously grab Ramses and slam him onto the floor.
I haven’t forgotten yesterday, the fact that he’s big, wiry, and athletic. But don’t forget I have that twenty-eight-year-old body.
I’m also big, wiry, and athletic.
We land together, and he elbows me, but I’m quicker. I dodge the attack, get a knee in his back and grab for his hand, hoping for a submission hold.
Not in time. He rolls, knees me and lands a blow in my gut. But I shake it off, and hit him with everything I have inside me. My fist meets his face and pain shudders through both of us.
He howls out a curse and grabs me around the neck, pulling me down.
But my fists are free and I land two solid shots in his ribs. He grunts.
I don’t stop.
I know I should, but he’s still holding me down, still writhing and I have twenty-four years of fury roiling through me. I reach for his free hand, but it’s grappling for something between us.
“Rem!”
Burke’s shout coincides with a blinding flash of pain in my side.
Ramses has gotten his hands on a knife and speared it into my side.
The pain takes me apart, blinds me, and I suck wind.
He pushes me off. But I still have hold of his satchel and heaven help me, I’m not letting go.
Then there’s Burke. Where he’s been all this time, I don’t know, but as I grip the satchel with everything inside me, he trips Ramses, lands on his exposed back and gets him into that hold I longed for.
And I’m bleeding like a freakin’ stuck pig.
I still have a hand on the satchel and I drag it off him, scoot back to the wall, forgetting for a second my wound as I scrabble for a look inside.
For once, I’m glad to be right. Inside is a metal cylinder, like a thermos, and my guess is it doesn’t hold coffee.
My look of relief must transmit to Burke because he smiles as he begins to cuff Ramses.
“I told you to trust me,” I mumble, but my voice is strained. I just need to lay down.
“Call 911!” he shouts to Katia and moves to catch me. “Rem, stay with me—”
