Page 85

The case. The fucking case. Oh sweet suffering Christ.
I took off running. The guy was opening the hatchback of a longish sedan with its back seats folded down. He heaved the instrument into the vehicle, and slammed the hatchback down. He saw me racing toward him, and dove for the driver’s seat.
The motor roared. Brake lights came on. I was screaming. The car started to pull out, but it had to stop and correct. I flung himself at the back of the vehicle and yanked the latch of the hatchback.
It opened. The asshole had been in too much of a hurry to lock it. I flung myself inside, right next to the instrument case, which lay like a deformed coffin in a hearse. The guy screamed back incoherently over his shoulder.
I scrabbled for something to grab on to as the guy backed up with a violent burst of speed and then braked abruptly.
I slid out the back, dragging the case with me. It toppled and rolled on the asphalt.
Bam, the asshole shot at me. I jerked to the side. Zing, another bullet ricocheted off the asphalt, dangerously close to the instrument case.
A car window exploded. Glass rattled, tinkled. The upright bass case was lying right behind the vehicle’s tires.
I guessed the filthy fuck’s intentions on the fly and lunged to heave the case out of harm’s way, right before the car roared into reverse to run it over.
We landed between parked cars in the opposite row. I flung myself onto the case, in case the bastard stopped to take another shot at us.
Shouts, screams. People had heard the gun. The SUV peeled away, tires screeching. It tore out of the parking lot, ran a light at the corner, and was gone.
I slid off the case onto my ass, shaking violently. My face was wet. My nose streamed with blood. I turned the case gently right side up and unlatched it with trembling hands. My pounding heart felt like it was lodged in my throat.
Nancy was curled inside the padded interior, hair over her face. I felt her throat, and felt a strong, steady pulse. Oh thank God. Thank God.
I scooped her out into my arms and cradled her. Brushed the hair off her forehead, murmuring her name. Alive. Not shot, not broken, not taken.
I was crying now, like a little kid. I couldn’t seem to stop. I just sat there on the ground, while the commotion buzzed around me. Rocking her. Holding her. She was unconscious, after all. She couldn’t object to it right now. She would never know.
The ambulance came, and they pried her from my grip and loaded her up onto a gurney. They dragged me along to get checked out as well, and I only consented to that because I couldn’t leave Nancy until I was sure that she was surrounded by armed people who understood exactly how much danger she was in.
The next few hours were a blur. I called her sisters. I let the doctors look me over. Everything hurt. I was all bruised up, with a broken nose and cracked ribs, they told me.
Minutes crawled by, which turned to hours. Nancy was still unconscious, which scared the shit out of me.
I told the cops who came to talk to me everything I knew about the kidnapper, including his last attack on Nancy in her stairwell. I told them our conviction that his attacks were connected to Lucia D’Onofrio’s death, proof or no proof. They looked skeptical, but I was used to that.
Nell and Vivi finally arrived, and Nancy was still unconscious. I felt almost as if I should make some sort of announcement to them. Explain why I couldn’t stay, that I no longer fit into their sister’s life. But they just hovered over Nancy, ashen-faced and red-eyed. It was definitely not the moment.
I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t, until I was sure she would be okay.
Her eyelids started to flutter. Nell and Vivi started to talk to her excitedly.
That was my cue. I beat hell out of there. I called a rideshare to get me back to my truck, parked in the lot behind the Amory Lodge. I was fiercely glad I’d stopped the asshole from hurting her. I only wished I’d managed to kill the fucker. But this episode only made it clearer to me that I was ass-over-head in love with this woman. No one else would do for me, not ever. It was Nancy D’Onofrio, or it was nobody, and this was not good news, because what had just happened, however dramatic, didn’t change who we were—the same incompatible people we’d been before that asshole snatched her.
If we kept trying to make an unworkable thing work, we would just hit the same hard, bone-breaking wall again and again.
Until it battered us into bloody pieces.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Nancy
I was so busy, I didn’t have time to be miserable. Not when my phone never stopped ringing, my inbox was overflowing, and our social media accounts were exploding with viral videos featuring Peter and Enid. The “it” couple in folk music.
They had been launched into the big time at last. The Bonnie Blair opening gig at the Jericho had done the trick. We were besieged with offers. Even a couple record companies that had previously disdained us were making eager overtures. I boosted our fees and fielded offers right and left. They were an ‘overnight sensation.’ Hah. All the years of sweaty effort that I had plowed into their careers was invisible to the naked eye. Wasn’t that always the way.
But Peter and Enid were ecstatic. I was surrounded by people who needed me. A vital hub of frantic activity. What else had I ever wanted in life? It was finally coming together. My clients would have brilliant careers. All was well in my professional life. That was something. It really was.