I'm frantic with not knowing what to do. I've tried calling Katrina for the past two days, and I'm paralyzed with worry.

At first, when Katrina walked out, I thought she was just pissed off. I mean, I've pissed off women before, but I figured she'd come back after cooling off. It wasn't until after I got dressed that I realized her bag was gone too, and by then, it was too late. I searched the area around the hotel, but she wasn't there.

I tried text messages, calls, everything as I took the rental car around the hotel's neighborhood, hoping that maybe she stayed close. Two hours of driving later, and I tried other places as well. But nothing, which shouldn't really surprise me. Miami's a big city, and I'm looking for one woman.

Nathan calls me back, and I'm glad for his help. He came down from Savannah as soon as he could, arriving just after midnight that day, meeting me for breakfast the next morning. He searched in his Tahoe all day yesterday, and now I'm desperate.

“Nathan... what have I done?” I ask as he mechanically shovels hash browns into his mouth. We're at a diner, and I realize with a start that I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday, and I call the waitress over for a pancake breakfast. Fuck the carbs, I need food. “What have I done?”

“Sounds like you pissed her off,” Nathan says quietly, sipping his orange juice. “She may have ghosted on you.”

“No, I can't accept that. Not after... well, after what happened between us,” I say. He doesn’t need to know all of that. “I have to find her.”

“Maybe she went back to New Orleans,” Nathan offers. “I mean, she could have jumped on a flight back home just as easily as hanging out here.”

I shake my head, sighing in frustration. “No way, Nathan. I don't know how I can say that, just... it's a feeling. She's here in Miami, I know it. After the incident with her father, there's just no way she'd just leave town without at least something pulling her back. Being pissed at me isn't enough.”

The waitress brings me my short stack, and I cover the whole thing in syrup. The first bite is sweet, but bitter, because I should be having this meal with Katrina and not Nathan. Nathan watches me for a minute, then speaks again. “Jackson... are you letting your emotions get the better of you?”

I half-slam my fork down and look him in the eyes. “You're goddamned right my emotions are involved in this, but fuck you if you think that it's a bad thing. My entire life, I've kept my emotions, my real emotions, behind a wall. Now that I’ve let someone past them, no way am I giving up on that person.”

Nathan takes another bite of hash browns and sets his own fork down. “Okay. I ask because I need to know how far you're going to take this. We stay here in Miami much longer, and your father is going to start asking what the hell's taking us so long.”

“Let him ask,” I grumble, taking another bite of pancake. “I don't care if I blow him totally out of the water on this. For fuck's sake, don't you see how wrong I was?”

“Not really. You haven't said much other than that you two had an argument, and that we're supposed to look for her. Hell, I don't even know much about what happened here in the city. Just obviously you found Samuel Grammercy.”

“Michael Ball now,” I correct him, then shake my head. “I guess it doesn't matter what the argument was about. What matters is what I've learned over the past two days.”

“And what's that?” Nathan asks curiously. “That you want to run away with her, make lots of little DeLaCoeur babies, and soak up some sun rays in a tropical paradise?”

I have to chuckle at his light jab, and shake my head. “No, although the tropical paradise part sounds pretty good. But I do know one thing... there are things more important than money.”

Nathan nods in acceptance, and we finish our breakfasts. “Okay, so what's the plan for today?”

“I'm going to go back down toward the University area,” I tell him, thinking quickly. “It's where her parents are living, and maybe she's going to try and do something. What about you?”

“I'm going to dig down in the industrial areas, maybe in some of the computer shops,” Nathan says. “If she is staying in Miami, she's more likely to go to the cultures and areas she's familiar with. That's the poor, the techies, and the industrial areas. So I'll start canvassing there. Do you know if she speaks Spanish? It might make certain areas more penetrable.”

I shake my head. “Honestly Nathan, I have no idea. Do you speak Spanish?”

The former Green Beret gives me a smirk and nods. “Si. He estudiado durante diez años, y puedo hablar en niveles cercanos a nativos.”

“I have no damn clue what you just said, but I'll take you at your word. All right, stay in touch.”

Nathan nods while I wipe my lips with my napkin and stand up. “If I find her?”

“Stay close, get in contact with me,” I tell him. “She doesn't trust you, I think. Also... I need to apologize to her, and tell her some very important things.”

“I understand. See you later.”

I leave the diner and get in my rental, driving down to the University of Miami. I drive as slow as I can over the neighborhood, even going through the U itself. A couple of girls give me looks, but I'm not looking for ass, I'm looking for Katrina. Finally, I pull over into a diagonal parking space, and I walk around campus a little, seeing if maybe I can spot her. Lots of girls, none of them look at all like Katrina, and I sit down, frustrated. I stare at my hands, wishing I could take back what I said, what a dumbass I was being.

“Hey man, you look like you need a friend to talk to,” someone says, and I look up, seeing what could only be the typical college campus bum. Slightly soiled shirt flaps untucked over his old jeans, and he's wearing Birkenstocks for fuck's sake. I take it back, he's not a bum, he's a Social Justice Warrior, probably. “Wanna talk?”

“No... well, okay,” I reply, and the dude takes a seat on the grass. “Just... it's about a girl.”

“What about her?” the SJW asks, relaxing back onto his hands. “Like, did she cuck you or something?”

“What? Cuck? Hell no,” I say, startled into laughing. “I just fucked up, that’s all.”

“How so?” the guy asks, and I shrug.

“We... we're trying to get something done, something really important to her and really to me too, but I chickened out. You see, if she does what she wants, then there's a good chance I'm out a ton of money. It's not good money, it's dirty as hell actually, but still... I've been living the good life for a long time, and I panicked. I tried to talk her into a safer path. She walked out on me, and since then, I've been trying to find her.”

“If you do, what will you tell her?” the SJW asks. I'm reminded of my conversation with Nathan this morning, and I chuckle.

“I'll tell her the truth. That she's more important to me than any money, that I woke up the past two days miserable because she's not there, and that if it means following her to hell, I'd rather do that than have all the money in the world.”

The guy nods, then leans forward. “My advice is to tell her all of that, as soon as you can. That, and probably beg forgiveness for being an idiot.”

I laugh once, harshly, and look at the guy. “I thought guys like you were supposed to be all about being nonjudgmental.”

The guy laughs and gets to his feet. “If I was who I look like, maybe. I'm just a psychology doctoral student doing a study. Thanks. And don't worry, this isn't going in any paper. Good luck, man.”

The guy leaves, and I get up, determined to find Katrina even if I have to tear Miami apart. I head back to my car to start my search again when I feel my phone vibrate and my ringer go off. I look, and it's Nathan. “Yeah, you found her?”

“Yeah, she's by the Miami Dade North Campus, close to Opa Locka,” Nathan says. “I'm uploading you a GPS location of where I am now.”

My phone buzzes and a map pulls up. I didn't even know the thing did that. I look, and realize I can get there in about twenty minutes. “Okay, I see it. I'm at the U, I'll jump on 95 up to there. Keep her in sight, Nathan.”

“Will do,” Nathan says. “She's been talking to some people, but I'm out of her direct sight. Don't worry Jackson, I know what I'm doing.”

“No doubt. I'll be there ASAP.” I start my engine and rush to the interstate, jumping on and driving north as quickly as I can. The traffic isn't bad, it's midday and the rush hour isn't for quite a while, so I make good time, getting off at Opa Locka in only fifteen minutes. I find Nathan's signal, and see his Tahoe parked in the parking lot of a flight school and what the sign says is a pilot supply store.

“Nathan,” I say when he rolls the window down. “Where is she?”

“Parking lot over there,” Nathan says, pointing across the street. I look, and see nothing. When I turn to look at him, he smirks. “Seriously. She went inside the tan building over there just five minutes ago. I think it's a small airline, maybe a puddle jumper type place.”

“What for?” I ask, and Nathan shrugs.

“Most likely she's close to being tapped out financially, and those sorts of guys can sometimes work deals.”

The door to the building opens, and I see Katrina step out, her backpack over her shoulder. She's changed shirts, wearing something almost normal, but there's no mistaking that angel's face or the short hair. “There. Come on Nathan, I can't let her go.”

Nathan nods and I get into his Tahoe, seeing Maverick in the back taking a nap. “Rough day for him?”

“He'll get a walk later,” Nathan says nonchalantly, starting the engine. “You ready to do some groveling?”

“Damn right,” I say with a laugh, feeling lighter than ever. I'm eager to talk to her, to tell her it doesn't matter about the money, that I need her in my life.

We're just about to cross the street when my phone buzzes again, and I pull it out, wondering who's texting me now. My heart jumps into my throat when I see that the text is from Peter.

Never, ever lie to me again. You're next.

“What the fuck?” I ask, but before I can show the text to Nathan, a red sports sedan pulls into the parking lot, the side windows rolling down. “No... NO!”

The shooter fires four times, the shots loud in the muggy Miami air, one of them catching Katrina in the forehead, where a giant fountain of blood goes flying. She crumples to the ground, and I'm trying to jerk the handle on my door, but Nathan's already slammed his foot to the gas, throwing me into my seat. “What are you doing? She's hurt!”

“She's dead!” Nathan yells, following the red sports car. “But we can get this bastard!”

His words sink in, and I look out the front window, nodding. “Get him.”

Nathan's Tahoe is big, and he's kept it in good shape, but the sports sedan is thousands of pounds lighter, lower to the ground, and more agile as it weaves through the traffic in front of us. We chase for over a mile, and in the distance, I can hear police sirens approaching. The car whips around a corner, and Nathan tries to follow, but his Tahoe is too big, and we spin out, nearly tipping over.

“No... no, NO!” Nathan yells, getting out of the driver's side and reaching to his hip, but his gun isn't there, and he realizes it. I'm out too, but the red car is gone, out of sight turning another corner, and I sink to my knees, going into shock. Nathan comes up and grabs me, dragging me to my feet. “Come on, Jackson. There's nothing we can do here. Let's go.”

“Go?” I ask, stupefied. “Go where?”

“Out of here for one,” he says, pulling me toward the Tahoe where Maverick is up and barking loudly. “You can't get whoever did this if the cops find us. Let's go.”