The Kat Bunglar

Chapter 12 Unfiltered Aftershock

Kat Kar

K at, Christian, and Laila stumbled into their apartment just as the first light of dawn broke over the city. Kat’s legs buckled as they crossed the threshold, and she caught herself against the doorframe. Her body ached, not from any physical exertion but from the hollow, gnawing exhaustion that eight hours of police questioning had left in its wake. She felt like a dishcloth wrung out to dry.

The apartment was eerily quiet. The familiar hum of the fridge and the faint scent of lavender from a half-burned candle by the sink felt almost alien now, out of sync with the night they’d just endured. Kat glanced at Christian, who hovered by the counter, her face pale and drawn, the shadows under her eyes cutting deep. Laila, still clutching her phone like a lifeline, let out a sharp exhale before sinking into the deflated futon.

“They caught them,” Laila said, breaking the silence. Her voice was firm but tinged with something brittle, like glass about to crack. “Joseph and Smoke. They’ll be tied to the arms smuggling charges—no mention of us, no mention of Chicago.” She looked pointedly at Kat and Christian, her gaze sharp enough to slice through the haze of exhaustion. “You both got through this clean. But you need to be careful from here on out. Both of you.”

Kat nodded numbly, but the weight of Laila’s words pressed against her chest. She shuffled toward the fridge, pulling out three cans of Poppi, and handed them out without a word. When she finally spoke, her voice was small, tentative. “Thank you so much for today, Laila. I never expected you to help—”

Laila waved her off, her movements brusque. “Kat, you saved Christian’s life.” She started to say something else but stopped abruptly when her phone began buzzing in her hand. She checked the screen and her face shifted, her usual calm facade cracking to reveal the barest flicker of fear. “It’s the hospital. I need to take this.” She stepped into the living room, her voice low as she answered the call.

Kat turned to Christian, who was fiddling with the tab of her soda can. The sound of the metal clicking back and forth grated against the silence.

Christian finally looked up, her smile wobbly. “She’s right, you know. Thank you for saving me.”

Kat swallowed hard, the lump in her throat impossible to ignore. She sank onto the barstool, burying her face in her hands. “This never would have happened if I hadn’t come up with that god-awful plan.” Her voice cracked, muffled by her palms. “You must hate me. I’d understand if you hated me.”

Christian set the can down carefully, the hollow clink echoing in the stillness. She took a deep breath, the kind that seemed to steady her from the inside out. “Kat, I don’t hate you. If anything, I owe you my life. You warned me, you tried to stop me—”

“I didn’t do it for the right reasons.” Kat lifted her head, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I was warning you because I was jealous. You were moving on without me—new partner, new jokes, new everything. And I hated it.” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I was glad when Joseph turned out to be a shitty guy. How awful is that?”

Christian blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise. She didn’t speak right away, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

Kat pressed on, her voice cracking under the weight of her guilt. “But I don’t want to be that person anymore. Next time you fall in love, I want to be happy for you. I want to be a better friend.”

For a moment, Christian didn’t respond. Then, slowly, she crossed the room and perched on the barstool beside Kat. “I wasn’t a good friend either,” she admitted, her voice soft but steady. “I let Joseph come between us. I didn’t think about how it would affect you, or if he was even good for me.” She reached for Kat’s hand, her touch tentative at first, but when Kat didn’t pull away, her grip tightened. “How about we hold each other accountable? Make sure the next person who comes into our lives is good for us, no matter who they are.”

Kat blinked and a single tear trailed down her cheek as a watery laugh escaped her. “Deal.” She slid off the barstool and wrapped Christian in a fierce hug. “I couldn’t live with myself if something had happened to you. I really couldn’t.”

“Nothing happened,” Christian murmured, her voice trembling but full of conviction. “And nothing is going to happen. We’re going to be okay, Kat. Better friends, better people.”

Kat pulled back, her eyes red-rimmed but lighter than before. “Better everything,” she agreed with a faint smile.

At that moment, Laila reappeared, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. Her expression was a mix of exhaustion and urgency. “Gabriel is out of surgery,” she said, her voice brisk but tinged with relief. “He’s stable and recovering, but I need to get to Mount Sinai Hospital.”

Both Kat and Christian nodded, stepping aside as Laila moved toward the door. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze softening as she looked at them. Then, in an uncharacteristic gesture, she pulled them both into a quick, fierce hug. “This world is insane. Please take care of each other,” she said quietly.

With that, she dashed out the door, leaving the apartment feeling emptier somehow.

Kat turned back to Christian, who was still standing by the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. “Are we okay?” Kat asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Christian met her gaze and reached out to squeeze her hand. “We’re going to be,” she said firmly.

For the first time in what felt like days, Kat believed her.

Laila Malik

Laila’s footsteps echoed in the sterile hospital hallway, the beeping of monitors the only sound accompanying her as she approached Gabriel’s room. She felt a quiet nervousness flutter in her chest. Her mind kept drifting back to his words as he had almost bled to death on the concrete: “I love you too, preciosa.” Had he meant it? Her breath hitched at the thought of it.

When she stepped inside the room, Gabriel was sitting up in bed, bandages wrapped around his right shoulder, covering up his beautiful tattoos. His eyes brightened when he saw her, although the tiredness still clung to his face. He tried to sit up straighter, clearly wanting to appear stronger than he felt.

“Hey,” he said, voice raspy but warm. “I’m glad you came.”

Laila forced a smile, even though seeing him wounded made her die a little inside. “Of course, where else would I be?”

Gabriel laughed. “Me personally? On a flight back home, far away from shootouts and crazy men named Smoke.” His tone became sober. “Did they catch him? Are the girls okay?”

Laila nodded, stepping closer and reaching for his uninjured hand. “I just left Kat and Christian. They’re safe back at their apartment.” Her eyes flickered over the tubes in his arm and the bruises on his chest. She cleared her throat and offered him a tremulous smile. “The police have Smoke and Joseph in custody, no bail. Turns out they were running a weapon-smuggling operation from Long Beach to Haiti.”

Gabriel exhaled heavily, his gaze scanning her face. “Long night for you,” he murmured, noting the dark shadows under her eyes and her chapped lips.

Her smile wavered. “I’m just sorry you got hurt. Gabriel, you were—” Her voice caught, and she looked down at their linked hands. “You were incredible. You protected Kat and me. I don’t know how to thank you.”

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing out the window. “Not a hero,” he muttered. “Just a guy trying to make the world a better place.” His lips twitched as he tipped an imaginary cowboy hat. “Ma’am.”

Laila laughed despite herself. “You’re ridiculous,” she teased, shaking her head. But as the laughter faded, her gaze softened. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” she said quietly.

Gabriel’s eyes met hers, and for a moment the room felt smaller, more intimate. His hand squeezed hers slightly, and he looked at her as though measuring the space between them. He hesitated, searching for the right words to say. “Did I say anything else before I was taken to the hospital? I remember tackling Smoke while reaching for the gun... and then it got kind of hazy. Did anything else happen after that?”

Laila looked into his eyes, trying to gauge if he remembered. Did he want her to say it aloud? Or did he want her to forget it? She thought back to when he had first arrived in her office. It felt like eons ago. He had been so confident and self-assured in his love for his late wife. She didn’t want to mar that by mentioning something he inadvertently blurted out while delirious with a bullet inside of him. She hesitated before painting on a small smile. “That was pretty much it,” she said lightly. “Thankfully the paramedics and the police came just in time.”

Gabriel broke eye contact and slowly retracted his hand. Laila felt the loss of contact immediately. “Good,” he finally said, his voice thick. “I’m glad I didn’t do or say anything stupid.”

Her chest tightened at the words. “You were—are perfect.”

Gabriel nodded and continued to look out the window. “I’m going to get released in about ten days,” he said slowly. “I think it’s time I head back to Morelia. Check in with the kids. I only have a few weeks left of summer vacation. And now that I know you’re safe, I can—I can move on.” His voice ended on a whisper.

The words hit her like a physical blow. She blinked, unsure where to look before clasping her hands together tightly and staring at the monitor with the various numbers beeping at her. The air between them became heavy. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, all she could do was nod, her thoughts scattered.

“Okay,” she managed, the word quieter than she intended.

The room felt colder now, the space between them wider than ever before. She could feel the finality of it, his decision hanging in the air like a wall between them.

She wanted to say more. She wanted to tell him something, to reach out and bridge that gap. But Gabriel had already built his wall, and in that moment, Laila realized that the chance to say what she needed to say had already slipped away.

“I’m actually feeling quite tired now,” Gabriel murmured, his voice distant and far away.

Laila abruptly took a step back, guilt flushing her cheeks. “Of course, of course you are! I’ll let you rest. Is there anything else you need? Or anything else I can get you?”

Gabriel shook his head and met her eyes one last time with a sad smile. “I think you’ve done enough, preciosa .”

Laila felt tears prick at the back of her eyes as she bent down softly to kiss his cheek goodbye. “Take care of yourself, Gabriel.” She stood up and walked toward the door but stopped as her hand encircled the doorknob.

Instead of leaving, she turned around and stared at Gabriel instead. His gaze reluctantly made its way back to hers and held.

“Goodbye, Gabriel,” she said softly, hoping—aching—for him to stop her.

He didn’t respond immediately. For a heartbeat, it felt as though he might say something else, something more, but instead, he simply nodded. His face was tired and drawn. His smile bittersweet.

“Goodbye, Laila,” he said, the words hitting her with a finality that left her breathless and utterly alone.

Laila abruptly nodded, turned, and walked out of the room. As the door clicked shut, her vision blurred with unshed tears, her heart splintering with each step.

July 25th

Los Angeles

Kat Kar

Kat stretched luxuriously under the blanket before finally poking her head out. Blearily peering toward Christian’s bedroom door, she noticed it was wide open and that the sunlight had filtered its way through the doorway, illuminating their entire apartment in a hazy orange glow. Kat exhaled. That’s right, it was Sunday. Christian was at her parents’ ministry guiding the youth toward love and light. Laila had gone back to Chicago abruptly after her visit with Gabriel at the hospital. And Joseph was being held without bail. Which meant Kat had the place all to herself.

Kat hopped out of bed and into the shower where she spent a glorious twenty minutes belting out Black Sabbath’s song “Iron Man.”

Has he lost his mind?

Can he see or is he blind?

Can he walk at all?

Or if he moves, will he fall?”

Mimicking the guitar riff, she stepped out of the shower and wiped the fog off the mirror. Smirking at herself, she mouthed, “Do you know what today is?”

To which she answered, “Pay day, biyatch!” With a giggle and a wide finger snap, she left the bathroom and proceeded to get ready in her “incognito outfit”: beige hoodie, sweatpants, oversized Sabyasachi sunglasses, and a largish backpack by ‘The Burlap People.’

Hailing an Uber back to Inglewood, she allowed herself a small, smug smile. This was it. She had been waiting a long time for today.

Walking back into the pawnshop, she felt the familiar sticky tiles under her sneakers as a fan waved overhead. The rows upon rows of display cases winked back at her, welcoming her like a long-lost friend.

“Well, hello there Kitty-Kat,” Hal said in a sing-song voice. “Saw the damage you did at the Port of Long Beach.”

Kat wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Don’t call me that.”

“C’mon. Kat in the Hat. Kat got your tongue. Kat—” Hal smirked, his beer gut jiggling with mirth.

“It’s Khatira,” Khatira cut him off abruptly. Realizing in that moment that she never wanted to be referred to as Kat_Kares again. It made her feel nauseous when she thought back to the social media persona who bowed to the whims of other people’s likes and dislikes. Respectfully, the world and its emojis could kiss her pert, brown ass.

Hal held up his hands in a mock bow. “All hail Khatira. Got it. Oh, and you’re welcome, by the way. It was not inconvenient at all to place an anonymous tip to the police advising them that a Haitian gang member was doing some shady shit on Dock 10.”

Khatira rolled her eyes in aggravation as she lightly pressed her fingers against one of the display cases, casually gazing at the diamond rings. “Relax buddy, you dialed a number, you didn’t solve world hunger.”

Hal stuck a toothpick in his mouth and coyly tucked his greying hair behind his ears. “We uh, ever gonna go on that coffee date you promised?”

Khatira was careful to suppress the shudder of revulsion that wanted to make its way through her body. “Well, that all depends on what I can offload my goods for, right?” she said lightly with that practiced smile of hers.

Hal blinked slowly at Khatira’s practiced charm. When shone directly on a person, it could be quite disarming. Hal nodded and stumbled his way back to the storage room. Returning with the two small duffel bags, he unzipped them both and whistled at the contents. “You got the motherload, didn’t ya?”

Khatira nodded. “The jewels, cufflinks, and luxury watches just happened to make their way into these specific bags. Go figure, huh?”

Hal chuckled. “Go figure. How much you want for the lot?”

“Sixty grand.” Khatira knew what every stone was worth and what she was worth.

Hal laughed. “Nice try, how about forty?”

“Fifty-five,” Khatira countered.

“Fifty. Final offer,” Hal said.

“Deal!” Khatira agreed triumphantly.

Hal knew in that split second that he was the one who had been played like a fine fiddle, but instead of being upset, he shook his head in admiration of her gumption. As he unlocked a hidden drawer underneath the cash register to count out the cash, Khatira continued to look at the rings on display.

“Did Joseph ever sell you an emerald ring set with an Urdu inscription?” Her tone was casual, but the flicker of urgency in her eyes was hard to miss.

“Not that I remember. You got a picture of it?”

Khatira studied Hal for a moment, then pulled her phone out of her oversized hoodie. She opened the photo—clear, sharp, and unmistakable: the emerald ring Laila had been wearing. The inscription was faint but distinct, an elegant Urdu phrase etched into the band. She slid the phone across the counter to Hal.

Hal took the phone, his brow furrowing as he examined the ring. “Nice piece,” he said, eyeing the details. “Where’d you get it?”

She didn’t flinch. “Doesn’t matter. I need you to track it down. Not just here, but everywhere.”

Hal raised an eyebrow, leaning back against his shelves. “Track it down? That’s a lot of calls, a lot of work. I can’t just shine a Bat Signal over to the other pawnshops, ya know?”

Khatira gave him a tight, amused smile. “I’m sure you’ve got the connections. Just... consider this a favor for me. And when you find it, we’ll talk about that coffee date. Maybe.”

Hal chuckled but took a picture of the ring set for his records. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

Khatira didn’t respond immediately. She let her gaze fall on the rows upon rows of gleaming jewelry around her, her finger encircling the Virginia Woolf quote in her back pocket. She had made a copy of Laila’s favorite quote and kept it on her at all times. It made her feel closer to Laila.

She whispered the words slowly back to herself. “I am made and remade continually—” Before she could finish the quote, Hal’s phone vibrated loudly from his pocket. He fumbled for it, swiping the screen as he scanned the notification. His eyes widened slightly as he leaned forward, looking at the message.

“Hold up,” Hal said, glancing back up at her. “You won’t believe this.”

Khatira paused, her heart quickening. “What?”

He held up his phone, showing her the screen. “That ring? Just popped up in the inventory of a pawnshop over in Culver City. Same description, same damn inscription.”

Khatira’s breath caught. “Are you serious?”

Khatira stepped back from the counter, taking a long look at Hal as he dialed the pawnshop’s number.

Khatira’s voice was calm but insistent. “What’s the name of the shop?”

Hal glanced up from the phone, raising an eyebrow. “Culver Pawn and Jewelers. Big place. Been around for years. They just updated their inventory—seems like a high-roller kinda shop.”

Khatira’s pulse quickened. “Culver Pawn.” She filed it away in her mind.

He gave her a wink, still holding the phone to his ear. “I’ll give them a heads-up, let them know someone might be coming in hot. And uh... if you happen to find similar pieces like that in the future, be sure to notify me first, eh? I know a gal who can fence some stuff for ya.”

She forced a smile, even though her focus was already elsewhere. “Thanks, Hal. And about that coffee date—let’s just keep it business for now, yeah?”

Hal chuckled, clearly entertained. “Sure, sure. Business only.” He was still grinning as she headed for the door.

As she stepped out of the pawnshop, the sunlight hit her like confirmation. She had pulled it off!

She hadn’t bungled it—she’d been patient, waiting out Christian, Joseph, and even Laila. Not only had she succeeded, but she had also made everyone believe she was in the same boat as them—scared, anxious, and uncertain about the future.

Chuckling to herself, she patted her backpack, where the cool fifty thousand was safely tucked away. She really was fantastic at everything she did.

She pulled up the Uber app on her phone, quickly typing in her destination: Culver City!

Her thumb hovered over the “confirm ride” button, but before she tapped it, a text from Laila popped up. A part of her wanted to check it, to see if there was anything urgent she should know before she went. But another part of her, the part that wanted to make Laila proud, dismissed it. Laila would understand when she surprised her with her mother’s ring.

She tapped the “confirm ride” button and took a deep breath.

Everything was finally falling into place.

August 1st

Chicago

Laila Malik

Laila sighed in frustration, her eyes lingering on the phone screen, still no response from Khatira. She knew young people were terrible at communication. But the girl had robbed her. Surely, she deserved a little courtesy?

Esme popped her head in, disrupting her thoughts. “Hey, boss. How’s it going?”

Laila forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not your boss. Just a very hungry colleague ready for lunch.”

Esme walked in and set a folder down on Laila’s desk. “I was about to file this, but then I remembered you were working on the case. Thought you might want to see it.”

Laila’s eyes flicked to the file labeled “Gabriel Santos,” and her stomach dropped. Her appetite vanished, replaced by a heavy, familiar ache. “Oh, right. We... we haven’t followed up on this yet, have we?”

Esme, sensing the gravity of the moment, hesitated. “He withdrew the application.”

Laila’s throat tightened, and for a moment, the words didn’t seem to reach her. She stared at the folder, as if the answer might change if she looked at it long enough. “Ah,” she exhaled slowly, the word barely audible.

Her fingers trembled, hovering over the file, unwilling to turn the page.

“It appears as if he’ll be staying in Mexico permanently.” Esme’s voice was soft, Laila barely heard it.

“Morelia,” Laila whispered, almost to herself.

“Pardon?” Esme asked with an arched brow, but Laila didn’t hear her. Her gaze was locked on the window, her mind elsewhere.

Laila muttered distractedly, “It’s from an old poem. ‘If you ever want to find me, follow the trail of butterfly wings.’” Her voice wavered, and she realized she was holding back a sob. She sucked in a breath, trying to steady herself, but her heart wasn’t listening.

Why was she so upset? They had said their goodbyes weeks ago. But deep down, she acknowledged, a part of her still believed he’d be back. And they’d run into each other on the elevator all over again, picking up where they’d left off. In her heart of hearts, she hadn’t admitted to herself that it was truly over.

The worst part was that they’d never even begun.

A tear slipped down her cheek before she wiped it away quickly. Forcing a smile, she looked at Esme, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Sorry. I’m being silly. I’m glad he’s finally reunited with his family.”

Esme watched her for a beat, clearly not convinced. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Laila nodded quickly, her smile widening in an attempt to push the sadness back down. “Yeah. Let’s get that chef’s salad. I’m starving.”

Khatira Kar

Khatira let out a low whistle as the elevator ascended. Sverdloff Law & Associates was fancy, schmancy. As she walked through the eighteenth floor, she took in the sharply dressed workers wandering through the open-concept coffee shop area and zipping through the various offices with clear glass walls. She wondered if people would ever pay to have their cases returned to them—just a thought. Nothing she planned to action... for now.

She made her way over to a rosacea-ridden human chowing down on a salad miserably. The nameplate read Carol Mueller. “Hi, Carol, I’m looking for Laila Malik,” she said sweetly.

“Who are you?” Carol muttered, her voice muffled by a mouthful of lettuce.

“Her niece,” Khatira replied with practiced ease.

“Laila never mentioned a niece.” Carol said, a drop of salad dressing dripped down her chin.

Khatira wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Long-lost niece, flown in straight from Bangladesh. Is there somewhere I can wait for her?”

Carol shrugged, unconcerned. “Her office is back there, to the left. She’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

Khatira smiled and floated away from the odious garlic dressing. As she let herself into Laila’s office, her fingers skimmed over the various awards on the bookshelf. Khatira sighed in admiration. She really is impressive, Khatira thought.

She walked behind Laila’s large mahogany desk. What was it like to be a fancy lawyer? Seeing people at their most vulnerable, helping them instead of exploiting them. Khatira sat down in the leather chair, lightly. She scooched back slightly. Oh, it was comfortable. She surveyed the Chicago River skyline and looked at the expanse of Laila’s office domain. Now this, Khatira thought, this is power.

The door swung open, and Laila stood there, mouth agape. “Khatira? What are you doing here?”

Khatira jumped up in alarm and guilt. “Surprise! I wanted to come see you.”

Laila rushed over to give her a hug. “Oh, my goodness, how have you been? How’s Christian?”

Khatira leaned into the hug. Wow, Laila smelled so nice—gardenias with a hint of vanilla. Khatira realized her own mother had never hugged her this warmly. Tears unexpectedly welled up in her eyes. She cleared her throat. “Ahem,” she said, blinking rapidly. “I uh, have a surprise for you.”

Laila smiled broadly. “I thought you were the surprise.”

Khatira shrugged and shuffled her feet. “No, there’s more. Here. This is for you.” She awkwardly placed a ring box on Laila’s desk.

Laila gasped, her eyes shining. She slowly opened the box, letting out a small cry of happiness. “You found it. You found my mother’s rings. Oh, Khatira! This is so lovely. Thank you.”

Khatira felt her cheeks flush. She’d never felt good about doing a good thing before. To be honest, she still ate her vegetables begrudgingly. “How is, um, Gabriel? All recovered from the gunshot wound and everything?”

Laila gestured for Khatira to sit across from her. Khatira reluctantly gave up the big leather chair and walked over to the civilian chair. Definitely not the same level of cushioning.

Laila’s eyes shifted to the bookcase behind Khatira. “I, uh, actually don’t know how he’s doing. Last I heard, he was in Morelia, Mexico.”

Khatira processed that information, noting how Laila’s voice had faltered, how she tapped nervously on the ring box. She raised an eyebrow. “And how’s your husband?”

Laila gave a half chuckle. “I just filed for divorce a few days ago. We weren’t together when Gabriel and I... when Gabriel and I met you in Los Angeles. My relationship with my soon-to-be ex-husband was already over.”

Khatira processed the words, a slight smile on her lips. “Okay, so no hard feelings over the hubby being gone?”

Laila laughed loudly, the sound ricocheting off the walls. “Absolutely not! Very happy that he and I are going our separate ways. I wish him well. But I truly hope I never see that man again.”

Khatira pulled out a lip gloss from her backpack and asked casually, “And you’re also happy that Gabriel’s in Mexico?”

Laila’s eyes flicked away again, her fingers tightening on the ring box. “Yes, if that’s what’s best for him, his two sons, his mother, and his supposed sister-in-law, then I’m happy for them.”

Khatira raised an eyebrow. “Supposed sister-in-law?”

Laila sighed and waved her hands in frustration. “His first wife’s name was Maria Sofia Santos, and his sister-in-law’s name is Maria Angelica Suarez. Well, when his sister-in-law emailed us certain documents, with the names being so similar, I thought he lied about his first wife being dead. I ruined the whole thing.” Laila buried her face in her hands, exasperated.

Khatira leaned back in the chair. “And you’re not going to Mexico to double-check?”

Laila looked at her in confusion. “Why would I go double-check?”

Khatira tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “I don’t know. To either murder him or boink him. Whatever works at the time.”

Laila’s cheeks flushed bright red. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not going to Mexico to chase after some man.”

“Some man?” Khatira echoed, throwing her hands up. “Laila, he took a bullet for us, and he said he loved you.”

Laila froze, her gaze meeting Khatira’s with such raw vulnerability that it took Khatira by surprise. “You heard that too?”

Khatira nodded, the lie slipping out smoothly. “Of course I did! Which is why you have to go! There are too many unanswered questions. Is there a wife? A widow? A hot sister-in-law?” Khatira leaned forward suddenly, her fingers steepling together. “Wait—Is he rich? Does he own any diamond mines?”

Laila shot her a look. “You’re not going to Mexico. And you clearly need therapy regarding this obsession you have with wealth.”

Khatira rolled her eyes. “It’s called capitalism. We all have the same obsession.”

Laila waved her hands in irritation. “Well, I am not taking advice from a twenty-four-year-old who thinks the solution to a low bank balance is to rob people.”

“Not people. You.” Khatira grinned. “Because you’re special. Besides, I give great advice. Do you know how many young girls message me, saying, ‘I should kill myself. I’m so ugly,’ and I’m like, ‘Don’t do that. You’ll grow into those features.’”

Laila’s mouth opened and closed several times before she could figure out an adequate response. After a long pause, Laila haltingly said, “I don’t know, Khatira. I don’t know if I’m ready to go after him. What if he doesn’t want me there? What if I mess everything up again?”

Khatira tilted her head, her expression softening for the first time. “And what if he needs you more than you think?”

Laila looked at her, and Khatira was surprised by how lost and haunted Laila looked. She had assumed that Laila’s life was perfect. But maybe she was struggling alongside the rest of the human race.

Khatira looked at the clock on the wall behind Laila, her eyes widening at the time. “Laila, I’m so sorry. I have to cut this short.” She stood up and walked toward Laila. “I’m meeting my parents for dinner. But keep me posted if you wanted to do a little girls trip to Mexico. I look amazing in a bikini.”

Laila looked at Khatira in surprise. “Your parents live in Chicago?”

Khatira shook her head. “Sadly, no. Indiana. I try to mention it as little as possible. I’m going to be there for the night and then back to LA to deal with that stupid lawsuit. I think I have some decent representation now. I was able to hire someone and get rid of the state rep.”

Laila snapped her fingers together, jarring them both. “That’s what I meant to yell at you about. Why didn’t you ever text me back?”

“Yell at me?” Khatira asked, aghast. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Poor communication equals poor friendship,” Laila retorted.

Khatira gave a start. “Are we friends?” her voice held a touch of awe.

“We’re not not friends,” Laila replied. “Or we will be, if you text me back timely. Anyway, I found a colleague—a former classmate who is in LA and he deals with Product Liability Law. Give him a call when you get back.” Laila handed Khatira his business card.

Khatira looked at Laila with surprise. “You found a lawyer for me?”

“Of course, I can’t have you going to jail over a stupid mistake,” Laila answered.

Khatira abruptly leaned over the large desk and gave Laila a fierce hug. “I’m really sorry I ‘borrowed’ your stuff with no intention of returning it. But... also kind of glad.”

Laila responded with a watery laugh of her own. “You know what? Me too!”