Two gunshots ripped through the still night, and I dove toward the corner of the building. The movement was instinctive. Like I’d once dove at home plate while playing softball in Phys. Ed.

Curling into the smallest target possible, I lay on the broken and jagged concrete. I waited for more shots, but they didn’t come. Yelling did.

“What the fuck, man. You know whose woman that is? He’s gonna fucking hunt you down and kill you.”

“Not if I fucking kill you first.”

The sounds of a scuffle, and fists hitting flesh, came next. I uncurled from my tiny ball and peeked my head around the corner.

A boy dressed in basketball shorts and a T-shirt landed punch after punch on the carjacker until he caught him with a fist to the jaw and sent him stumbling to the ground. I felt a strange glimmer of recognition as I watched the newcomer. How did I know him? My mind whirled, but couldn’t latch onto a single coherent thought. My eyes darted, following his every movement.

I needed to run.

The gun clattered against the pavement, catching my attention. Once again I could see the changing colors of the traffic signal reflecting off the metal.

“You think you’re hot shit, Trey? You think just cuz you gettin’ outta here makes you better than us? You ain’t better than no one.”

Trey.

The glimmer of recognition solidified. One of Con’s boys. The one from the Boys and Girls Club dinner.

Trey crossed his arms and stood over the carjacker. “Least I ain’t like you. I’m going somewhere with my life. You’re fucking headed to Angola on carjacking charges. Hope your asshole’s ready for the reaming that’s comin’.”

“Fuck you, Trey.”

There was a moment of stillness.

And then both of them lunged for the gun.

They struggled, Trey on top and the other guy on the ground. I couldn’t tell where the gun was. At least not until the next shot rang out.

Neither of them moved for a beat, not until the carjacker shoved up and flipped Trey off him. Trey landed on his back, and from this distance, I couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Oh my God. Oh my God.

The carjacker stood for a moment, head jerking from side to side, as though scanning his surroundings, before he turned and ran, leaving my Mercedes quietly idling in the middle of the road.

I scrambled up from my crouch behind the building and stumbled toward the street. My purse lay a few feet from the pool of blood that was growing on the pavement.

I dropped to my knees beside the motionless boy and checked for a pulse. It was there, but faint. His chest barely moved, but he was still breathing. I needed to stop the bleeding. Ripping the cleanest section of the torn skirt of my dress free, I balled it up and pressed it against the wound in his chest. I dragged my purse closer and grabbed my phone.

With one hand, I punched in 9-1-1. The operator’s voice was the best sound I’d heard all night.

I was just finishing up a tat when my phone started buzzing on the counter. I ignored it, but it kept buzzing. And buzzing.

Glancing over, I saw Hennessey’s name on the screen.

The fuck?

I rolled away, flipping off the machine, and apologized to my client. Pulling the latex glove off one hand, I swiped across the screen.

“Leahy.”

“Need to get your ass down to Tulane Medical Center.”

I stilled, the blood rushing through my veins morphing into ice water.

“What the hell happened? Who is it?”

“Just get here. But don’t kill yourself on the way. Don’t need them bringing you in a bus, too.”

“Who the fuck is it?”

“One of your boys. Trey Vincent.”

The ice water froze solid.

“How bad?”

“Died once already tonight. They brought him back. Get your ass here.”

I looked down at the customer in my chair and the nearly finished red-tailed hawk I’d spent the past four hours working on.

“On my way.”

I was lowering my phone, about to hang up, when Hennessey added, “And a blonde came in with him. A hot, rich blonde. So damn rich that I’m standing in a wing of the hospital named after her mama. Says your boy saved her from a carjacking.”

What the hell?

“On my fucking way.”

I hung up and snapped off my other latex glove.

I turned to say something to my client, but he held up a hand. “Go, man. Do what you gotta do. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled and strode out of the room.

“Gotta go, Delilah. Lock up for me? And don’t charge the client I’m leaving with an unfinished tat.”

“Sure. But what can I do to help?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you next shift.”

I revved my bike and flew out of the alley thirty seconds later. In minutes, I was parking in the ‘Reserved for Clergy’ spot in front of the ER and hauling ass up to the automatic doors.

“I’m not even going to ask how many traffic laws you broke to get here so fucking fast.” Hennessy pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, and I followed him inside.

“How is he? Where’s his ma?”

“Your boy’s still in surgery. His ma’s up in a private waiting room that Ms. Frost arranged.”

I wanted to demand he tell me everything he knew about what had happened to Vanessa, but he was already suspicious. I didn’t need to heap fuel on the fire. “Is she okay? You said it was a carjacking?”

Hennessy studied me as he replied, “She’s a little scraped and a lot shaken up. Pretty much what you’d expect from someone who was carjacked and witnessed a shooting. Although, I have to say, she’s holding it together well. Don’t even think she needed stitches.”

The thought of someone threatening her… Fuck. My hands balled into white-knuckled fists. When he didn’t elaborate further, I tried to make my question sound casually concerned. “Why would she have needed stitches?”

“Cut her knee on some broken glass when she ran from the shooter. Said she dove when he popped off a couple rounds at her. They just butterflied it and called it good.”

A haze of red filled my vision. All pretense of casual died a bloody and violent death. “He fucking shot at her?” My roar filled the waiting room, and all heads swiveled in our direction.

The nurse managing triage stood, but Hennessy waved her off.