The condensation from the cold and damp soft drinks seeps into my dress. The sides are slick and a bottle slips. I shiver and twitch, readjusting my arm to secure them against my ribcage. At the same time, the girl’s cell phone clatters to the floor causing most of us to startle.
The robber jumps, eyes glued to the skittering phone that slides under one of the shelves. Off in the distance, outside and most probably a few miles away, sirens howl, growing stronger with each whine.
Hope surges through me, help is on the way, and I fumble to keep hold of the drinks. The guy terrorizing us swings the gun in my direction. Fear oozes from his every pore like a virus eating at his humanity, and I see when it happens. When he realizes his grave error, and it isn’t the obvious, the fact he’s robbing this store at gunpoint.
No.
When he realizes that we all likely have cellphones. Anyone of us could have called the cops by now if we’d been lucky enough to go unnoticed by him.
“It was fucking you, wasn’t it.” Spittle flies from his twisted lips and his wild eyes narrow on me. “You cunt, you called the cops.” Arm trembling, he slides his finger onto the trigger, never taking his gaze off me.
My mouth opens to profess my innocence, and Cary lets go of my hand.
He dives in front of me, his body a protective shield. “No!”
A horrendous crack, a blinding flash, and the acrid stench of gunpowder rips through the air. Bags of chips and candy fall from Cary’s arms and splat onto the tiled floor.
He wheels sideways and clutches his chest, body jerking violently, as he stumbles into me. The bottles tumble from my hold and I grab his arms, trying to stop us from also plunging to the floor.
Splat.
Dark brown liquid, sweet and fizzy, bursts into the air and spreads fast and furious across the tiles.
Regardless of my efforts, we also spill and fall onto the hard, unyielding surface. My backside smacks against the cool floor, and Cary’s heavy body slumps on top of me like a large sack of potatoes.
Frantically, I squirm out from under him, calling his name though I can’t hear my voice. Shaken, I stare down at his pallid face, eyes lifeless and open.
An explosion of scarlet blossoms outward from the center of his chest, marring his once pale-blue button-down shirt. A river of blood flows from him, swallowing a bag of candy corn that lies beside him on the tiled floor.
2
ZERO
The bones in my neck crack as I slowly angle one ear to my shoulder, stretching the muscles and tendons holding my head up. From a distance, through the windshield of my car, I watch her lithe frame saunter toward the building she frequents at least once a week.
Her auburn hair glistens like fire in the sunlight, and like all the times before, she gathers the long strands high onto her head and effortlessly winds a tie around them.
Feeding the ponytail through the loop, she secures the baseball hat onto her head. Then she swings open the door and rests her hip against it, holding it wide for the burly, elderly man in dirty blue jeans and a baggy T-shirt exiting the building.
He tips the bill of his weathered cap and gifts her with an appreciative grin. Eyes on him, she doesn’t return the gesture, barely dipping her chin in acknowledgment before disappearing into the gun range.
What am I doing here? Is this the right move?
I stare down at the cream-colored file folder on the passenger seat of my car. My fingers bend around a corner of the thick stock, battling the urge to look inside. There’s no need to read its contents or listen to the recording of the 911 call that’s ready to go on my phone. Every word and every image is seared into my mind.
I should forget this, forget her, and move on with my life. But no. Instead, I’m on the emerald coast of Florida in limbo and unable to leave, not until I do something about it. Not until I talk to her. Though something tells me that once I do, I’ll want to do the exact opposite. I’ll stay.
My phone rings and the name of my once business partner flashes on the screen. I hit the green button and clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“Zero, where you at?” Griffin’s self-assured tone suggests he already knows my location, as he should.
“Nowhere.”
“You left Kauai ten days ago and have been in Destin, Florida, since then.”
Longing pinches the center of my chest at the mention of my home. I miss the peace and solitude of my quiet island.
Out here, in Florida of all fucking places, what will I do if things get to be too much? I can’t go back to the island; it’s too far. At least I have Andiamo.
Agitated by my weakness, my inability to work out stress in a normal way, my teeth grind together, and my response doesn’t hide my discomfort.
“If you know, why ask?”
While my business no longer exists, and Griffin’s moved on to working for Hart Corporation, a private security firm in New York City, our phone trackers are still activated.
The trackers were a core tenet of our business. As a two-man operation, we couldn’t afford to take unnecessary risks. We dealt with nasty, evil humans, and we each had to know where the other was at all times.
“Have you made up your mind? Are you coming to work for Van at HC or for the Feds?”
I’m not surprised by his question. He doesn’t like talking about his feelings—or the fact that he’d like me to work at HC with him—but it doesn’t stop him from pestering me for a decision.
“No. I’ve still got time.”
“Not much.”
“Last I checked, I have over thirty days to give them my answer.”
Thirty-nine to be exact. We agreed on August first, and I have until then to make up my mind before both parties fill their respective positions.
He releases a long exhale, clearly frustrated with me. “Fine. Look, I said I wouldn’t pressure you—”
“And yet you’re riding my ass.” My fingertips tap on the cover of the folder, the burning need to look inside harder to resist.
“I’m only calling because things are moving on this end and some of the decisions…about the tech…they’re happening now.” He raises his pitch into a nerve-grating whine, or at least that’s how it sounds to me. “And if you end up here, at HC, you’ll bitch and moan about the surveillance equipment and apps when you get here. Why didn’t we get this or that?” He mimics what I’m guessing is supposed to be me. “And don’t deny it because you’re an asshole like that.”
My lips twitch, biting back a laugh as I absentmindedly flip open the folder on the car seat. Breath catches in my lungs at the crime scene pictures. Despite how many times I’ve studied them, it never gets easier.
Images of her are on top. Always the first thing I see.
“You still there?” His doggedness cuts into the dark haze of anger I get trapped in whenever I think about what happened to her.
“Yeah.”
“How are things working out with the Feds?” There’s a slight hint to his tone that suggests he wishes he was also on this case.
Grateful for his shift in topic, oxygen moves freely throughout my body. “Fine. I have a feeling something’s going down soon.”
Months ago, while trolling the usual chatrooms on the dark web, I learned of a new human trafficking ring and shared the little I had with the Feds. I’ve been tracking activity since then and slowly gaining intel.