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I step closer, crouch beside her, and gently put my hand on her arm, praying I’m not about to make things worse. The wrap is ready in case I need to immobilize her arm and the knife. I don’t believe for a second she intends to use it, but I also don’t want to be on the receiving end of the knife if things go wrong.
Adrenaline courses through my body the way it did when I was on a mission. My reflexes are well-honed from years of playing hockey and the military.
I glance behind me, ensuring Kellan has my back. Everything will be okay. We’re both trained to take down the enemy. Neither of us wants to hurt Jessica, but we’ll do what we have to in order to protect her, ourselves, Keshia, and Zara.
“Can you describe the room, Jess?” I ask.
She blinks and looks at me with unfocused eyes. “Troy? Why am I on the floor?” Her gaze lowers to the knife in her hand, and she drops it as if it burned her. The knife blade clatters on the tile floor.
I pull the knife toward me along the floor and flick it behind me for Kellan to retrieve. “We were hoping you could tell us that.”
“Did I hurt anyone?” Her eyes shift from Zara, Keshia, Kellan, and to me again.
“No,” I tell her, my voice still low and calm. As if this scenario happens to me all the time. Like going to the grocery store.
She closes her eyes and bounces the back of her head against the wall. “Oh God,” she mutters. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” The words are faint, probably only heard by me.
I swivel to Zara. “Is it okay if I take her somewhere else? She won’t be back for the rest of her shift.”
“No,” Jess blurts and makes a move to stand but doesn’t get that far. Her legs don’t seem too willing to support her. “I can’t leave. This is my first day on the job.”
Zara studies me with appraising eyes. She’s warring with herself if she should fire Jess or give her a second chance. A chance that could have dire consequences if the same thing should happen again. “No, you should go with Troy. Maybe he knows something that will help you.” Zara’s eyes plead,Please tell me you have an idea.
I don’t answer because I don’t know if my plan will help. I’m hoping it will.
I wrap the blanket over Jess’s shoulders and help her to her feet.
She looks at the two women, her expression flickering between nervousness and shame. She chews on her bottom lip, eyes shiny, body trembling. “I’m so sorry. I have no idea what happened.”
I can only imagine what she’s thinking. She doesn’t know us any more than we know her. She doesn’t understand I’m not the type to turn my back on someone in need.
Zara retrieves Jess’s stuff from the staff room. Neither of them brings up the topic of Jess returning to her job tomorrow. I’ll talk to Zara later about it. But I won’t try to convince her to give Jess a second chance if Zara’s uncomfortable with her working here.
I lead Jess to the rear exit. Kellan doesn’t follow us.
“I biked here,” Jess says as we walk down the alley to the street.
“You won’t need your bike where we’re going. I’ll put it in the bed of my truck and drop it off at your house. You’ll want to change into other clothes.”
“Where are we going?” An unexpected curiosity seeps into her tone. Journalistic curiosity if I were to hazard a guess.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Jessica’s head turns away from me, the movement jerky, and she looks over her shoulder at the near empty alley. “I guess I need to search for a new job.” She says that more to herself than to me.
I glance up, instinctively identifying locations where a sniper could hide. Building rooftops. Two windows overlooking the alley. Both closed. “Can you tell me what happened? Why you get flashbacks?” Because I’m positive that’s what she experienced back there.
Jess shakes her head, her shoulders curved inwardly.
“It might help.”
“It might, but it doesn’t matter. I still can’t tell you.” A slight edge shapes her tone. It’s not a keep-out-of-my-business edge. It’s a fearful, resigned one.
We round the corner. Butterscotch is waiting patiently where I left him tied to the bench. Jess practically runs to my dog.
She crouches next to him and pets him. Butterscotch seems as happy to see Jess as she is to see him. And the more she strokes him, the more the fear and shame and uncertainty fade from her face.
I hold my hand out to her. “Bike-lock key?”
