Halfway home, headlights appeared in her rearview mirror.They stayed there.Her mouth went dry.She slowed slightly.The car behind her matched it.She sped up.So did they.
Her heart began to race.She made a sudden turn.The car followed.Fear bloomed sharp and undeniable.She turned again, sharper this time, ducking down a side street she knew well.The headlights vanished.
Elena pulled over two blocks later and sat there shaking, hands clenched around the steering wheel until her knuckles hurt.After a long minute, she forced herself to drive the rest of the way home.
Inside her apartment, she killed the lights and stood just inside the door, listening.Silence.A knock sounded.She froze.
Another knock followed, polite and measured.It wasn’t loud enough to draw attention, not soft enough to be accidental.
“Elena Morales,” a man called through the door.“We just want to ask you a few questions.”
Her blood went cold.She didn’t answer.She didn’t move.She pressed a hand to her mouth and willed her breathing to quiet.
Minutes stretched thin and brittle.Finally, footsteps retreated.A car engine started and pulled away.Elena slid down the door, knees drawn to her chest, pressing her forehead to her legs as she breathed through the fear threatening to choke her.
She didn’t know why they wanted her.Elena didn’t even know what she’d done.
Chapter Three
Reaper kept watch.Mercy General loomed across the street.He sat in his truck with one arm resting on the door, fingers relaxed near the wheel.He wore a black hoodie, and a ball cap which sat low on his face.The Glock rode snug at his back, the knife a familiar weight against his ribs.
Across the street, the ER entrance exhaled its steady stream of human damage.Ambulance lights flared, then faded.Shift change brought clusters of staff spilling out into the night, laughter too loud, exhaustion written into their bones.
Reaper scanned faces without seeming to.He wasn’t here for most of them.He was here for Elena Morales.He hadn’t planned that part.That was the lie he fed himself.
The first time had been coincidence.King had sent him to verify cartel movement near the hospital.Scouts in scrubs.Vehicles that didn’t belong.A pattern that made his skin crawl.Reaper had done a slow pass, killed the lights, and watched.
That was when he’d seen her.She’d come out just after midnight, shoulders slumped, gait tired but alert.She’d paused on the steps, stretching her back, eyes sweeping the lot with a reflex she probably didn’t even realize she had.
That alone had caught his attention.People who hadn’t learned fear early didn’t move like that.She hadn’t looked scared.Elena was cautious and smart.
Then she’d crossed to her car with her keys threaded between her fingers like claws, and Reaper had felt something cold and unpleasant settle in his gut.He didn’t miss the cartel scouts watching her.
Reaper had done a little digging on a patient she saved.The patient’s name surfaced first.Mateo Cruz.
On paper, Mateo Cruz was nobody special.He was thirty-four, did construction work, seasonal labor, and he bounced addresses.He had priors that stuck and wasn’t related with any gang.When Reaper dug deeper he found out Mateo was a snitch.
