Darcy met Sophie for their brunch date later that morning. When she finally left the police station, she barely had time to get to the restaurant in time. She raced into the deli with her face flushed and frantic eyes.
“Thank God, you’re here. I have to talk to you.” She gathered Sophie in a warm hug.
“Good Lord, woman, I’m so sorry about the shootings. I’ve been trying to call you ever since I heard about it on the news.” Sophie Adams squeezed her tight. “Are you all right?”
Darcy held her close and apologized for not charging her phone. Sophie was her dearest friend. The two women had hit it off immediately when they met in a yoga class. They had much in common. Both were orphans, though Sophie hadn’t been lucky enough to have any family left. She’d grown up in foster homes until she turned 18. She’d worked and struggled to make her way through college then got a job teaching at the same school Darcy did. Now she was in the same position as Darcy—unemployed and scrimping by. While Darcy played in a piano bar, Sophie did custom frames, painted, and managed to sell some of her work.
“Girl, I’m so glad you’re okay. I take it you were already gone by the time the shooting happened,” Sophie commented as they slipped into a booth.
“I wish I had been. Let me tell you what happened.”
For the next little while, Darcy filled Sophie in on all the events of the night before, pausing only long enough to give their orders and take an occasional bite of food. Sophie gasped and shuddered as Darcy described the happenings.
“You actually picked the guy out from a photo?”
“I did. And, to top it off, I have to testify against this Dimitri Pasquale.”
“Dimitri Pasquale?” Sophie squeaked. “I’ve heard of him. He’s a real bad guy, Darcy.”
“Believe me, I know.” Darcy’s voice quivered as she agreed.
The two women clasped hands for a moment as the reality sank in.
“It will be dangerous, Darcy. Have you thought about that?”
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she confessed. “But I have to do it, Soph. I have to…for Papa.”
“Oh, girl, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”
“Believe me, I wish I wasn’t in my shoes.”
They finished their lunch and hugged goodbye, holding on to each other a little tighter than usual. Less than 24 hours before, Darcy had feared she’d never see Sophie again. She loved her like a sister and that possibility terrified her.
Sophie headed east to her parking spot and Darcy headed west to her own car. It was a beautiful, sunny autumn day. One of those days that made her thankful she lived in Chicago and could enjoy all four seasons. She paused at the corner and waited for the light to turn then started across the street.
She was midway across the sleepy street when she heard the roar of an accelerating car engine. She turned her head and saw a black SUV careening around the corner, all the time picking up speed. What the hell? It was heading right towards her. Darcy lunged forward, but the car turned in her direction. She hurled herself towards the curb as the SUV missed her by mere inches.
She curled up, sprawled on her belly, her chin crashing into the sidewalk. Her teeth clashed together, and she felt a burning sensation speed through her jaw. Her skirt flew up her thighs, and her knees stung where the pavement scraped them.
A few people witnessed the scene and came hurrying towards Darcy’s sprawled form. They all demanded to know if she was all right, but the breath was knocked out of her, and she was unable to answer. She felt herself attempting to suck in air like a fish on dry land.
She was finally able to speak and began to protest. “I’m okay, really, I’m okay.”
“Lady, you could have been killed,” a rotund, middle-aged man gasped as he helped her to her feet...
“I thought you were a goner,” a teenage girl added. “He was coming right for you.”
“I called the cops,” somebody else put in.
“No, really, I’m all right,” Darcy protested as she rubbed her raw chin. The last thing she wanted was to hang around here and wait for the police to arrive. She really just wanted to go home and go to bed, pull up the covers, and wake up to find this was all just a bad dream.
Instead, she waited for the cops, answered their questions, and denied their offer of medical help. She was impatient, upset, and a little in shock. How could all these awful things happen to her in less than 24 hours? Was she just having a string of bad luck or had somebody just tried to kill her?
She finally reached her home and stripped off her clothes. She doctored her scrapes and soaked in the tub while she sipped a glass of white wine. God, she was exhausted.
When she finally climbed out of the tub, she slipped into her favorite long white flannel gown and left her hair flowing free. She warmed up leftover soup and sat on her couch to eat it and watch a bit of TV before she crashed. She’d been awake for 37 hours now, and she could feel it.
She tried watching the news and found the shooting was the lead story on every channel she turned to. She couldn’t stand to watch it and finally flipped over to an old John Wayne western. Before she knew it, she’d nodded off.
The banging on the door awakened her. She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner and saw it was just 8:15, but she was still not happy to be disturbed. She stomped, barefoot, to the front door and peered out the peephole. Nick Baker looked back.
Aw, hell, what now?