“I recommend rest. She should also be seen by her local physician. The wound should be kept dry for the next seven-to-ten days, or until the stitches are removed,” Dr. Fuah said.
The woman looked at her arm, turning it back and forth with an appreciative gleam in her eyes as if she had just won a trophy for best injury of the day. Qadir didn’t know whether to be exasperated by the confounding woman or amused. She refused to tell him her name.
“Call me Wheels,” she had responded with a delicate shrug of her shoulders.
“Wheels? What kind of name is that?”
She had given him that pixie grin of hers, her eyes mischievous, and replied, “The best kind.”
She had even refused to relent to Dr. Fuah’s gentle inquisition. She had joked with the doctor as she removed the outer layers of her clothing so he could attend the wound. She removed each piece of clothing as if she were doing a stealthy striptease for Qadir, and her eyes dared him to leave. He would have left if she hadn’t suggested he might want to stay in case she needed him to hold her hand. The sarcasm in her voice had been as thick as her challenge.
He gritted his teeth. The worst part was that she was completely aware of the effect she had on him. She wielded the unique magic of her eyes like a sword. Her magnetic weapon of choice trailed a path down his body with the same casualness as the movement of her fingers when she unfastened each button on her faded blue blouse.
He caught his breath when she dropped her left sleeve and revealed the wound on her upper arm to the doctor. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her lips were curled in a secret smile as she made eye contact with him and held the material so that it barely covered the creamy mound of her breast. All the while, her eyes danced with mirth—and defiance.
“You do sweet work, Doc. I don’t think I’ll have much of a scar to show off to the boys when it’s healed,” she commented, skillfully sliding her shirt back up and buttoning it, showing nothing she didn’t want to.
A grumble of displeasure slipped from him before he could contain it, and he resisted the urge to kiss the amusement from her lips when she gave him a silent look of admonishment. Fortunately, Dr. Fuah missed their provocative exchange since his focus was on her wound, not the wicked thoughts dancing through her mind.
“I’m concerned—” Dr. Fuah began.
“I’m healthy as a horse, Doc. Don’t you worry about me,” she said, pulling on her coat.
“Dr. Fuah, I would like to speak with you for a moment—alone,” Qadir stated.
“Yes… yes, sire,” Dr. Fuah replied.
“I will return shortly,” he informed her.
“I look forward to it,” she purred, a wicked light gleaming in her eyes again.
Qadir turned and exited the room, followed by Dr. Fuah. He had met some of the most beautiful, experienced women in the world, and made love to his share of them, but none had ever challenged him. None had ever flirted with him and dismissed him at the same time. It was as if the woman—Wheels—had been born without the self-preservation gene—as proven by her behavior earlier when she faced down the gunmen.
“What are you concerned about?” he demanded, turning to the elderly, plump doctor who had been his personal physician since he was a boy.
“I’m concerned about how thin she is, and I noticed older wounds on her body.”
Qadir stilled and looked at the closed door behind Fuah. “What kind of old wounds?”
“A knife wound and another gunshot wound that have healed and left scars. She also has a large bruise on her shoulder that I would say is perhaps a week old. I’m concerned that she may be a victim of domestic violence.”
Qadir’s swiftly inhaled breath sounded loud in his ears.
“She appeared to want you there. Perhaps she will open up to you, sire,” Fuah mused.
“I will take care of the matter,” Qadir quietly declared. “What do you need for a more complete physical exam?”
Dr. Fuah’s lips twitched in amusement. “Her approval—and perhaps some privacy.”
Qadir bowed his head in acknowledgement and embarrassment. He should have known that nothing escaped the man’s notice.
“Once she is on the plane, I will ensure you have everything you need—as long as I get a full report.”
“If you get her on the plane, then I will be ready—with her permission, of course,” Dr. Fuah responded with a chuckle. “Something tells me, sire, that she might not be easy to persuade.”
“Since when has a woman ever turned me down?”
“Never, sire. If you are finished with my services, I would like to check on Nizar. I’m not sure I trust your finest guards with the American emergency medical system.”
“Of course,” he replied.
Qadir looked at the door again, replaying in his mind every moment he’d had with his mystery woman. He smiled in anticipation.
Turning the handle, he entered the office, stopped, and cursed. She was gone!
Aimee stepped out of the elevator. The lobby was full of men and women in blue, detectives, and emergency medical crew. Outside, a media frenzy was brewing. Aimee stood behind a large fake plant and warily watched the craziness. When she saw her skateboard on the reception counter, a bright yellow evidence tag attached to one wheel, a pleased grin curved her lips.
Crouching, she slipped around the tall plant, ducked behind the counter, and grabbed the board with her good arm. She snipped off the evidence tag with a pair of scissors and almost tossed it in the trash before she decided it would be a fun memento of a crazy day. She also pocketed the uneaten apple left from the receptionist’s lunch. Slipping back behind the plant, she headed for the stairwell exit leading to the parking garage.
A blast of cold air hit her when she pushed open the door, and she shivered. She needed to run an errand before she headed home. Exiting the garage, she tossed the skateboard ahead of her and jumped on it.
Her mind wasn’t on the bright lights or the crowds of pedestrians as she weaved in and out of them. It was on the tall, dark, and sexy man she had played Knight in Shining Armor with. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. It was the first time in her twenty-one years of life that she had actually found a guy worthy of her interest.
She grinned as she remembered her mom sweetly declaring that Aimee had been born with the soul of a Viking, the smarts of a Roman, and the strength of a Queen. Aimee snorted fondly. She wasn’t that full of herself. She just knew who she was and what she wanted. Her life had always been unorthodox, and she wanted… someone who could match her, somehow, but surprise her too. Someone maybe like Qadir.
Aimee was happy being Wheels, the courier, delivery person, stocker, and a hundred other jobs that she had done. The only jobs she had avoided were being a waitress and a taxi driver. She didn’t have the patience for the first one and she didn’t have a driver’s license. She had never needed one. Besides, skateboards were a lot cheaper to operate.
She was happy with her freedom, and she was willing to keep it going with jobs many would find unsavory. There were lines she wouldn’t cross, but mostly, as long as it didn’t get her killed, she would gladly take the variety of this life over the ball and chain trapping that very sexy man.
They were definitely not the same, and they wouldn’t be in each other’s orbit for very long. Still, they could have some adventures together, maybe.
She smiled.
Her tattered shoe touched the ground, propelling her forward. She wove around the trash in the alley like it was an obstacle course. When she came out the other end, she hung a left, and kicked her board up, catching it with her left hand. A sharp pain reminded her of the stitches in her arm.
It could have been a lot worse. Fortune had been on their side. He had been in the midst of turning toward the door, so he was off balance. If he hadn’t been, there was no way she would have been able to knock him off his feet and out of the way of the bullet that hit her instead. She suspected that without her intervention he would have been shot in his upper back, hitting either a lung, his heart, or shattering his spine.
It had been a surprise when she hit him and discovered how firm he was under his designer clothing. She couldn’t deny that she had judged him in the same way he had judged her. That realization, of course, made the encounter even more amusing.
What impressed her the most, though, was what happened after she rolled off him. He had been calm and focused, something that most of the professional guys she knew wouldn’t have been.
The only ones she knew who could handle a crisis well were those forged by fire in the darkest regions of human society. Only the battle-hardened have experienced the adrenaline high and fought back—well, the battle-hardened and sociopaths.
Aimee was no sociopath. Yolanda used to tell her she was a piece of sunshine that got trapped on Earth. She spread her light to the darkest corners and brightened the world. Aimee shook her head at the memory. She would need to place another flower in the river tomorrow for Yolanda.
She entered her favorite market, cradling her board against her side so she could carry a shopping basket and still have a hand free.
“Aimee! You are late tonight,” Mrs. Yang greeted with a smile.
“Yáng lǎobǎn wǎnshàng hǎo,” Good evening, Mrs. Yang, Aimee responded.
“You had a good day?” Mrs. Yang asked in Mandarin.
“Yes, it was good. Peter bet I couldn’t make a delivery in time,” she replied with a tongue-in-cheek smile.
Mrs. Yang chuckled, and her eyes danced with delight. “How much did you win from him this time?”
“Twenty,” Aimee replied, not going into the specifics of how the betting was done or split.
Aimee walked along the narrow aisle of the Chinese market that Mr. and Mrs. Yang owned. She paused to pick up a package of dry noodle soup and a bottle of water before she rounded the end and squatted. She placed the aged basket on the floor and considered the selection of cat food.
She ignored the sound of the bell when the door opened. Placing a dozen different cans in the basket, she paused when she heard a deep, familiar voice. Pure hatred poured through her.
“Hello, Mrs. Yang,” the honey-smooth voice greeted.
“Collection is not until tomorrow. I do not have payment ready yet,” Mrs. Yang replied in a trembling voice.
“Payment is due at the end of the month.”
“Yes, and tomorrow is the last day of the month,” Mrs. Yang murmured.
“If I have to come back tomorrow, it will cost you another hundred for my time.”
Mrs. Yang’s soft cry of fear sent Aimee into motion. She gritted her teeth and walked up the aisle to the cash register. Her malevolent gaze locked on one of New York’s lowest forms of life—a crooked cop.
Detective Anderson Coldhouse was a piece of shit. He had only been in this precinct for a few months, but he had been bad from the start. He had probably been doing horrible things somewhere else, got caught, and his superiors had transferred him here with a promotion instead of firing him—or arresting him.
Coldhouse turned when she plopped the basket on the counter, his eyes widening with disbelief as she literally pushed him aside.
“Mrs. Yang, do you have any more of the Seafood-flavored cat food?” Aimee inquired.
“I believe we have more in the back,” Mrs. Yang said.
“Can you look? I grabbed the last two cans and need two more,” Aimee asked with a smile.
“Yes, yes, please, give me a moment,” Mrs. Yang said, hurrying to the back of the store.
Aimee turned and looked Coldhouse in the eye. “Nice night. I heard that someone was filing a complaint about some crooked cops shaking down immigrant store owners. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Coldhouse looked at her with narrowed eyes. She lifted her chin.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he coolly responded.
“Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s a good idea for anyone to abuse their position of power. Who knows what could happen to them, right?” she quipped.
Mrs. Yang returned with the two cans of cat food Aimee had requested and a white envelope. As she stepped back behind the counter, Mrs. Yang’s anxious eyes fluttered back and forth between Aimee and Coldhouse. She silently handed the envelope to Coldhouse before she began ringing up Aimee’s purchases.
Coldhouse stuffed the envelope into his pocket and leaned closer to Aimee. “Watch your back, street rat. I’ve heard that it’s open season on rodents who can’t keep their mouths shut.”
Aimee’s eyes remained locked on Coldhouse as he exited the store and climbed into a waiting car.
The car pulled away, she took a deep breath, and her rage banked enough for her to realize that she was standing there with her fingers curled into a fist.
If only she could—
She shook her head. What? End up in the river like Yolanda?
“Aimee, you must be careful,” Mrs. Yang said in a soft voice.
Aimee turned and smiled at Mrs. Yang. “Always,” she promised, handing the gentle storekeeper the money she owed. “Have a good night, Mrs. Yang. Tell your hubby I said hello.”
“I will,” Mrs. Yang promised.
Aimee adjusted her load, placing the bag of groceries into her courier bag, and pulled the door open. She stepped out into the cold night air and breathed deeply. After lowering her skateboard to the ground, she took off, disappearing into the maze of streets and alleys.
Ten minutes later, she slipped between the locked gates of an abandoned riverfront warehouse with a large ‘For Sale’ sign on them. She crossed the dark parking area, her eyes skillfully scanning the darkness for any threats. She carefully made her way around the building, checking each door and possible entrance. Rounding the building to the waterfront side, she climbed up a stack of pallets to a grime-coated window.
She ran her fingers along the edge to the piece of paper she had stuck in it. The paper was still there—her home was safe. She pulled the paper free, climbed through the window, and latched it behind her. She jumped down off the box under the window, wincing when she jarred her arm.
Almost immediately, she heard many tiny padded feet and the excited meows of her furry roommates. She chuckled when seven felines swarmed around her, weaving between her legs. The momma cat and her six kittens gave Aimee all the companionship she needed.
She walked across the warehouse to a set of stairs leading up to what used to be the main office area. She crouched, opened her courier bag, and exchanged the empty cans of cat food with fresh ones. The kittens quickly abandoned her for their evening meal.
She deposited the old cans in a trash can next to the stairs and looked at the kittens. They were growing so fast! She had taken up residence here only three months ago, and they were already half the size of their mother.
She climbed the stairwell to the upper office and checked to make sure the paper was at the top of the door before she opened it. Her security system might be rudimentary, but it was functional—and it had saved her life more than once.
She closed the door behind her. The momma cat and kittens would find a way in if they wanted to snuggle during the night. They always did. She draped her bag on an old office chair and walked to her makeshift bed. She toed off her battered shoes.
“Nothing lasts forever,” she said with a sigh before she picked up the runners and tossed them with the skill of a professional basketball player into the trash can.
She lit the small single burner camp stove, filled the pot with water from the bottle she had bought, and placed the apple and dried noodle soup on the desk.
While the water heated, she walked over to a leaning metal bookcase and pulled a shoebox down from the top. Opening the box, she looked inside and smiled at the new bright red high-top sneakers she had purchased last week. They would last her until she wore them out.
She placed them next to the bed. The water was already boiling. She pulled back the paper lid on the soup, and poured the hot water into it, then she carried the soup, a plastic spork, and her apple back to her bed.
The quilted bedspread was old, but clean. It was too cold to get undressed. She would get into work early and shower there. The shower was definitely a necessity for a courier service. Too many of them got drenched, muddy, or bloodied after a harried day. It even had hot water.
She slipped between the covers, piled the blankets on top, and wrapped her hands around the hot container to warm them. It was going to be a brutal winter if the early drop in temperatures was anything to go by. If she were smart, she would seriously consider becoming a snowbird.
She pulled out the travel magazine she had found two days earlier in a trash can and thumbed through it. Sun-filled beaches under blue skies greeted her. The day's tension slowly seeped away as she read the articles, drinking up the exotic places as the soup warmed her empty stomach.
The first soft meow made her smile. By the time her dinner was finished, the kittens had climbed up and burrowed under the covers with her. Soon, the momma cat, a little more hesitant than her offspring, joined them.
Aimee leaned back, trying to finish the article, but she was too tired and comfy to stay awake. She reached over, turned off the small, battery-powered light on her makeshift nightstand, and placed the magazine next to it. She snuggled down, pulling her knit cap over her ears to keep them warm, and rolled onto her side, folding her hands under her cheek.
Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes. A slight smile curved her lips when the image of Qadir formed her in mind. She wondered if he was thinking of her. Images of them on one of the sun-kissed beaches, the warm waters lapping at their feet as they made love, filled her mind.
This will be a good dream, she decided, letting the beauty of the moment sweep her away from her refrigerator cold home and into his warm, strong embrace.