Chương 2
Another shot struck a column.
The bodyguard nearest the lobby drew his weapon but did not fire into the dark dining room. Nathaniel seized the back of Wren’s apron and pulled her behind the service station just as a figure crossed the far candlelight.
Gray coat.
Black ring.
A face Wren had seen only in rain and fractured glass.
The man stopped when their eyes met.
Recognition moved through him without surprise. It was closer to confirmation.
Then he disappeared into the confusion.
Nathaniel pushed open the kitchen door. Heat and white fluorescent emergency lights swallowed them. Cooks stood pressed against stainless-steel counters. A pan burned on the stove. Someone had triggered the fire suppression alarm, but nothing came from the nozzles.
“Rear exit is compromised,” the second bodyguard said into his sleeve.
“Freezer corridor,” Nathaniel replied.
The first bodyguard hauled Dahlia past a prep table. She had lost one shoe. Her floral dress was torn at the shoulder. She looked at Wren with a kind of anger that had not yet found its target.
“You said he was an investor,” Wren told her.
“I thought he was.”
“You told me he owned restaurants.”
“He does own restaurants.”
“That is not the important part.”
“This isn’t the moment, Wren.”
“It became the moment when somebody shot at us.”
Nathaniel glanced back. “Save the argument.”
Wren nearly laughed. It came out as a breath.
Brutus crowded against her hip, forcing her forward. His growl had stopped, but his eyes tracked every doorway.
They passed cooks, racks of cooling bread, open bins of herbs. Ordinary smells collided with gunpowder drifting from the dining room. Garlic. Butter. Bleach. Burned fish. One cook still held a whisk in front of his chest like a weapon.
At the freezer corridor, the bodyguard with the scar checked the corner and signaled.
Nathaniel took Wren’s wrist.
She pulled back.
“Let go.”
“Not now.”
“You brought me here.”
His grip tightened once, then loosened.
Behind them, an alarm began to pulse.
Nathaniel looked at her as if he had expected fear, perhaps anger, but not refusal. “You can hate me after you are alive.”
“I can do both.”
For the first time, something almost human passed through his face. Not amusement. Recognition, perhaps.
He released her wrist.
“Stay beside the dog.”
The corridor ended at a steel service door. The bodyguard pushed it open into an alley where two black SUVs waited nose to tail. Rainwater from an afternoon storm still shone on the pavement.
A man stepped from behind a dumpster.
The scarred bodyguard slammed Dahlia against the brick wall and covered her with his body. Nathaniel turned. Brutus charged.
The man raised both hands.
“Kitchen staff,” he shouted. “Kitchen staff!”
His white jacket confirmed it a second later.
Brutus stopped close enough that the cook’s apron fluttered with the dog’s breath.
No one apologized.
The bodyguard opened the first SUV. “In.”
Wren backed away.
Sirens were approaching from several directions. Blue light flickered against the buildings at the end of the alley.
“I’m staying for the police.”
Nathaniel looked toward the street. “That would be unwise.”
“Of course you think that.”
“The man who fired at you knew the service corridor, the lighting system, and the police response time for this block.”
“Police response time?”
“He waited until the nearest patrol unit was diverted.”
Wren stared at him. “How would you know that?”
“Because I was told the diversion happened three minutes before he entered.”
“By whom?”
“One of the officers you want to stay for.”
Dahlia made a small sound behind the bodyguard. “Wren, get in the car.”
“You don’t know where it’s going.”
“I know where the bullets are.”
That was Dahlia’s gift and defect: she could reduce any terrible decision to the next practical move, then feel the consequences later.
Nathaniel opened the rear door himself.
Wren heard tires scream at the mouth of the alley. A marked police cruiser stopped sideways, blocking traffic. Two officers got out with weapons drawn.
“Hands!” one shouted. “Let me see your hands!”
Nathaniel’s bodyguards complied slowly. Nathaniel did not move.
Brutus stood in front of Wren.
The older officer looked at Nathaniel and lowered his weapon by two inches.
It was enough.
Wren saw it. Nathaniel saw her see it.
The younger officer kept his gun raised. “Step away from the vehicle.”
The older one said, “Vale, we need to secure the scene.”
Nathaniel’s gaze remained on Wren.
The older officer’s voice changed. “Sir, take your people and go. We’ll call you.”
The younger officer turned his head. “What?”
“Crowd control,” the older officer snapped. “Now.”
A private understanding passed between him and Nathaniel. It was not friendship. It looked more like a debt.
Wren got into the SUV.
Dahlia climbed in after her, shaking so hard that she missed the running board. The scarred bodyguard caught her elbow. She did not protest this time.
Brutus jumped in and settled across the floor, blocking both women’s feet. Nathaniel sat opposite them. His second bodyguard took the front passenger seat. The scarred one remained outside.
“Caleb?” Nathaniel asked.
The man touched his side.
Only then did Wren see the dark stain spreading beneath his jacket.
“Other vehicle,” Caleb said. “I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I noticed.”
Nathaniel studied him for one second. “Miriam Hospital.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I heard you.”
Caleb shut the door.
The SUV moved before the police cruiser had fully cleared the alley.
For several blocks, no one spoke.
Dahlia held her torn dress together at the shoulder. Her remaining hoop earring swung each time the vehicle turned. Wren’s wet hands began to ache from how tightly she had clasped them.
Brutus rested his muzzle on her repaired black work shoe.
Nathaniel opened his hand.
The bent Saint Francis medal lay against his palm.
Under the passing streetlights, the scratches looked almost black.
Wren looked away.
“Who is he?” she asked.
May you like
“The man in the gray coat?”
“The man who tried to kill me.”
