Zeke put the phone on speaker, set it on the seat beside him, and fell in behind his colleague, keeping a half block between them—and psyching himself up for a game of musical cars.

Didn’t happen.

Three blocks later, Hernandez pulled into a low-end bar, parked, and wandered inside as if he had nothing more important to do on this Wednesday night than guzzle a few beers.

And maybe he didn’t.

Maybe he’d come here to drown his sorrows after being ousted from the drug ring.

“I’ll go in.” His colleague emerged from his vehicle in the parking lot, cell pressed to his ear. “He knows you. We can’t risk tipping him off to the tail. If he stays too long, we’ll call for backup.”

“That works. I’ll sit tight.” He ended the call, then tried Cate’s number.

It rolled to voicemail without ringing.

Her phone was still out of commission.

Zeke drummed his fingers on the wheel.

Should he contact her boss again?

No.

The man had said he’d call with any news.

They were probably following up at Starbucks to see if anyone had noticed Cate or Kayla.

But who had paid for the cab?

That was an even more critical question.

Had County looked into it?

His finger hovered over the keypad—but instead of calling again, he fisted his hand.

Of course they had. That was basic procedure. Investigation 101. If they’d uncovered anything worthwhile, Cate’s boss would have let him know.

He had to give them space to do their work. She was one of their own, and they’d pull out all the stops to find her. That’s how County worked. He had to be patient.

And he would be—for thirty more minutes.

After that, all bets were off.

Wilson scrambled to his feet and backed off as Kayla groaned and curled into a ball on the icy ground, gripping her shoulder.

Ribs aching, Cate crawled over to her. “Kayla? Are you hurt?”

“M-my shoulder. He s-shot me.” Disbelief and shock rippled through her words.

“I didn’t intend to. If you both would have cooperated, this could have been avoided.” Wilson sounded agitated. “How bad is it?”

“Kayla . . . let me see.” Cate tugged the girl’s hand away from her shoulder and unzipped the top of her coat. “I need light.”

A few moments later, a beam illuminated Kayla.

Cate lifted the jacket and inspected her shoulder. There was blood on the upper sleeve of her white sparkly sweater, but the wound didn’t appear to be gushing. Considering the location of the stain and the ragged rip in the sweater, the bullet had grazed her arm and kept going.

She checked the parka.

Yes.

There were entrance and exit holes very close together on the outside of the upper sleeve.

“Well?” Wilson edged closer.

“She’s bleeding. We should get her to an ER.”