Page 12 of Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad World

And then it hit her.

Her goody-two-shoes boss told her not to shoot the drivers. She hadn’t said anything about their cars. Violet raised her gun. Aimed. Fired. If the drivers happened to get shot accidentally, well, that wasn’t her fault.

Her first shot struck the engine of the lead car with cool precision. Steam rose from its hood, and the driver screamed like a baby. He stuck his arm out of the window and shot wildly. Aiming for nothing. Hitting everything.

Violet aimed again. This time, she took out his wing mirror. As a string of expletives filled the air, she turned her attention to the second car and fired. Jackpot. The car’s alarm went off just as the first driver blasted his horn.

That should get some attention.

With a smile, Violet slipped back into the shadows.

Gunshots sounded from the street below. A car horn blared. Right on top of that, a car alarm went off.

Noah listened to the men inside the loft.

“Somebody’s shooting up our vehicles!”

Noah silently gave thanks to God forViolentLee.

Above the noise of the cars, he heard sirens, growing louder as they drew nearer.

Nowhe could have kissed his partner.

“Five-O’s here. We gotta go,” someone said.

“What about the girl?”

“We’ll get her next time,” their leader said. “Do you hear that, bitch?” he shouted. “You’re dead. We’re coming for you. We’ll burn you out if we have to. Fucking bitch!”

There was the sound of running footsteps, slamming doors, and louder sirens.

Noah stayed in position, staring at the door, his gun ready. He couldn’t take any chances that one of the gang would stick around to finish the job. Annabelle moved behind him, slipped her hand beneath his jacket, and curled it into his T-shirt at the small of his back.

The hand shook.

“Noah,” she whispered, her words slow and filled with confusion. “I think somebody’s shooting at us.”

And even as the pain from his injuries began to register, Noah smiled.

Chapter Five

The paramedics insisted that Noah head to the hospital for stitches. He only agreed to go once his boss had arrived and promised not to let Violet take Annabelle from the premises by force. By the time he got back to the warehouse, the place was overrun with cops, forensic techs, and the medical examiner’s team.

They’d cordoned off the apartment as a crime scene and moved Annabelle to one of the abandoned offices on the second floor. She was sound asleep in what looked like a walk-in storage closet off the large office area. Noah greeted his team before heading straight to her, limping some as he crossed the room.

Annabelle lay on a single mattress, which was obviously brand new, placed on the bare wooden floorboards. Someone had set up a small lamp beside her, and she was still wrapped up in the heirloom quilt. A paramedic knelt at her side on the floor, changing out the IV bag attached to her arm.

“Fluids,” he said as Noah approached.

An older woman with a bob of steel gray hair stood at the end of the makeshift bed, watching the paramedic’s every move. She wore a simple black dress, and her back was ramrod straight.

“Noah Merchant.” He offered his hand.

“Dr. Mallory.” Her handshake was firm. “Annabelle’s physician and psychiatrist.”

“Dual duty, huh?”

“I was a family doctor before I trained in psychiatry, so I function as both for Annabelle because it’s easier for her.”