“When did the letter arrive at the prison?”
“Two days before the attack. Local return address, too.”
I sit back in my seat, thinking about the implications of all this. I’m about to ask Kitten a few more questions when her eyes flick over my shoulder to the front door. Her body language changes from relaxed to on alert in a heartbeat.
She touches the medallion around her neck. Ice encases my spine. I quickly clock the exit at the diner's back and reach for the weapon in my boot.
“How many?” I slide out the Bowie knife.
Cat is taking even breaths. Good. She’s a professional. She’s been under fire. She knows to remain calm. I’m not sure who’s coming after us, but that was much faster than I expected.
“Three,” she says as she thumbs the safety off of her weapon under the table.
I hear footsteps approaching.
“You trust me?” I ask.
“Hell, no!”
“Back door,” I look to her right. “Meet you at my bike.”
“The fuck I will,” she hisses.
“Excuse me, lady,” a goon from Central Casting stands right next to our table. “Andman. Yous is cordially invited to step out back with us for a littleconfabulation.”
The goon has two inches on me and about 45-pounds, but it’s utter flab. He’d go down in a heartbeat. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the other two assholes take up positions in the diner. One near the kitchen entrance, which is also the way out the back door. The other is between Goon One and the front door.
We would have to fight our way out.
Before I can signal to Cat, she smiles and stands up next to the booth. “Sure thing. Do you want me to follow you, or…”
What the hell is she doing?
“Weapons on the table,” Goon One says to us. “If you please.”
Cat tilts her head and grins. “Not gonna happen. No matter how polite you are.”
I hear the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking beside us. Not Goon One. No, he’s betting on his menacing face and five-dollar words to keep us in line.
He’s sorely mistaken.
“I forthwith believe it is,girl,” Goon One gets into Cat’s personal space and dangerously closer to dying by my hands.
If he lays one fat finger on this woman, I will end him.
I stand beside Kitten, my fingers still on the handle of my knife.
“Dude. Sheryl Sandberg called and wants you toLean Inand get the fuck over yourself. Grown-ass women aren’t -girls. We’re women. Meanwhile, my co-worker and I are leaving - right now,” Cat grins wider. “You can move out of my way, or I’ll move you. Either way, we’re outta here. Forthwith and all.”
The goons burst out laughing at her. If I didn’t know her history, I’d probably laugh, too. She’s 5’5” tall with short, spiky brown hair and a lithe build that is more runner than a fighter. Her features are delicate. And you might believe the blue eyes were the only lethal thing about her.
But, you’d be wrong.
Dead wrong.
Cat laughs along with them, then knees Goon One right in the groin. He bends forward to grab his junk. She forces her elbow up into his eye, then slams both fists down onto his nose, blinding him when the nose breaks and spurts blood into his eyes.
He screams in pain.
