I grab the clothes and head out to the front room in the apartment, getting dressed as fast as I can. Not much furniture in here either, but there is a futon. I’m about to sit down to put on my shoes when I spy weird stains on the cover of the futon.
I don’t think those stains came from last night. That’s a big NOPE sandwich, either way.
Buzz. Buzz.
I slip into my shoes, head out the door, and quietly pull it shut behind me.
My phone won’t stop ringing.
I look at the display -Unknown Number.
Motherfucker. I snuck out of a dude’s apartment this early for a car warranty call?
Ugh. No thanks. Even though I’m grateful for the wake-up call. I don’t like to let the sun hit my ass when I have a sleepover.
I hitIgnore.
My stomach flips and reminds me the only thing I had for dinner was tequila with a side of margaritas. If I want to remain standing, I’m going to need something greasy in my belly right fucking now.
I take the stairs two at a time. When I pop out on the sidewalk, I groan.
It’s like I did a poll of the barflies and found the one with the place farthest from my own.
And no diner in sight.
I sigh, pull up the rideshare app, and start walking to the corner.
???
It takes me two hours to get a ride, stop at my corner diner, and walk back to my condo. I know I’m a hot mess walking, but I have zero fucks left to give.
The only things on the agenda are eating terrible food, going back to bed, and sleeping off this massive hangover. I might go for a run this afternoon to sweat out the booze, but that’s up in the air right now.
I face plant on my bed, not even bothering to take off my clothes that smell like a bar. I’ll deal with that later.
But right now - sleep.
A swift kick to my ass jolts me awake moments later.
I roll to the other side of the bed, immediately crouching into a defensive position and reaching for my gun in the holster behind the headboard.
“Relax, sis!”
I glance up to see a near-mirror image of myself.
“Bitch! You know to never wake me up like that!”
Catalina Saber grins at me, and I realize this unexpected waking up has unintended - or perhapsintendedon her part - consequences. I clamp my hand over my mouth and race to the bathroom, where I promptly puke up my greasy breakfast.
My twin sister laughs hilariously from the doorway.
I throw up again and flush that shit away. I sit back on the floor and turn to look at her.
“What the fuck are you doing here? Don’t you have criminals to babysit?”
Cat winks then perches on the side of the bathtub. She’s a U.S. Marshal. I tease her all the time about being the concierge to criminals. She is highly skilled at tracking down wanted bad guys and escorting them to the jurisdiction where they committed their crimes.
She holds her hand to her spiky brown hair. “I had a sense you were in danger. My gut told me to use my spare key and come to your rescue!”
