comfortable with the idea that you’re going to have to cooperate with us. It will make things easier all around.”
I snort derisively, but there’s a look in both the men’s eyes I don’t like at all.
As if they know something I don’t.
28
Dani
I’m about to ask Artan what the hell we’re doing here, outside Angelo’s apartment building, when he pulls the pistol on me and points it at me casually. The man sighs, almost like he’s sorry. When I grab the door handle instinctively, he shakes his head. “That is not a good idea,” he says coldly.
“So you’re not an EMT,” I say cautiously. Fear runs through me as I realize how stupid I was to accept this partner I’d never heard of before without checking with my supervisor first. But I guess I was just distracted with—well, everything.
Anger underlies the fear. I wonder if I could grab his gun before he shoots me, but I doubt it.
“I was, back in Albania,” he says. “But here? No. I do not have a U.S. qualification.”
“So you’re a criminal,” I clarify. “My heart fucking bleeds for you.”
“We all must find our own path to the American dream, no?”
“How poetic.” I look up at Angelo’s apartment building. Then I glance around at the street. It’s not busy, but it’s not quiet either. Artan holds the gun low, out of sight. “What’s to stop me from making a scene?” I ask. “Are you really going to kill me in front of all these people?”
“Yes,” he says, sounding almost sad. “Of course, I would be incarcerated, but I work for some very dangerous men and incarceration is just a part of the job. So I would suggest that you just play nice and wait.”
“Wait for what?” I ask. I let anger into my voice to hide just how bone-chillingly terrified I am. Because when he said he’d kill me, I believed him. He sounds like the sort of casual killer you hear about in crime documentaries. “Well?”
He just smiles. “My employer is a theatrical man,” he says. “Apparently, it is not enough to slit a man’s throat when you are making a point.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“No? I just want to say, Danielle, that I have been very impressed with your work today. Whatever else happens, you are an extremely talented EMT.”
“Thanks,” I laugh bitterly. “Mind if I use you as a reference?”
“That is sarcasm, yes? Sometimes it is hard to tell with your accents.”
“Sarcasm, indeed,” I confirm. “What do you want? Money? Or Angelo? You’re going to use me against Angelo, aren’t you?”
“I am not going to do anything,” he says. “My employer, however, feels he has been disrespected by your lover. What he is going to do, ah, I can’t say. It is out of my hands.”
“Is there anything I could say for you to let me go?” I whisper.
“Perhaps,” he says like he’s actually considering it. “If you had my mother or my sister at gunpoint, yes, I think I would let you go then. But they are safe back home. In fact, I am going to use the money I make from this job to bring them over here.”
“You say that like I could give an actual fuck.” My hand is straying slowly to the door. His eyes are locked on mine. I wonder how long it would take for me to throw the door open and leap out. My seat belt is already undone, so I don’t have to worry about that. Maybe he will shoot, but will he kill me right away, or just hit me in the leg? But, shit, what if he hits me in the spine?
I keep moving my hand anyway, talking to distract him. “You want me to feel bad for you or whatever just because you used to be an EMT? Yeah, it sucks that you’ve gotta redo the training, but it doesn’t mean you have to start—”
My hand is almost on the handle when—crash—a body crumples the roof of a car a few meters to our right.
A body just fell out of the sky.
People immediately start screaming. Artan leaps from the car, tucking the gun into the back of his pants as he walks around to my side. He throws the door open and nods at the corpse, the car alarm blaring. “We are carrying that upstairs,” he tells me. “What is it you Americans say? Chip-chop.”
I learn two things about what-the-fuck moments as I step from the car, too numb for any rational