This was my new life, and I didn’t want it tainted with the stain of old memories.
After my shift, I took a detour to the shelter where I’d started volunteering several weeks ago. Olivia’s dad let me take leftovers to donate rather than toss them. Sometimes, there wasn’t enough to warrant a trip, but on nights like tonight, I had two large silver containers full of food that the ladies would love.
The shelter was a transitional housing and wellness center, not far from my apartment, where homeless women could go and work on a fresh start. When I arrived in New York, I quickly figured out that I needed to feel as though I was making a difference in the world. That I was doing more than living my own sheltered life and ignoring the struggles of the people around me.
As soon as I started my first shift, I knew immediately that I was on the right track. It wasn’t always easy. My heart ached to know the pain each of the women had experienced. While my part in their lives was nominal, I felt better knowing I was doing something to help.
I realized that a big part of who I was revolved around who I was not.
I was not someone who could sit by and let horrible things happen without doing something.
The stories the shelter women told were heartbreaking and tragic, and so many of them were a result of slipping through the system. For now, I was content to participate on the tail end, helping women get back on track. However, I couldn’t help but wonder what could be done to prevent them from ending up on the streets to begin with.
I talked with the shelter director about that topic and was given mind-numbing details about the extensive red tape involved in removing children from their home or stepping into domestic abuse situations. I hated to think of all the women and children hurting out in the world at any given time. There were people who wanted to help, but our society was set up to minimize government intrusion into the family.
I got it. I understood the need to keep the government in check and allow people their freedoms, but it was still hard to think about. So many innocent lives broken and lost because they were mistreated inside the sanctity of their own homes. A place that should have been a haven.
Fortunately, dropping off food was always a happy occasion. After the day I’d had, I wasn’t up for much more. I brought in the goodies, managing to squeeze them into the packed refrigerator, then chatted briefly with the ladies who hadn’t made it up to bed yet.
By the time I started on my walk home, I was utterly exhausted, but not quite tired enough to still my overactive imagination. As if my catastrophe of a day hadn’t been bad enough, my paranoia kicked in on the way home. I could have sworn there were eyes watching me. I looked over my shoulder repeatedly, almost to the point of hysteria. I was so distracted that I walked straight into the man in front of me when he halted at an intersection. I hadn’t noticed he’d stopped for cross traffic and had nearly bumped him into the busy street. I apologized profusely and scolded myself for being so ridiculous, but the feeling didn’t go away.
The moment I entered my apartment, I made sure all the blinds were closed and peeked in every dark corner. Once my nerves settled, I changed into a baggy T-shirt and sweatpants, then curled up on my sofa with my two favorite men, Ned and Don Julio. Most women my age would pour a glass of wine or sip on a spritzer, but that wasn’t me. I’d never been a wine drinker, and some things you couldn’t erase.
When I needed a little something to calm my nerves, I went straight for the tequila. And not just any tequila—the good stuff—Patrón or Don Julio or Casa Noble. I made sure to keep one of them on hand, along with a few limes, for just such an occasion. Simply feeling the cork stopper pull free of the thick glass made my stomach warm in anticipation.
I laced the edge of my sipping glass with a swipe of lime wedge, giving the perfect hint of citrus with each taste of liquor. After starting my Spotify relaxation playlist, I sipped my tequila and munched on the tortilla chips I’d brought home from work. Salty chips were the ideal complement to the drink even though I rarely wanted any after serving them all day to customers. I had known today would be different and had gone home prepared.
Two hours later, all my worries were dried up like a summer rain. Ned had been fully updated on my day, and my whole body was toasty warm. The moment I dropped into bed, I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep, unable to fully banish a certain set of intelligent brown eyes from following me into my dreams.
Chapter 4
Tamir
When I was growing up, my mother used to say that nothing good happened after midnight. It was her way of defending the strict curfew she placed on us. I didn’t understand as a kid, but after two decades of dealing with some of the worst scum on the planet, I realized she knew what she was talking about.
What was it about the cloak of darkness that set all manner of nefarious activities into play? Even when those deeds took place inside, where the degree of moonlight or sunlight was irrelevant, they still usually occurred in the hours closest to midnight. Granted, the rule didn’t apply to some of the more modern criminal activity, but as for most traditional criminals—thieves, rapists, and murderers—the hours between ten p.m. and two a.m. were particularly sacred.
What did that mean for me? A fucked-up sleep schedule.
The silver lining? It gave me just enough of a window to accompany a certain mysterious brunette home from her shift at the restaurant. I’d known something was off about her but never imagined she’d have a bounty on her. There was no question in my mind that I had to learn more.
Since it was my job to be observant, I’d noticed once, in the past, she’d come to class wearing a Jalisco’s name tag. It was a small restaurant not far from the studio. The perfect place to observe Emily in her daily life. I’d only meant to watch her for a few minutes to see what I could glean from her interactions at work, but when she clocked out for the night, I saw a perfect opportunity to get her home address. People’s homes were always the best source of information.
She was a far cry from a normal target, which meant I wasn’t going to rush into any judgments about her. Evil hid in the daylight just as easily as the darkness. If her secrets were even uglier than I’d suspected, I would turn her in for the fifty-thousand-dollar payout. It would be a disappointment, but if her crimes fit the punishment, that was her own fault. Just because I was intrigued by the woman didn’t mean she wasn’t flawed. I would do my research and find out why she was being hunted. If she deserved having a price on her head, I’d bring her in just like I would any other target. If the bounty was unwarranted, then this became a far more complicated situation.
In order to make a decision, I needed to learn everything I could about the woman who called herself Emily Ramirez. As far as I knew, I was the only one to locate her, but there was no guarantee it would stay that way. I would need to gather information quickly.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only item on my agenda for the evening. Taking care of Chad McDonald, my most recent job, was far more pressing. I followed Emily home, making note of her address, then rerouted myself back uptown to The Mark Hotel.
When I read where Chad would be staying, I had chuckled at the irony. He wouldn’t be able to appreciate the humor in his choice of accommodations, but then, he had no idea he was in the crosshairs of one of the most sought-after hitmen in the country. It was probably best that way. People tended to panic when they knew, making them less than dignified in their final moments.