My elbow made contact just as he kneed me again and my legs gave way. I let them give way. Let myself crumple forward onto the wire just as he stumbled back from my blow, grunting, as if I’d hit him harder than I thought. He released the wire and I pitched face-first to the ground.

“Hey!”

The shout rang down the alley, followed by the pound of running footsteps. Young male voices. Multiple running footsteps. I ignored them and flipped over, my hand going to my pocket for my gun. As I rolled, I saw Wilkes poised over me. But he’d frozen in place, head up, hearing the approaching voices and footsteps. Our eyes met. His filled with rage and frustration and, again, I drank it in.

He wheeled. I pulled out the gun. Swung it toward his fleeing back. Smiled as I watched him trying to run, but faltering, as if still feeling that blow to the gut. Such an easy target. I allowed myself one delicious shudder. Then, finger on the trigger—

A pair of legs jumped into the way, running out from a side alley.

“Whoa!”

My rescuer backpedaled, but stayed in my line of fire…and Wilkes disappeared around the next corner. I flew to my feet, but hands grabbed me.

“He’s gone. It’s okay. He’s gone.”

I turned, snarling, ready to shove this kid out of my way and tear off after Wilkes. But then I saw the boy’s face, eyes wide with terror—innocent—and it was like a bucket of ice water. I’d missed my opportunity. Now I was on the ground, a gun in my hands, blood streaming down my arms, surrounded by a bunch of college kids who thought they’d just saved me from a killer.

I had to play it out, get away safely, then go after Wilkes. Find him again and catch him before he killed someone else in my place.

I looked at my gun and widened my eyes, as if surprised to see it there. Then I backed against the wall, hands going around my knees, feigning shock while making sure all my blood went on my pants, not on the ground where a crime scene team could find it.

One of the kids dropped down beside me, his hand going to my shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” he said. “We called the cops. They’ll be here in a minute.”

My head shot up, and I didn’t need to fake my reaction. My brain scrambled for an excuse and latched onto the first one it came across.

“No,” I said, pushing to my feet. “No—no cops. I’m—My dealer. I was here meeting my dealer. I’m carrying. I can’t—”

“It’s okay,” the boy said. “They won’t care about that.”

“Oh, God, I can’t—I have to go. If my husband finds out—”