Even at 11:00 p.m., the streets weren’t empty. Nor were they quiet. But the noises were of a different type than those of the day. Furtive. Sly. Several men and a few women loitered in the doorways of buildings long since abandoned.
Those brave enough to dare to visit this sector of the city knew the wisdom of keeping gazes averted, hands in their pockets. Occasionally a curious look was directed at Scout and Nicco, but it was quickly redirected, as though whoever dared to commit the act of meeting a stranger’s gaze in this no-man’s land understood the folly of the breach of protocol.
An overturned car, windows smashed and tires stripped, slumped in the middle of the street, graffiti scrawled across the door. A single streetlight cast a weak yellow glow, a stalwart holdout in an area where every other light had either burnt out or been knocked out.
Night pressed in on her from all sides, causing Scout to tremble; she felt Nicco’s arm drop reassuringly across her shoulders. Though she told herself she could have handled the meeting on her own, she pressed closer to him, grateful for his presence. He carried himself with a quiet grace. He wasn’t quite as big as his brother, but he still topped six feet by a good three inches.
A quick movement at her side caused her to jump, heart in her throat. She swallowed thickly. “Bug.”
Bug, named for his oversize glasses, gave a little giggle. “McAdams. You came.” A frown dug its way between his brows as he took in Nicco’s presence. “You was s’pposed to come alone.”
“Get over it,” Nicco said. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Bug’s gaze darted from Nicco to Scout and back again. “Okay. I guess.”
Scout knew her part. “Did you bring what you said you would?”
Bug nodded. “Don’t I always deliver?” He had contacts all over the city. As he was fond of saying, what he didn’t know or couldn’t find out wasn’t worth knowing or finding.
She didn’t pay for information—no reputable reporter did—but she compensated Bug in other ways. His sister was in the shelter where Scout volunteered. Because of Bug’s lifestyle, he didn’t feel he could visit her there. Scout made sure the girl had the little extras that meant so much, like her favorite shampoo, new jeans, an occasional pair of the latest sneakers.
“Uh, Ms. McAdams, I ’ppreciate what you’ve done for Janeen.” Though Bug had thanked her over the course of their relationship, there was an urgency to his words that was new.
“I’m happy to help her.” The truth was, Scout would have helped the girl regardless of her arrangement with Bug, but she knew it was important to him that he give something in return.
“I know. Still…thanks.”
Tension in Bug’s voice alerted her that something was off, but she couldn’t identify what it was. Fear whispered through her.
Even in the dim light, she could make out the sweat on his palms, the jittery dance of his feet on the wet pavement. Why was he so nervous?
Scout looked at the drive in her hand. If Bug had come through, she’d be that much closer to proving that Crane was involved in the murders of four union bosses and that of her parents.
Nicco nudged her elbow. “Time to go.” Urgency scraped his voice, as though he, too, had picked up on Bug’s nerves.
“Okay.” She turned to say goodbye to Bug, but he’d already melted into the night.
Nicco nudged her forward. “C’mon. Something doesn’t feel right.” As though conjured up by his words, two shadows loomed before them. “Stay behind me,” he said in a low voice. “What’s up, guys?”
“We just want a word with the lady here,” the larger of the men said, wielding a broken beer bottle. “We got no beef with you, so you can get lost. No harm, no foul.”
Nicco broadened his stance. “Not gonna happen.”
“Too bad. Hate to mess up that pretty face of yours.” The last was said with a sneer.
Scout squinted to make out the men’s faces. “Who are you?”
“Us? You could say that we’re messengers. Someone wants you to mind your own business. You poked your nose where it don’t belong one too many times.”
The two men separated, the smaller one advancing toward Scout while Nicco took on the larger of the two. She knew her way around a fight. After her parents’ deaths, she’d made sure she could take care of herself. She didn’t wait for the attack but shot out her arm. The base of her palm torqued off a rigid arm for maximum power, and she drilled her hand into his nose.
Blood spurted and poured down his face, and he automatically put his hands up to staunch the flow. She pressed her advantage and gave a high kick to his thigh.
The hatred in his eyes promised retribution. When he moved in, she went to a crouch. “You think you’re gonna take me down, little girl?”
“I aim to try.”
His superior strength was in his favor, but she wasn’t without moves of her own.
When he drew back to punch her, she trapped his hand, rotated against the joint, then rolled over, bringing him with her to the ground.
The breath knocked out of him, he didn’t immediately get up. She took advantage of that and flipped to her feet. While her moves were first-rate, courtesy of her sensei, her opponent had the advantage of a longer reach and greater strength.
By this time, he had gotten to his feet as well. She kept a distance between her and the man who looked at her like she was prey to his hunter. The gleam in his eyes and curl of his lips told her that was exactly how he thought of her and that he was enjoying the fight.
Every fight scene she’d witnessed in action movies came back to her, and she fought the urge to taunt him with something ridiculous like “You want a piece of me? Bring it on.”
Though she was a small enough target as it was, she angled her body so that her silhouette provided even less mass and shifted her weight forward on the balls of her feet to give her next move greater momentum, then delivered an elbow directly to his gut, sending him to his knees. A final kick to his chest sent him sprawling to the ground once more. The surprise on his face would have been comical if she’d been in the mood to laugh. As it was, she was scrabbling for any advantage.
He let out a hoarse whuff, but he still had some fight in him. Rage flaring in his eyes, he snagged her ankle, yanked her to the ground alongside him. She did a face-plant on the filthy street. Her vision grayed, and she struggled against unconsciousness. She fought against it and, seeing the man’s gun holstered at his side, grabbed it and held it on him as she got to her feet.
“You fight like a little girl,” she said.
The glare the assailant sent her way was full of hatred, but she didn’t flinch under it. Instead, she lifted her chin and stared him down, all the while keeping the weapon trained on him.
In the meantime, Nicco was dealing with the other man. Nicco rammed his fist into his opponent’s jaw. The man staggered, lurched to the side but didn’t go down. Nicco moved to his left, hunkered over, then grabbed his man’s leg and ripped it off the ground. While the man floundered, Nicco propelled him sideways so that he toppled onto his buddy.
At any other time, Scout would have admired his skill, but the thug wasn’t out. She saw him reach for his phone, tap a couple of keys.
Nicco must have also seen the action and come to the same conclusion she had. “They’re not alone,” he shouted. “Run.”
* * *
Nicco grabbed Scout’s hand, inadvertently causing her to drop the gun. They didn’t dare stop for it, and he pulled her along with him. Her shorter legs couldn’t match his stride.
“Go,” she said when the heavy footsteps behind them grew closer. “It’s me they want.”
He ignored that and picked her up—she weighed less than the tactical pack he’d routinely carried as a Ranger—and ran as though their lives depended on it. Which they did.
His gaze landed on a faint depression in the wall of a warehouse. He pushed Scout inside, flattened her to the cinder-block wall, then pressed against her back, sheltering her body with his.
Smells, dank and putrid, rose from the ancient wood.
She trembled, the fine bones of her body so fragile he feared he’d crush her. “Nicco—”
“Shh.”
Boots pounded close, too close. Nicco tensed. If the men spotted Scout and him… He didn’t allow his thoughts to go any further. He could take two men, possibly three, but he’d counted four sets of footsteps.
In the Rangers, he’d fought off four tangos more than once, but he had Scout to think of. Her safety came first. If he went down, she’d be at the mercy of the men. Despite his order to the contrary, she’d stayed and fought at his side. Though she was only a little bit of a thing, she had some pretty fancy moves.
The fading slap of feet told him that their pursuers had run past them. He waited. Listened. “I think we’ve lost them.”
Her breath came in little pants.
He cupped her shoulders, turned her to face him. “Hey, it’s all right.” He pressed her head to his chest and held her, just held her, until her shaking subsided.
She lifted her head, her gaze warm on his. “How long did you think you could run carrying me?”
“As long as it took.”
“You Rangers are a breed apart.”
* * *
A breed apart. Scout had spoken only the truth. Nicco had risked his life for her with no thought of himself. How did you thank someone for such a sacrifice? Words were inadequate, but still she tried. “Thank you.”
The reassuring words she’d expected didn’t come. Instead it was a harsh order. “Don’t ever tell me to leave you again. And the next time I tell you to move, you move,” he all but growled as they walked back to where he’d parked his truck. But she knew it wasn’t anger that prompted the words.
“I wasn’t about to leave you there alone.”
“You’re the target. I can take care of myself.”
“Oh,” she said, light scorn working its way into her tone. “When did you become bulletproof? Those men chasing us had guns, in case you didn’t notice.”
Nicco scowled. “You’re going to be hurting by the time you get home.”
“Too late. I already am.” The step she took was wobbly, but she kept walking until he took her arm and pulled her to him.
“You all right?” he asked, and she knew he was inquiring about more than aches and pains.
“Yeah.” After he helped her into the truck, she huddled in the corner of the passenger side. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, you should be.” The gruffness of his tone was tempered by gentle concern. “Did you think I’d have left you to face those thugs yourself?”
“I wasn’t thinking.” That was honest. She hadn’t been thinking at all, her only thoughts on surviving.
“No. Just like you weren’t thinking when you insisted on going to meet your CI in a part of town that anyone with brains goes out of their way to avoid.”
Enough was enough. She’d apologized. What more did he want? “You were right, okay?” Anger splashed through the words.
“I’m trying to keep you alive.” His voice had lost its hard edge.
“He set me up.”
Scout couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice. Though she and Bug weren’t friends, she’d thought they had a working relationship of mutual respect. She’d been wrong.
“Someone got to him,” Nicco agreed. “Used him.”
Tim Anderson, the relief agent, met them at the house. After checking out the house, Nicco motioned her inside, then talked in a low voice to the other agent before joining her in the kitchen where she was making tea.
“You’ll be safe for the night. As long as you stay inside.”
She heard the warning in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The impatience in his eyes softened, and when he spoke again, it was with warm concern. “You sure you’re all right?”
She summoned a smile. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
His gaze moved over her, and she knew she hadn’t fooled him.
“I’ll be fine,” she repeated.
“So you said. Why don’t I believe it?” His chin dipped to her hands, now balled into fists at her side.
Flushing under his astute gaze, she opened the hands she hadn’t known she’d clenched and loosened her fingers one by one. She gave him a gentle shove toward the door. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
After Nicco left, she plugged in the thumb drive, unsurprised when she discovered it blank. Bug hadn’t expected her to live long enough to look at it.
Her nightly prayers took longer than usual as she asked for the strength to forgive.
Exhausted as she was, sleep didn’t come easily, and when it did, it was restless and disturbed.
The nightmare returned, brutal in its clarity. It yanked her from sleep and beat her up mercilessly. Her tormentors chased her through a rain-darkened night, laughing gleefully at her fear. She wouldn’t let them win. Wouldn’t let them break her.
When she woke, it was with the sheet tangled in her legs, her breathing short and choppy. A vicious headache beat at her temples.
Good. That meant she’d fought the men who had killed her parents. She hadn’t given in. She looked up, saw that daylight lined the edges of the window shades and was grateful that it was almost time to get up.
She was no wimp. She’d trained at a dojo and could take down men twice her size. Though, no matter how strong she was, no matter how much she trained, she couldn’t kick the nightmares. She did visualizations, and, most of the time, she controlled the fear. If it caught her off guard, though, like last night, the fear controlled her.
Her struggle with the imaginary assailants had left her exhausted, with painful memories of when she’d been helpless to do anything to save her parents hot and fresh in her mind.
Harshly awake now, she dropped her head into her hands, trying to shake off the pain, the fear, the helplessness. Weary of trying to deny the memories entrance, she let them in. They had been celebrating that night, she and her parents, upon the publication of her first story in the city section of the paper.
On the way home from the restaurant, a detour had taken them through an unfamiliar area where two men had carjacked them. The gunmen had killed her parents in front of her, then put a bullet in her lower shoulder, believing her to be dead just as her parents were. Somehow, she’d lived through it.
And then wished she hadn’t.
People told her she was fortunate to be alive. A bullet in the shoulder didn’t feel fortunate. Nor did the nightmares that had plagued her ever since. All of that on top of losing the two most important people in the world to her made her feel distinctly unfortunate. She hadn’t even been able to attend her parents’ funeral because she’d been in the hospital recovering at the time.
After saying a prayer, she took a few minutes to go through the relaxation exercises a therapist had suggested. Breathe. The familiar directive steadied her, and she felt her heartbeat gradually slow to a more normal pace even as her soul cried out to her parents in protest.
Why did you have to be taken so soon? Why did we have to take that route home? Why? I wasn’t ready to lose you. Either of you.
Granted, she was an adult, but there was never a good time to lose parents, never a good time to become an orphan, never a good time to say goodbye.
Memories of her mother flowed through her mind. An English professor and a writer, Georgette had loved books with a passion surpassed only by the love she had for her family.
Wearily, Scout pushed herself out of bed and made it to the shower. Hot water and soap, prayer and work, were her recipe for getting through the day after a long night. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, she was feeling the effects of last night’s fight. For the second time in only three days, she ached all over. Her own fault. She could have run as Nicco had ordered.
But that wasn’t who she was. No, she silently amended. It wasn’t who she wanted to be.
As was her routine, she flipped on the television to a twenty-four-hour news channel. She brewed coffee and poured three cups, knowing Nicco would arrive shortly to change places with the other operative. She offered a cup to Anderson, who accepted it with a grateful smile.
When Nicco arrived, she gestured to the coffee.
He frowned when he looked at her, then helped himself to a cup. “Bad night?”
“You could say that.”
“Nightmare.” It was a statement, not a question. She nodded, wanting to leave it there, but he pumped her for details. “Have them often?”
“No. Maybe. A couple this week. Last night…it brought things back.”
“Tell me.”
The simple command caused her to stop and consider. Outside of her counselor, she’d never shared the nightmares with anyone, not even Olivia. Why was she even considering talking to Nicco about them?
“Sometimes I’m running, like last night. Other times, I’m fighting. Trying to save my parents. Except I can’t.” Her voice thickened, and she coughed to clear it. “Everything seems bigger than life. The men who…who shot my parents are giants.”
Nicco took her hands in his.
“They loom over me, laughing. I try to take the guns from them, but they throw me against a wall.” A laugh came harshly. “Of course, none of that is true. The men aren’t really giants. And they didn’t throw me against a wall. They shot me, left me for dead in the car.” Her breathing grew fast and shallow as she found herself back at that night.
His grip on her hands tightened. “It’s all right. You’re here. With me.”
Breathe. “Here. With you.” She held on to the words as she would a lifeline. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here. For listening.” Needing a distraction, she pointed to the empty drive, intending to tell him about it, but he hitched his chin at the TV.
“Look.”
A picture of Bug filled the television screen.
“Terrence Howard, a known informant, was found dead in the southeast section of the city last night. More to follow.”
She flipped through the other news channels, looking for more information on the story. Details were scarce. Either the police didn’t know much, or they weren’t sharing. Probably both.
This was no coincidence. She knew it, and from the hard set of Nicco’s mouth, so did he.
“They didn’t want to leave any loose ends,” he said.
“Who is ‘they’?” she asked, though she knew. They were the people who wanted her dead.
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
Knowing someone hated her enough to kill her was surreal. A bolt of fear ripped through her chest. She fought it, but the intensity of it mocked her efforts. How long could she keep pretending that she wasn’t afraid? She was Scout McAdams. Intrepid journalist. Fearless seeker of truth.
She was a fraud.
When people found out that she wanted to run and hide, they’d despise her. Almost as much as she despised herself.