Chapter 1 #2
The only time I’ve ever gotten the nerve to throw caution to the wind, it went horribly wrong.
I try hard to never replay the memory of the sloppy, stupid kiss I’d pressed against Ledger’s lips.
Why I thought to kiss him there, in that moment in the midst of a job that had gone sideways for both him and Dad, is beyond me.
The look of utter horror and disgust that twisted up his face when I finally broke the one-sided kiss had been a gut punch.
But it was his words that ripped my heart to shreds.
“You’re a child, Blair. I might be a fucking monster, but I’m not that kind.”
I’d been twenty-two—hardly what I would consider a child. Yet, Ledger was right. To him, I’d always be a kid. He watched me grow up, going through all the awkward phases a person can have, and I suppose to him, that made him feel paternal toward me.
It took his words, cutting through my lust-clouded mind, to see what my dreams were when it came to him: a fantasy.
“Well, that’s a damn shame. I can tell you’re a good person,” Tiffany says. She stands and reaches up to stretch. After heaving a sigh, she groans. “I should go do my rounds. When I get back I’m going to tell you all about what I did to Miranda when I found her with my man.”
I give her a smile. “I can’t wait to hear about it.”
Tiffany takes off, heading around the counter and then down the hallway. I don’t watch her leave as I reach for her stack of charts. What Tiffany doesn’t know is that I double-check her work, too. No need for anyone to be found slacking while I’m on duty.
I’m done with her charts before Tiffany returns.
That’s not unusual. Tiffany likes to text and video call her current boy toy in empty rooms. I’m pretty sure she does more than just chat but I don’t ask about it.
I only know because of the peak of lingerie I catch sight of every time she bends over and her scrubs ride up.
But that doesn’t usually add too much time to her walk-through.
When another fifteen minutes comes and goes, however, unease begins to collect in the middle of my chest.
I pull out my phone and send her a text asking if everything is okay. Twenty minutes later, not only is there no response but it’s clear she hasn’t even read my text. That’s not like Tiffany at all. She’s glued to her phone.
This place isn’t big enough to disappear like this.
With only twenty-two patients and rooms all on the same floor, it should take an hour tops.
I frown. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen Eddy either.
Our security guard, an older man who refuses to retire, usually stops by the desk by now to say hello. I glance at the time: midnight.
A small, silent alarm bell rattles in the back of my head.
I step around the counter to stand in the middle of the hallway, looking in the direction Tiffany had gone.
The newly painted beige-gray walls are only broken up by doors.
All windows to the outside are in the patients’ rooms, leaving the wide hallway dark, except for the emergency lights every few feet.
At the far end, it hooks right where more rooms are before it opens up to a space for guests and patients—the ones with the strength to visit and hang out.
Beyond that is another hallway that wraps around the building and returns here, to the other side of the nurse's station.
Without realizing it, I adjust my weight to the balls of my feet as I turn to look in the opposite direction.
This hallway is just as empty. I strain to hear something, anything, that would tell me where my co-worker is.
All I hear is the gentle hum of electricity coming from the light overheard.
Where could Tiffany have gone? Has something happened?
No. If there was something wrong, Tiffany would’ve pushed a button in a patient’s room to alert me of an issue.
I glance at the electrical board on the desk.
Not a single light is flashing.
The muscles in my back stiffen and my breathing slows down, allowing me to focus on listening for anything out of place. My eyes slide over each and every shadow.
The unease that’s gathered in my chest intensifies.
A small voice whispers in my ear that I’m being paranoid. Years growing up alongside my dad have made me overly wary and cautious. A louder voice, one that sounds awfully similar to Dad’s, screams: always trust your gut.
I bow my head, wavering about what to do. The obvious, non-paranoid answer would be to go search for Tiffany and Eddy. We’re not supposed to leave the nurses’ station unattended but if I’m quick, no one would be the wiser.
My hands flex at my side.
I could do that. Yet, the thought of leaving the desk and walking these eerily quiet halls without a weapon doesn’t sit right with me.
Slowly, I look over my shoulder toward the door that leads to the break room.
It’s several dozen steps down the other hall on the other side of the nurses’ station. There, inside my locker, is my go-bag.
While the rest of the women I know carry purses, I carry a backpack full of lifesaving gear.
Just one more thing that sets me apart. This though, I don’t mind. When it comes to my safety, I don’t play around.
You never know when you’ll have to run, Blair Bear. Hopefully you’ll never have to, but if you do, at least you’ll be prepared.
If nothing’s wrong, I can just put the gun back…
Making the decision, I move. Darting on silent feet, I pass the nurses’ station, take a left and sprint toward the break room.
My keycard, attached to a retractable lanyard on the waistband of my pants, is in my hand before I reach the door.
I swipe it and shove open the door when the light flickers to green.
As I step inside, the motion-sensor lights flicker on overhead.
It’s immediately followed by the sound of glass shattering and a bullet sailing past my face. It misses me by mere inches before it lodges itself in the door with a thwack.
My teeth clench together as a lifetime of survival instincts kick in.
Everything that makes me human shuts down instantly.
My soul practically blinks out of existence as it bunkers down so deep inside of me that I can no longer feel it—a necessity during times like this. There’s simply no place for it here.
And while that happens, everything that makes me a killing machine boots up.
Rather than panic or scream, I throw myself down and army crawl across the wood floor toward the lockers on the other side of the room.
My heartbeat remains steady and my focus doesn’t waver as I reach up and turn the dial on the dial lock.
It spins right, then left, then right once more before it disengages and the door unlocks.
As the metal door swings open another bullet sails through the glass. It hits the door of the locker. I pretend not to notice the bullet. Instead, I focus on feeling around for my backpack. When my fingers find a strap, I yank the bag out and pull it down onto the floor with me.
Unzipping the bag, I reach for my gun and car keys. When I have both, I reach for my satellite phone. I flip it open, ready to text Dad and let him know that, despite all our precautions, somehow trouble has still found me.
I find a message already waiting for me.
That’s not good. This phone is used solely for emergencies. If there’s a message there’s a problem. With trembling hands, I pull up the message.
DAD: There’s a red summer sun but it’s calling for snow
No... My stomach plummets as ice gathers in my veins. Blood leeches swiftly from my face, making me feel lightheaded. For a second, I think I might be sick.
To anyone else in the world, the coded phrase would mean nothing.
For me, it means the life I’ve worked so hard to create, that I’ve been living for the past six years, has now gone up in flames. CeCe Moore might as well have been shot coming into this room. There’s only one reason Dad would’ve sent this text.
The world’s great hitman, William Shelmore, AKA “Anchor”, has been compromised.
This particular message means someone out there knows who Dad is and that I’m his daughter.
It’s a secret that literally only one other person knows, and that secret belongs to my godfather.
To the world, Blair Shelmore has been dead since she was seven.
No one should know I exist. The fact that they do means this is someone with power, sway, and a vengeance against Dad—enough to dig into every tiny aspect of his life.
It’s my worst nightmare come to life.
Dad went after some of the worst people this world has ever seen, and he’s good at what he does. In his line of work, Anchor’s infamous. His name inspires fear in even the cruelest of men.
Unfortunately, with the notoriety comes danger.
There are whole governments that want to see Dad dead.
It’s why, for my entire life, we’ve had to lay low, and why Dad had to create a whole alias for me when I decided that I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps once I graduated high school with my GED.
He’d been so careful to keep me out of sight while teaching me to move through the shadows of his world.
There wasn’t a single moment during the time I spent with Dad growing up that he didn’t make absolutely sure I was safe from his enemies.
Yet, somehow, they’ve found us.
This is the worst thing that could happen to us.
I check the timestamp of his message. Dad sent this three hours ago. Which means, for three hours, he’s been working to get to our designated meeting spot.
The meeting spot…
Relief and heavy dread collide within my chest, causing my face to twist up into a grimace and my stomach to clench. Dad and I are supposed to reconnect before disappearing together. That’s been the plan ever since I can remember. I know where I have to go.
But meeting up at Ledger’s place is also the last thing I want to do.
I haven’t seen Ledger since the night I kissed him which was six years ago now.
I have nightmares about that moment. God, he probably does too.
Shame tries to well up, but I choke it down.
Maybe once I get to his cabin, I can apologize and assure Ledger that my crush on him is well and truly over.
It would be nice to leave this life, and him, behind without that regret haunting me.
It would be a lie, of course. Despite the humiliation I faced the last time we were together, I’ve still only ever wanted one man.
But Ledger doesn’t need to know that.
Quickly, my fingers tap the buttons as I write back a quick response:
Me: The snow has finally arrived. Hold on, I’ll take a picture and send it to you.
My response, another coded phrase, lets Dad know that I got his message and I am taking action.
When it’s sent, I shove my phone into my backpack, zip it up, and throw it over my shoulder. As I shove my keys into the pocket of my scrubs, the motion-sensor lights in the room go out. Three more bullets fly into the room, lodging in the wall.
As slowly as possible, I sink back down onto my stomach.
With slow, even breaths, I crawl back toward the door.
Somehow, I’ll need to get to my car and get the hell out of here.
For a second, I think of my co-worker and the security guard.
No doubt that Tiffany and Eddy are probably dead.
That explains why I haven’t seen either of them.
Guilt floods my system. It’s my fault that they’re gone now.
I’ll have to mourn later, though. It’s time to get out of here.
As I reach for the door handle from the floor, I realize that Darlene was right.
Two more people died tonight, during a full moon.