At first, Cara didn’t notice the police cruisers and unmarked vehicles parked along the front of her apartment building. She was too busy reading the letter from her university, inviting her to take part in the autumn graduation ceremony for late graduates of her class. While she wasn’t a late graduate, she had passed on attending the main event.
When Cara did finally notice the police attendance, she was halfway up the walk. The early July air was hot and humid, as the majority of the entire summer had already been. She cradled her thirty-seven-week pregnancy swell overtop the flimsy summer dress that helped to keep her cool.
“Cara Rossi?”
She turned to see an officer in full uniform approaching. Her nerves picked up another notch.
“Yes, that’s me,” Cara said.
“I’ll escort you to your apartment.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
The officer smiled thinly. “Normal procedure, that’s all.”
“Normal procedure for what?”
“Follow me, miss.”
“What is going on?” Cara demanded.
The officer answered nothing, simply urged her toward the front doors of the building. Cara wondered if maybe her place had been broken into, though that seemed unlikely. She lived in a good part of the city, and the cost of her rent proved that little fact. Her building—in all the years she lived there—never once had a crime taken place inside or on the outside property.
It was possible that the cops were there because of her accident weeks ago. Her rib was healed and no longer sore, as was the gash on her hairline. Thankfully, that had healed with a scar that wasn’t noticeable, due to skilled stitching by a doctor.
“Is this about the accident?” Cara asked. “I answered all the questions I could at the hospital the next day, and then another round the next week when detectives came with pictures of vehicles for me to look at. I don’t know what more to tell you.”
The officer still didn’t answer.
Now, Cara was just getting peeved.
She didn’t have to wonder for long, as the door to her floor was pushed open. From her spot way down the hall, she could plainly see evidence boxes and bags resting along the wall outside of her apartment door. Inside a few of the clear, plastic bags with red tape sealing the tops, rested items that belonged to Gian.
A shirt of his.
A book.
An empty bullet clip for his favorite Berretta.
Wait, where in the hell had he put that damn thing?
“You’re raiding my place?” Cara shrieked, heading down the hall fast. “What fucking reason do you have to justify a search warrant on my apartment?”
She dropped her bag and the papers from her university, uncaring about the items. Inside her apartment, it looked like a hurricane had ripped through it. An officer identified her and Cara confirmed it, before another paper was shoved into her hands. She barely glanced at it, seeing what it was and only getting more irritated.
A search warrant.
Signed by a judge.
“Nice to see you again, Miss Rossi,” said a familiar detective. The man walked toward Cara with a small stuffed animal in his hands. A tiny elephant that had managed to survive the accident weeks before and Cara had put on the baby’s dresser as a decoration. “Cute little thing, this is.”
Her baby’s nursery?
Cara’s rage spiraled out of control, and she pushed past the detective, heading for Marcus’s room. Sure enough, even it had not gone untouched by the search. Each and every one of the baby’s dresser drawers had been pulled open. Carefully folded, tiny clothes spilled across the room in piles, while cute knickknacks and decoration items had been upended in a messy search.
The closet, a space Cara had kept a few boxes of Lea’s remaining things, was open. The boxes of her twin’s belongings had also been ransacked and searched through.
“We have reason to believe you or your apartment, is a regular stop for Gian Guzzi,” the detective said behind Cara, “and so, here we are to check for any information related to recent investigations into his business.”
Disbelief swept through Cara.
“And what did you hope to find in an unborn baby’s nursery?” she asked.
“Oh, we didn’t expect to find much in this apartment at all.”
“Then why?”
She had been the victim just weeks ago. She had been the one nearly killed by a hit and run driver. And now it was her that needed to be treated like a criminal?
Why?
“Gian will understand exactly why,” the detective said smugly.
Cara’s hands balled into tight fists, her fingernails cutting into her palms. “Where is my purse and cell phone? I want to call Gian and my lawyer, now.”
“As soon as we’re done taking a look through the bag, Cara.”
Fuck him.
“Cara, just consider—”
“Gian, it’s fine. I’ve almost got the apartment back to normal. The baby’s room is all organized and ready again. There’s really no need.”
“Well, no need is kind of wrong. There is a need, mon ange. Thirty-seven weeks pregnant with my son is a very good reason to move into the penthouse now, while you have a bit of time left to settle in.”
Cara sighed, and shifted the bag of heavy text books on her shoulder. “Okay, I know I was pissed off about the search on my place, but it’s still not a good reason for me to upend everything right now to move into the penthouse. We’re a little late into this pregnancy to be doing such a big move, Gian.”
“Except I would like for you to, Cara.”
“Listen, we’ll talk more when I get out of the university’s library.”
“Don’t hang up on me because you don’t want to discuss this.”
“I’m not. I’m at the entrance doors right now. I want to get these books out of my place. I will call you back.”
“When you’re out, right? I want to talk about this, even if you don’t.”
“I have to head over to the shelter, too,” Cara reminded him.
Gian grumbled under his breath. “Isn’t your time off supposed to start soon for the shelter?”
“Next week, yes.”
“Don’t work too hard, Cara.”
She smiled. “Why not? You happen to be very good at massages. It gives me an excuse to ask for one.”
“You don’t need an excuse, pretty girl.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Do so.”
Thankfully, Gian dropped the prickly topic of Cara moving into the penthouse. With a quick “I love you” and another demand for her to call him back when she could, the call ended. Cara headed into the university’s library, ready to get rid of her textbooks she had needed for the year.
The university had a program that allowed students to drop off textbooks to be used for students the subsequent year who were low income, and couldn’t afford to buy the expensive books on their own. A lot of private libraries would pay a small amount for the textbooks, but the university’s program was non-profit. It was all by donation and they didn’t charge the students to get the used books. Cara didn’t care about the money, she cared about being able to help someone.
It didn’t take long for Cara to get her textbooks dropped off and head back out the way she had come. She fully intended to call Gian back as soon as she could, but he would have to wait. As it was, traffic in the city had been terrible all day, and Cara was running short on time to get to the shelter for her shift.
She would usually take the bus, but flagged a passing cab instead. Just as she slid into the back seat and tossed her mostly-empty tote bag to the floor, something caught her eye across the street.
Or rather, someone.
Two people, actually.
Elena Guzzi was just coming out of a specialty boutique, her arms loaded with several bags. A large-brimmed hat keeping half of her face hidden, but Cara would recognize the woman anywhere. At the end of the street, Domenic—Gian’s younger brother—waited for Elena, already holding the passenger side door open for the woman to get inside the car.
That was all Cara saw before her cab pulled away from the side of the road, leaving the scene behind.
Still, an angry ache had settled in Cara’s chest at the sight of Gian’s wife. After their first run in, Cara had been left feeling so ashamed for her involvement with Gian and the pregnancy. But after, once she had learned more of the story, and the things Gian told Cara, she didn’t think that run in with Elena had been accidental at all.
And neither had her pity party lies about losing a baby, or not being able to have more children.
Was Cara imperfect?
Were her actions immoral?
Was she a sinner in this?
Absolutely.
Yes, on every single account.
But something told Cara that Elena Guzzi was not all too innocent, either.
None of them were.
Cara held the hands of the young, high-risk domestic abuse victim across from her while Jenny continued to explain what was going to happen from there on out. Melinda, at only twenty-two, had just been dealt another difficult blow in what was an already horrible time in her life.
Two weeks after the beating her husband had served down on her, and the woman was at least beginning to look better. The black and blue bruising on her face had faded to a yellow that was easy to cover. Her broken nose was no longer swollen, and she was able to open her right eye again. The busted vessels in her left eye were also healing, and no longer drew attention, as they had when nearly the entire white of the eyeball had been a bloody, ghastly red.
Melinda tried to smile when Cara offered her hands a squeeze, but it faltered at the last second. Outside appearances were deceiving, and there had never been a better example of that than a woman who had learned to hide the signs of her spouse’s abuse.
This woman had been hiding hers since she was eighteen.
“So, he got bail,” Melinda whispered.
So soft spoken.
Still afraid.
Never weak, though.
Cara repeated that sentiment to Melinda when the woman was willing to listen. She was not weak. She was brave, courageous, wonderful, and deserved beautiful things. All the beautiful things she wanted would and could be hers.
“He did get bail,” Jenny said, “and since this is his first charge on his record, we expected that. The restraining order is still in place and the police officer on the case was kind enough to alert us that he is free on bail, until the next court date.”
Melinda wet her lips, her gaze darting between the floor and the wall. “He knows where I am.”
“The restraining order is still in place, but should he come to the shelter, we have policies in place that will keep you and everyone else perfectly safe.”
“Except he doesn’t care about those kinds of things. He never has. He said he would kill me; he almost did. He’s—”
“Melinda,” Cara said softly, “take a breath. Take a moment to breathe.”
The young woman did, but Cara could plainly see it didn’t help all that much.
“This is the first time I’ve ever left him,” Melinda mumbled. “This wasn’t even the worst beating, it was just the first time someone helped. I don’t … He won’t … I’m scared.”
Jenny nodded. “I know. We consider your situation to be high-risk, which means at the moment, the shelter is currently on a level red watch.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means that because there is a risk of an altercation between you and your husband while we get things settled with the court, your divorce lawyer, and everything else, everyone here will be more alert for a problem. Until we have a reason to move you—say, he shows up here, or approaches you when you’re out with one of our escorts—then the shelter is where you will remain. So, while you are here, because of the risk level, the staff and volunteers, and even the other women currently housed here, will be on a high alert for safety.”
“So, wait and see if he tries to beat me to death again?” Melinda asked.
Cara winced. “We understand the situation and why you’re afraid of him showing up. But given this is his first actual arrest and the past years of abuse haven’t been documented officially, the courts were already unlikely to deny him bail. Trust that we will do absolutely everything to keep you, and everyone else, safe while we go through this process. And if at any single time, he gives us even a small reason to suspect he’s planning something, you will be moved with a police guard. Okay?”
Melinda agreed, but she didn’t look entirely convinced.
Cara understood that, too.
It was hard to trust others to keep you safe, when all you knew was keeping yourself alive.
“Are you good to go back to your room?” Cara asked.
“Or, supper is getting ready to be served in the kitchen, if you’re hungry,” Jenny added.
Melinda shrugged. “Food would be good.”
“Wonderful.” Jenny waited until Melinda had gone from the office and the door was closed once more, before she turned to Cara to speak. “I didn’t want to frighten her more, but the officer who alerted us to the granted bail thought we should know.”
Cara stood, rubbing a hand over her stomach to soothe the jabs of the baby boy hitting her rib. “Know what?”
“The officer figured he would keep an eye on Allen Farger for the day, as he had time, and he said there was something about the guy that bothered him.”
“So?”
“He lost him about an hour after he started tailing him,” Jenny said.
“Like in traffic or something?”
“No, like Allen seemed to know someone was following him and deliberately lost the officer.”
Well, shit.
“Why would he do that?” Cara asked.
Although, she was pretty sure she knew the answer.
“Because he didn’t want to be seen or bothered doing whatever in the hell he was going to do.” Jenny loosened her ponytail, and tipped her head side to side, stretching her neck. “That was why I put the shelter on level red watch, not because of the bail.”
“Don’t you think Melinda should know?”
Jenny frowned. “Tonight is the first night that young woman has even felt comfortable with eating dinner in the main dining room, around others. She is medicated just to be able to sleep. She is terrified enough, so no, I don’t want to pile more on to her, and watch her regress. We’ve got a long way to go with this one, Cara.”
“Yeah, I see your point.”
“What time were you planning on leaving today? You should rest, you’re nearly thirty-eight weeks pregnant, Cara.”
Cara dismissed the suggestion. “I’m fine and I think after I make a call, I’ll stick around.”
“You really should relax. Once your baby gets here, you’ll have no time to rest at all.”
“Don’t worry about me, Jenny.”
“I worry about all my girls, regardless of who they are, Cara.”
Yeah, she knew that, too.
“I’ll be fine,” Cara assured her boss once more.
Fifteen minutes later, Cara had holed herself in her small office, and finally gotten Gian on the phone. She probably should have called him back earlier after their conversation while she dropped off her books, but the hectic pace of the shelter that day hadn’t given her the chance.
“Mon ange,” Gian said the moment he picked up Cara’s call from her office phone. “How’s my girl?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Tired. A little stressed. Craving that shredded ice with the cherry flavoring you brought me last week. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Gian’s chuckles were dark and wonderful on the other end of the line. “I can have some for you when you get home. Just let me know when you’re leaving.”
Cara blew out a slow breath. “Yeah, that’s the thing. I probably won’t be out of here until later than I thought. I know you were going to come over, but why don’t we just figure something out for tomorrow instead?”
“Cara, you’re supposed to be taking it—”
“Easy, I know. But shit came up.”
“Are you actually going to take your time off for maternity leave starting next week, or what?”
“Yes, Gian. I am going to take my leave.”
“You make it hard to believe, that’s all. You work harder than I do, amore. And that says something because I never stop.”
“I promise I’m going to take my leave. But tonight, I’m going to stay later. We have a new woman on the floor—domestic abuse, and it’s a risky situation right now. I feel like she just needs someone to talk to a bit more, and maybe she’ll feel less anxious about the shelter and what we’re trying to do to help her.”
Gian grunted something under his breath that Cara didn’t understand before adding louder, “Your soul is too good for this world, love. You better take your leave, and enjoy every minute of it. You deserve that, Cara. So fine, we’ll do something tomorrow, but something tonight, too.”
“I’m going to be too tired for anything tonight, Gian.”
“I’ll surprise you.”
“With what?”
“I’m actually not too far away with my brother, having dinner. How about—”
Gian’s sentence cut off, and a nothingness sounded in Cara’s ear. She looked down at the office phone, only to see the call had been cut off, but there was no dial tone. She hit the receiver button, but each time, the same nothingness came through the speaker.
“What the fuck?” Cara asked out loud to herself.
Then, the lights went out.
Instantly, backup emergency lights lit up over Cara’s head in one corner of her office. There was absolutely no reason for the phones to cut out, nor for the power to shut off. Cara might have overlooked the power thing, as sometimes that happened in the city when a car accident took out a transformer, but she hesitated on thinking that was the issue.
Why?
Because even without power, the phone lines would work. The phone lines would have needed to be cut, deliberately, for them not to work.
Instinct made Cara grab her cell phone from her purse as she headed out of her office. The shelter was a complex-style building, comprised of different areas from housing wings, to the kitchen, the offices wing, and the downstairs section, where things like the daycare, reception, a small library, and more was set up for the women to use.
Cara went for the stairs first, deciding on heading down that way to see what in the hell was going on. She had just stepped foot on the lower floor when the first gun shots rang out. Screams followed.
“Holy shit,” someone murmured from the front.
Cara stayed behind the safety of the wall that separated her from being seen by the people at the front entrance of the shelter.
“Allen,” she heard Jenny say, “please put the—”
“Shut the fuck up. Where’s my wife?”
Cara heard the patter of fast footsteps heading her way, and the second gunshot split through the air. The body of one of the volunteers landed so close to Cara’s spot that she heard the woman take her last breath.
Oh, my God.
“Let’s not do that again,” Allen—Melinda’s husband—said, his tone cold and bored. “Lock the place down. I’m not leaving until I get my fucking wife.”
Cara took a breath, and then another. Her slight touch of PTSD from Lea’s murder made things like gunfire into a huge monster she didn’t want to battle. She certainly couldn’t afford to battle it right then.
She didn’t realize it but she had squeezed her hands so tightly, her fingernails cut into her palms. It was only the slight movement of her baby that brought Cara but of her daze, back into the present, and reminded her what she had in her hand.
A cell phone.
One that worked.
And there was still a whole floor of people that needed to stay where they were and go into lockdown mode. It was likely that because of the cut phone and power lines, the staff in the upper floors were not aware of what was happening downstairs. A proper alert couldn’t be sent over the speakers to lockdown and hide-in due to a dangerous situation.
Thankfully, given the time of day, the bottom floor was mostly empty. A lot of the staff and women would be in the kitchen on the second floor, readying for meal time. A lot of the woman might even still be in the housing wing, readying to head to the kitchen.
Cara hit the stairs running, though she tried to keep her steps as quiet as possible. Already, she had her phone turned on and was dialing nine-one-one.
“Nine-one-one emergency services, what’s your emergency?”
Cara rattled off the address to the shelter. “Active shooter, at least one dead.”
“You’re sure it’s active, ma’am?” the woman asked.
Another gunshot rang out from down below as Cara headed for the housing wing first. “Very fucking sure, thanks.”
“Okay, please remain calm and on the phone.”
Cara pulled the lock-in bar from above the housing wing’s entrance doors and set it up as firmly as she could against the bottom, hearing some of the women come out of their rooms. The dispatcher continued to ask Cara questions, and she rattled off as much information as she could while she placed the metal bar in under the doors, opened it wide so that it used the cement walls as support. Now, the door couldn’t be opened from the other side.
“Ma’am, do you know—”
Cara ignored the dispatcher, and turned to the women coming out of their rooms, and the few staff there, too. “There’s an active shooter on the main floor. Door one to the housing wing is closed, secure, and locked-in. I’m going to exit out door two and head toward the kitchen. Someone needs to put the lock in bar behind me. Do not open those doors. Do not open them until you hear police declaring a non-active situation. Get in your rooms, close the doors, lock them up, and get under your beds, in your closets, or your bathrooms if you have one in your unit. Turn the lights off. Be extra quiet. Police have been notified, so let’s not get on a dozen cell phones and block up the emergency lines. Okay?”
She could plainly see the questions the waiting people wanted to ask, and their fear. She was grateful that they simply nodded, and she continued on, heading for the exit door.
“I take it the shelter has codes in place for this sort of thing,” the dispatcher said. “That’s good, very reassuring.”
“Just because we have them, doesn’t mean we want to use them.”
“Good point. The police are on their way.”
Cara’s phone vibrated, an incoming call on the other line, but she focused on making sure the housing wing did as she asked, and locked in the exit door that led to the stairs. Instead of going down the stairs to the bottom floor, she went down the U-shaped hallway that would lead her into the offices and kitchen area.
Once again, her phone vibrated with a call on the other line.
Cara checked it, seeing Gian’s number.
“You’re still on the line, ma’am, aren’t you?” the dispatcher asked.
“Yes, but—”
Another burst of gunfire rang out behind the doors that lead to the offices wing where Cara had first come from. The noise and shock alone sent her spinning back into the wall again.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
She couldn’t lock in the offices wing when she knew there were people inside that might be able to get out. Not to mention, the lock-in bars were inside the doors, not outside. Because the people within needed to be safe, and keep the bad guys out.
Cara hadn’t meant to, but in her panic, she had clutched her phone the wrong way, and ended the call with the dispatcher. She could hear the shouts of Melinda’s raging husband just a few feet beyond the office wing’s doors when her phone started ringing.
Loudly.
Loud enough for someone to hear behind the doors.
Utter fear sent Cara running for the only safe zone left. The kitchen. Attached to the dining hall, she could get inside, have the doors locked down, wait for the cops, and hope for the fucking best.
She slammed into the back section of the kitchen like a bat out of hell, shouting and waving at the staff to help her get the lock-in bar in place. Her words mostly came out in a jumbled, panicky mess of jerky sentences and orders in the dark space with only the dim emergency lights up above.
Someone seemed to hear her, though.
Or they understood.
They just got the lock-in bar spread at the bottom of the door when the first kick hit it. Then, another round of gunfire sent Cara and the man who had helped her get the bar in place, flying backwards. She stumbled over her own feet, suddenly thankful the doors were metal and could take a bullet or two.
“The other door,” Cara mumbled to the confused, frightened staff working in the kitchen, “get the lock-in bar in the other door!”
A nagging pain started to ache in Cara’s side, but she pressed the heel of her palm against it to soothe it as best she could. Her phone rang once more, and Gian’s number lit up the screen.
Even though every single part of her screamed to pick up the call and hear his voice, because it would calm her like nothing else, Cara didn’t do it. She didn’t want to scare him, or worry him. The situation was … well, bad.
Really fucking bad.
Cara decided to call the emergency line back, just to let them know an update on the situation, and why the call had been ended in the first place.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your—”
“Active shooter at Carolina’s House on the Fifth,” Cara interrupted, keeping an eye on the locked-in door. “I was just on the phone with a dispatcher, and accidentally ended it. We have the housing and dining wings locked in, but the main entrance, bottom floor, and offices are not secure.”
“Units are on route to the scene, and one has already arrived, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
She still didn’t relax.
Not for a minute.
And especially not when the dispatcher said, “We have a confusing report coming in from the first unit, could you clarify the situation? One shooter or two?”
Cara’s brow furrowed. “Just one, why?”
“There are running vehicles outside of the shelter’s main entrance and a witness told police that two men entered the shelter five minutes ago. With weapons visible.”
“This began at least fifteen minutes ago,” Cara whispered.
“Yes, I can see when your first call came in, ma’am.”
Cara wasn’t sure why she felt the need to ask, but the question spilled out anyway. “What are the models of the vehicles outside the shelter that the witness saw the men come in?”
“Um … a Lexus and a Mercedes.”
Gian.