Fantastic Hope - Laurell K. Hamilton Page 0,21

and I stare defiantly back. “They believe me,” I say. “Even if you don’t.”

“Did he try to kill you yesterday? Did he threaten you? Did he say anything to you?”

I hunch my shoulders and head to the kitchen to get my apron. “He said he wanted the meat loaf,” I say over my shoulder. “But I recognized him even before he said a word.”

“Sasha,” he begins, but I don’t wait to hear what he has to say. I just push through the kitchen door and steady my mind for the day.

* * *

After all this, how does it happen that I am alone on the street not five hours later? Why do I think it will be okay if I make a quick, solitary run to the nearest ATM? Lili is taking care of a boisterous table of ten, the guys are busily preparing the orders, and I don’t even think of asking Armand to accompany me. If the other three come home with me again, as they say they will, I want to be able to buy the pizza and beer. I want to show them how much I appreciate their help. And the ATM is only two blocks away. I can almost see it from the Deli-Lishes doorway.

I do remember to bring the stun gun. I carry it in my hand, hold my arm close to my body, try not to look like I’m expecting a monster to jump out at me from every alley and doorway. A cop car cruises by, and I just barely refrain from waving. Hello, Officers! Glad to see you on duty this afternoon!

The ATM is located inside a little glassed-in lobby that you can only access with a debit card, which makes me feel even safer. I’m the only customer, so I take a moment to check my bank balance—too low—before withdrawing a hundred bucks. Behind me, I hear the beep of the door lock disengaging as someone else swipes a card, and I spin around, suddenly flooded with adrenaline. But it’s just some tall, well-made-up woman carrying a designer bag and wearing a resentful expression. I can’t imagine anything going on in her life is worse than what’s happening in mine, but I give her a sympathetic smile anyway as I sidle past. She nods, not smiling in return.

Outside the glass foyer, I shoulder my purse and turn back toward the diner. Maybe we won’t get pizza tonight; I think everyone likes Chinese. Even Greek. There’s a little place down the street from me that has cheap moussaka and spanakopita for takeout. Another six-pack, maybe a bottle of wine, and we’re set.

I step past the dark, narrow space between two tall buildings, and a hand grabs my arm and yanks me into the shadows. I gasp and flail around, too startled to scream. Another arm comes around my rib cage and crushes me close, and now I can’t draw breath to yell anyway. My assailant is behind me, so I can’t see who it is, but the power in the grip makes me certain he’s male.

Well, I’m certain it’s my killer.

Not again not again not again.

The hand on my shoulder moves to take my throat in a choke hold, and the arm around my middle tightens even more. I can’t breathe, but fear has gifted me with a lunatic strength, and I begin twisting and kicking wildly against him. I suddenly remember the weapon still clutched in my hand, and through my blurring vision and my frenetic struggling I try to remember how to engage the switch, even though I can’t see it. I swing my arm back in a sloppy arc, feel the nozzle connect with his body, and press hard.

There’s a buzz, a flare of light, and a howl from my attacker, who loosens his grip and staggers back against one of the brick walls. Panting, I whirl around, weapon raised and ready to use again. I’m also balancing on one foot, remembering what Juwan said. Once he’s on the ground, kick him in the balls. But he’s still upright, not even whimpering with pain, so maybe the charge has run down. Maybe the voltage hasn’t disabled him at all, certainly not long enough for me to get away.

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