Survival of the Fiercest (20 page)

“One-way, nonstop to San Francisco, please!” I say in a rush, slapping down a gold credit card. The agent lifts his gaze. His slim face looks completely unfazed by my heaving chest and the desperation in my voice.

“This line is for first class and members only.” He resumes typing.

“I’m not a member, but I’ll do first class. Whatever it takes. Can you just get me on that flight?”

He clears his throat and lifts his hand toward the line to the left. “Ma’am, nonmembers can buy a ticket over there—”

Josie pushes me to the side and leans over the counter. “I’ll suck your dick!”

“Well… I… Uhhh.” He looks from side to side to see who heard. His back straightens, and his gaze slips to Josie’s enormous breasts. “First-class, you said?”

* * * *

Thirty-nine thousand feet in the air and comfortably seated in first class, I sign on to the inflight Wi-Fi with my tablet and search for more information about the shooting. I am bombarded with news headlines and Twitter feed.

San Francisco Chronicle: Club shooting downtown: Three people wounded; one in critical condition.

@Peaceandlove: Think I heard gunshots…people are fleeing and scattered.#Muse#Somehoodshit.

@Goldfingerz: Thats fucking crazy son [email protected]:Someone just got shot at #Muse.

@MrBuzzcut: Wtf?! U deadass?! [email protected]: Got into Muse 5 minutes ago and just now someone got shot smh…

My heart arrests as one of the tweeters describes seeing the shooter running up the stairs to the second floor. I place a hand over my chest to steady myself. Evan is usually in the VIP lounge or in the office.

After six hours of hysteria and panic, I arrive in San Francisco—anxious, barely rested, and irritable. My phone is losing juice, and I forgot my charger. Jumping in a cab, I head straight for Muse.

Yellow tape forms an octagon in front of the club entrance, and the police are milling about. Approaching an officer, I ask for Evan Cain, the owner, but he doesn’t know much. He suggests I speak to the lieutenant, who was the first on the scene and is now at the hospital with the victims. Just the word hospital puts me in a frenzy of alarm. I pull my phone from my purse, but the sleeping rectangle won’t wake.

At the hospital, I drop Evan’s name at the receptionist desk.

“Are you a relative?” she asks.

Breaking out in a sweat, I quickly rummage through my wallet. I flash my ID between my thumb and forefinger.

“I’m the deputy district attorney. We have a man in custody for a club shooting, but I need to talk to the victims.” My fashion-police badge, the one that Randy made us for Halloween last year, looks deceptively official. With a small gasp, the receptionist checks her computer.

“Third floor. ICU.”

With a CSI nod, I head to the elevators.

The waiting room is packed with people and policemen. Nurses are buzzing around, and the pager is going off overhead. Making my way into the crowd toward the reception desk, I spot a few journalists taking notes. Seated to the side, people are wiping away tears.

A few large men I recognize as bouncers are standing in a small cluster, whispering to each other. Evan is nowhere to be found. If he was okay, he’d be here. That means he’s… Oh God… He could be the one in critical condition.

Fear grips me, and the breath I cling to is shuddered and uneven. I cross my arms to steady myself. Step by aching step, I move closer to the group, but my thoughts have scattered. God help me, I love Evan. I do. I should have told him I loved him when I had the chance. What if I never get that chance?

“Lex?” Spinning around, I look up into Jared’s bloodshot eyes. “You’re Lex, right? Josie told me you were coming.”

“Jared, is he…” I can’t say the words.

“He’s okay. He took one in the leg. They just operated on him, and he’s resting.”

“He got shot?” My voice cracks, and tears form in my eyes. “Can I see him?”

Jared puts his hands on my shoulders. “Lex, look at me. He’s going to be okay. They said we can go in one at a time when he wakes.” Jared leads me to a chair and gets me a coffee.

“Do they know who did it?” I ask, staring at the policeman questioning a young woman in the corner.

“They said they caught the perp, but that’s all they would say. They are waiting to talk to Evan.”

A few minutes later, Jared and I watch as a nurse appears and beckons the policemen to follow her into the patient ward. Evan must be awake. I put my head in my hands, and I give a silent thanks to the universe. Twenty minutes later, the policemen walk out with determined looks on their faces. The nurse appears again and calls Jared’s name. Jared squeezes my hand, and I nod and smile as he goes in.

The minutes that tick by are achingly slow.
Evan got shot
is the banner running through my brain. How close did I come to losing him? What if I never got the chance to let him how much he means to me…how much I love him?

Jared taps my shoulder, jarring me out of my head.

“Hey, he wants to see you.”

I swipe at my face, and Jared offers to watch my bag. My feet move of their own accord, trailing swiftly behind the nurse. The place is a maze, but we finally get to a door where a policeman is stationed. Holding my breath, I walk in, and there is Evan—eyes shut, face pale, but he is breathing evenly. He is in a hospital gown, propped up by pillows and snuggled under warm blankets to his waist.

The nurse tells me I have about ten minutes to visit and closes the door. He opens his eyes when I sit. They are a little cloudy, and I bet he is on some amazing painkillers. His mouth forms a wide grin when he sees me.

“Hi, baby.”

“Hi, baby,” I say.

“You’re here.” He looks at me in wonder. “I got shot,” he says, sort of like a child would.

“I heard,” I say, smoothing my hand across the hair at his forehead. I press my lips to the warm skin there. Pulling back, I stare at his face, and tears threaten to fall again.

“Don’t cry. I’m okay,” Evan says.

My body calms, like I needed to hear him say it.

“I’m going to be on crutches for a while. I’m gonna need a nurse. A hot mixed nurse,” he teases.

I smile for the first time in what seems like forever. Yeah, he’s going to be just fine. “Do the police know who did this?”

“They caught him. Some kid. He’s not talking. But someone hired him.”

“What? Who would want to hurt you?” Then it hits me. My post about Evan and Josie, the break-ins at Josie’s hotel, the video… “Skinny,” I whisper.

“That’s my guess too. The police are looking into it.” Evan’s eyelids droop. He needs to rest, not to worry about this shit.

“Don’t think about this,” I say. I kiss him softly. “Evan, I want to tell you something. I—”

“Miss, we have to let him rest,” the nurse says, coming through the door. Releasing my held breath, I tell Evan to sleep and stand to leave.

“Wait, my jeans. Take my apartment keys,” he says, his eyes closing.

“Okay. But I’m not leaving.”

No cell phones are allowed in the waiting area, but the receptionist was nice enough to let me borrow her charger. Collecting my phone from her, I hurry into the hallway. Josie is waiting by the phone when I call. She bursts into furious Spanish when I tell her that Evan thinks Skinny might have something to do with the shooting. Then her voice quivers with tears when she talks about how Evan could have died because of her break from Skinny.

“Do you have any idea where he would be?” I ask.

“I don’t know where that son of a whore is,” she says. “But I’m gonna call every pimp, every hooker, every bar, and every jeweler to find him.”

Damn, I’m glad she’s not mad at me.

* * * *

It’s way past evening, and the nurse assures me that Evan is sleeping soundly, but I can’t bring myself to leave the waiting room. Speculation about Big Skinny hasn’t left my mind, nor has the fear this could happen again. Josie thinks the shooting happened because of her. Maybe. But I know that I’m partially to blame. If I hadn’t posted the article, Evan’s name wouldn’t be linked with Josie’s romantically. This is my fault too. There has to be a way I can make it right.

Breaking news stories about the shooting appear while I’m watching reruns on the mounted TV in the corner. Another pops up during a commercial, and this time a full-screen picture of the shooter is shown. I sit up in a flash and focus on the photo. That kid was in Tone’s art class!

Tone’s phone rings and rings, but he finally answers.

“Alexandra. Uh, hey.” His voice sounds flat, detached. And he just used my full name. Maybe he’s heard about Evan?

“Tone, did you hear? Evan got shot in the leg last night. He’ll be all right, but I saw—”

“Yeah. Sure. I have it. I’ll bring it to the class Wednesday night.”

Huh? “What are you talking about? I’m telling you that the kid in your class—”

“I totally understand. Yes. The classroom. Okay, no problem.” The phone goes dead. Holy fuck. He’s in trouble…at the classroom. What if Skinny is at the classroom?

After calling 911, I leave my number at the reception desk and run outside to catch a cab. The police are already there when I arrive and are shoving a man into the back of the police car, but it’s not Big Skinny. I see Tone come out of the classroom, seemingly unharmed. When I call his name, he smiles, and we give each other a big hug.

“You’re my fuckin’ hero!” he shouts.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, but that dude was real skittish. I came to the classroom to drop some things off, and he was hiding in the corner. He pulled a gun on me.”

“Who was it?”

“His name is Dale. He’s the shooter’s older brother. He ran when his brother got caught.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s the one who sent his brother to do the job. He works for Big Skinny. Skinny gave him the job to get rid of Evan. Shit is fucked up now. Dale’s not running from the cops, Lex. He’s running from Skinny.”

“Does he know where Big Skinny is?”

“I don’t know, but now that the police have Dale, they’ll be looking for Skinny.”

It’s too much to process, and my thoughts go immediately to Evan. Skinny could still try to hurt him.

“How’s Evan?” Tone asks.

We are interrupted when the police pull us away for questioning. I tell them what I know, which isn’t much, but I give them Josie’s information. I know she’ll want to help.

* * * *

Back at the hospital, I’m alone in the waiting room watching reruns and falling asleep on the couch. Jared has offered to let me sleep at his place, but I want to be here if Evan wakes up. My eyes are drifting closed when the night receptionist calls my name. My phone, which is charging by her desk, is ringing.

“Josie?” I ask.

“Get this. I just got a call from Skinny’s manager. Seems that Skinny is missing. Total MIA. He tells me he needs me to tell him where he is. I said I don’t know where that bitch is. He says, well, just check your friend-finder app. Lex, I completely forgot, but this motherfucker installed this app for me so he could find my ass all the time. No wonder he knew where I was 24-7. So I pulled up the app, and don’t you know the little green dot says that Skinny is in Los Angeles on Truman Street. That’s his old girlfriend’s spot.”

“Josie, we gotta tell the police.”

“Don’t worry, girl. I already did.”

* * * *

The next morning, Evan is eating something resembling scrambled eggs when the nurse lets me in. I’m exhausted—mentally and physically—but his smile infuses me with energy…and love. His eyes are clear, and his color has returned. The hospital gown hasn’t dampened his sexy one bit.

“Morning, beautiful,” he says. We kiss, and I rub my cheek along his stubble, but he pulls back with a frown. “Did you get any sleep?”

“A little. I stayed on the couch out there.”

“Why? I told you to go to my apartment.”

“I wanted to be here when you woke up.”

One corner of his mouth turns up, and his fingers play in my hair. “When I get out of here, I’ll make sure to put you to bed.” His lopsided smile widens into a wicked grin, and I silently thank the divine that I get to bask in it for a while longer.

“You just had surgery. There is no way you’re allowed to put me to bed.”

“As my new nurse, you’ll have to put me to bed.”

An image of me riding him in his hospital gown invades my thoughts. I run my hand over the blankets on his leg, and I feel the bandages there. Thank God it wasn’t his chest, or his head. My chin quivers.

He brushes his hand against my cheek. “It hurts, but I’m fine. You’re here. I’m more than fine,” he whispers.

My throat constricts. Nodding, I take a deep breath.

“Lex.”

“Hmmm?”

“I love you.” He says it evenly, staring directly into my eyes. “I’m not just saying that because I could’ve died last night. I’ve known since I saw you with Pete. I knew it again last night when you showed up at the hospital.”

I’m stunned into a happy silence, smiling and unable to stop the tears that have clouded my vision. I try to form my own words, hoping they are clear. “I love you too. I almost died when I thought you were gone.” My voice wobbles.

He pulls my face to his and kisses me gently, then deeply, like he’s not going to let me go. The feeling is mutual.

“Eat your breakfast,” I say. “I have a lot to tell you.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Two Months Later

My new phone is ringing, or should I say blinking. The new downtown office space of thefiercest.com is an eco-friendly, noiseproof, Zen-inducing den of creativity. Even the elevators are quiet. The silence is a writer’s wet dream, but I miss a lot of phone calls if I’m not paying attention. Today I’m waiting for a special one. I grab the receiver.

“When are you coming home?” Just the sound of Evan’s voice has me rising from my chair.

“Now. Right now.” It’s been a week since we’ve seen each other. I’ve been checking his flight status all morning. Grabbing my things, I mentally scroll through my checklist. The new Fierce Female Friday with Angela Gasher is scheduled—she promised to dish the dirty details of her divorce. Randy’s style page is revamped. Jared’s wife is on deck for a full feature on her modeling agency, and last but not least, Josie’s latest video is about to go live.