Designed for Murder (Killer Style 4)

He lifted his left hand and pressed the gun to her temple. “Where is it?”

“Right here.” A man’s voice cut through Mika’s desperation.

Startled by the newcomer, the attacker released his hold on her and spun around. Air rushed into Mika’s burning lungs as she slid down the wall. The uneven brick scraped her skin through the thin material of her shirt as she tried to make sense of the scene in front of her.

Carlos stood in the middle of the alley. He rushed the other man and slammed him against the building. He wrapped his fingers around the mugger’s left wrist and pounded the back of his hand against the unyielding brick until the gun fell from the mugger’s grasp. It clanked against the concrete and skittered into the middle of the alley. The two men grappled with each other, fighting their way toward the gun.

Adrenaline screaming through her veins, Mika scurried across the alley—staying low as she scrambled for the gun and the upper hand. She kept her gaze focused on the black metal, refusing to give in to the fear that left the taste of bile on her tongue. This wasn’t like before. It wasn’t Keenan and Hana. This time she wouldn’t be too late. She wouldn’t let Carlos end up dead like her little sister.

She wrapped her fingers around the textured gun grip and looked up in time to see the two men locked in battle coming straight at her. She dodged left. The mugger landed a solid right jab to Carlos’s face, and the momentum knocked him into Mika. She sailed back, the gun flew from her grasp, and she landed in a heap on the concrete hard enough that all the air left her lungs, leaving only the helpless panic she knew too well. It swallowed her up and dragged her under.

The fight went on in her periphery as she sucked in oxygen and tried to banish the memory of the red-splattered room and her little sister’s lifeless body in the middle of it. The metallic smell of blood so thick she could taste it. The coldness when she’d touched her sister’s broken body. The guilt that took up residence in her belly and never left—not really. Lightning bolts of agony ripping her heart apart again.

Don’t lose it now, Mika. Come on.

The past had to stay there if she and Carlos were going to get out of this.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Each shallow breath brought her closer to the here and now until again she looked around and saw the alley. The oil-stained concrete. The red brick. The dented Dumpsters. And the two men trading blows like prizefighters in the thirteenth round when hate and determination mattered more than style or skill. Looking left and right, she searched for the gun while trying to stay out of the fighters’ way but didn’t see it.

The mugger swung big. Carlos blocked the punch with his forearm and landed a hard right to the other man’s chin, knocking him off his feet. The attacker landed face-first and let out a wheezy umph before going so still she had to watch his chest rise and fall a few times to convince herself that he wasn’t dead.

Carlos nudged the mugger with his foot. No reaction.

Breathing heavily, Carlos looked over at her. He was a little battered but looked pretty damn good for an unarmed guy who’d taken on a gun-wielding mugger. She shook her head in amazement and rushed over to where he stood looming over her attacker.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She wasn’t, but that didn’t have anything to do with the guy who was face-planted in the alley. The mix of old memories and new questions had her off balance.

Carlos bent and picked up her black leather clutch. “Your phone in here? We need to call the cops.”

“Yeah, it’s—” A flash in her peripheral vision. The mugger rolled up and rushed forward. “Carlos!”

He glanced back, but it was too late. The mugger swung. Her warning gave Carlos just enough time to dodge the full impact, but the mugger made contact. The sucker punch knocked Carlos back on his heels. Taking advantage of the moment, the attacker landed a one-two combination, and in the moment when Carlos was reeling, the mugger sprinted down the alley and disappeared around the corner.

“Are you okay?” Mika ran to Carlos’s side, sweeping her gaze over his face and chest for signs of fatal injury before grabbing her purse from the ground and fishing out her phone. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“It’s just a couple of bruises. I’ll be fine.” He popped a knuckle on his battered right hand and winced. “He got away.”

And so had they. It could have gone so differently.

“He would have done a lot worse if you hadn’t come along when you did.” She brushed her fingers softly across the purple already showing up on his cheekbone. “Thank you.”

Carlos shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

“Are you really Batman?”

He chuckled. “Not even close.”

The sound of sirens filled the alley. Someone must have called 911. It would have been nice if the caller had offered some in-person help, but she’d take what she could get.

This whole thing was getting out of hand. Four times in two weeks. There was no way her mugging had been coincidental. Her hands shook with pent-up adrenaline desperate for an outlet.

A police cruiser screeched to a stop at the front of the alley.