“Give me something to tie his hands with,” he said to the terrified staff member. She handed him a length of red ribbon. He gave her a “you’re shitting me” look before wrapping it around the boy’s wrists several times.
The sound of sirens told him someone had been on patrol nearby. Two uniformed officers walked in; both wore smiles and headed straight for Katie.
“Katie McBride, injured and still working. How the hell are you, sweetheart?”
“Good, Tino.” Cubby watched both men give her a hug.
“This is a friend, Sheriff Hawker,” she added, pointing at Cubby.
His hand was shaken, and then the boy was taken away after they’d told them what had happened, and he was alone with Katie again.
“You’re an idiot, you know that right?” Cubby wasn’t hungry anymore; in fact, the food was sitting like an unwanted mass in his stomach now. “You dived at that man knowing he had a gun and knowing you were injured.”
“I had it covered.”
He bit back any further comments and simply walked out of the café. Anger was clouding his thoughts and he needed to shake it off.
“I can’t walk as fast as you.”
He slowed and let her catch him.
“Jesus, Katie, my heart just about stopped.”
“I had it covered; like I said, I’m not the helpless Katie McBride anymore.”
“You were never helpless.” He looked down at her, saw she was breathing fast. Stopping, he grabbed her good arm and turned her to face him. “You hurt yourself?”
“No.”
“Yes.” Lifting her chin, he searched her eyes. “Is it your wrist?”
“I just jarred it a bit, no big deal.” She shrugged him off.
Her cell phone rang at that moment, so he left the questions for now. Seeing her do that, police work, had done something to his heart rate. She’d acted instinctively, and he knew she’d done that before, and he had to admit—though not to her—now he knew she was safe, it had impressed the hell out of him.
“What’s up, E.J.?”
Cubby watched her knuckles turn white around the phone as her sergeant talked.
“Are you sure?”
Whatever was being said it was bad news, really bad news. Cubby watched the color drain from her face.
“Okay, sure, I’ll get out of LA as soon as I can.”
Pocketing the cell phone, she started walking and Cubby stayed at her side, waiting for her to tell him what had just gone down.
“Caleb Alessi died this morning, and E.J. heard from an informant that Antonio, the eldest brother, wants to know who fired the bullet and if they’re still breathing. He’s put out a reward of $100,000 for any information. He wants my name or proof of death.” She said the words as if she were reciting a grocery list, no inflection or emotion.
Grabbing her arm, he didn’t ask permission, he just reacted. Moving to the curb, he raised a hand and signaled the first cab he saw.
“Cubby.”
“Get in.” He opened the door and placing a hand on her head, pushed her inside.
Giving her address to the driver, he then pulled out his phone and called the airline. She sat stiff but quiet at his side as he made arrangements to get them out of LA on the next available flight, which happened to be in three hours.
“You pack what you need, empty out your fridge and dump it in the waste, then we leave,” he said when he’d finished the call. “We’ll head to the airport and wait there.”
