“We’re meeting tomorrow after work,” I added, scanning her face. “Dinner at his place. Just to talk.”
“I don’t like this,” she muttered.
“You don’t have to,” Jenny cut in. “You just have to support her.”
Candace sighed, relenting. “Fine.” Then, softer, “I just don’t want you hurt.”
“I know. And I love you for it. But my gut says he’s not cruel. He looked—” I searched for the memory. “Ruined, Candace. You’d get it if you’d seen him.”
She blew on her nails. “All right. I’ll trust you, Em. But if he makes you cry again, I’ll castrate him with kitchen scissors.”
A dry laugh slipped out. “I’d probably help you.”
We shared a look, tension easing back into our usual orbit.
“You girls are done,” Jenny said after a few more minutes, tapping my hands. The polish gleamed like glass.
I paid and stood, gathering my things. Candace led the way toward the door.
Behind us, Jenny called out, “Next time bring the tea!”
“And it better be piping hot,” Jennifer added, wiping down her station.
I smiled back at them. “Deal.”
The bell jingled as we stepped outside. Warm air wrapped around us, sunlight catching in Candace’s hair until it shone like its own spotlight. I lifted my phone, snapped a picture of my nails in the light, and hit send before I could overthink it.
Damien: They look great!
Empty compliment or not, it made something inside me lift.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” Candace asked, voice low.
“Yes.”
A sympathetic smile curved her lips. I opened my mouth to cut off the pity, but movement in my peripheral vision caught first.
A man stepped out of the alley.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
His coat—dark wool, heavy—hung off his shoulders. Too thick for the late-May heat. Sweat slicked his temple, but his eyes stayed empty. Cold as stone.
Still—this was New York. City of weirdos. We kept walking, brushing him off the same way you ignore buskers arguing with themselves on the subway.
Then a hand clamped around my arm. Hard. Nails dug deep as I was yanked sideways into shadow.
Pain lit up my nerves. Momentum dragged me off balance.
My shoulder hit brick; the air punched out of my lungs.
“Emma!” Candace screamed.
“This’ll be easy,” he hissed, hand already gripping my purse strap. “Bags, and nobody gets hurt.”
“You can go fu—” Candace started—then froze when he pulled a handgun from inside his coat.
Fight. Run. Scream.
