No Angels

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Eden

“No Witnesses”

It had been the longest week of my life, and I guess that’s why I fell asleep on my own bartop.

The varnished wood was cool against my cheek and, for a moment, I let myself drift somewhere between sleep and numbness.

If my cat hadn’t come over to bat at my ponytail like it was a toy dangling just for him, I might have stayed there all night.

I startled upright, blinking groggily as the orange blur skittered off the counter with a disgruntled chirp and vanished beneath a rack of bagged coffee beans.

“You’re right,” I murmured, yawning as I pushed myself up and stretched. “Home. Actual bed. Not a slab of wood I overpaid for.”

The shop was peaceful and still, but it still seemed to buzz with the energy left over from the day.

Outside, dusk had already sunk its teeth into the sky, the last of the late winter light fading into the inky violet of evening.

I switched off the house lights and stood in the soft spill of glow from the espresso machine as I tried not to think too hard about how tired I still was.

This little place had been my dream for years: Ginger & Black.

Named for my ‘ginger’ cat, Regret, and my own last name.

Kind of pathetic, I know. Every morning since I opened four days ago, I had been up before the sun to bake, brew, scrub, and then smile at everyone who walked through my doors.

I wasn’t built for bold decisions. I’d always stayed in the lines: safe job, safe apartment, safe routines.

I didn’t even jaywalk. But opening the shop was the one loud, defiant thing I’d done in my entire adult life. It scared the hell out of me.

It was everything I wanted.

It was also a lot for one person. At first I didn’t have the confidence to hire help, so I became a one-woman coffee circus.

I was working in my sleep, which made the days feel even longer, but I really did love it.

I was finally living the dream… and dreaming about the dream.

Everything about this place – including owning it and running it – was outside my comfort zone.

I used to make pros and cons lists just to change brands of laundry detergent.

Now, I was out here pricing espresso machines and doing my own taxes like I knew how to adult.

After trying to coax Regret out from under the counter and into his carrier, I gave up, letting him camp in the cafe overnight.

I hesitated like I always did when routines broke.

Leaving him here made my stomach do a weird little flip.

What if something happened? What if the building caught fire, or a raccoon got in, or the universe just decided to punish me for being irresponsible?

I locked up, pulling the door tight until the latch clicked and double-checking it twice more just to be sure.

The street was empty, except for a flickering streetlamp and the distant murmur of a bus turning a corner.

I usually took the long way home, along well-lit sidewalks and past a few corner shops with late hours, but tonight my feet ached and my bones felt hollow with exhaustion, so I turned into the alley a block down.

It was narrower, darker, and not exactly friendly looking, but it shaved off ten minutes, and tonight I just needed to get home and faceplant into a pillow.

Thank God I had decided to keep Ginger & Black closed on the weekends during the first couple of months of the soft launch.

Halfway down the alley, I heard voices. They were harsh and angry, yelling and…

was one of them begging? I paused, barely breathing when I saw them.

Two men stood near the far end, silhouettes backlit by a blinking neon sign.

One wore a long coat, and the other had his hands raised.

A car was backed in at the end of the alley, blocking my intended path.

My eyes moved over the emblem of a leaping jaguar, the license plate number, and a ding on the right fender.

Then I burned the faces of the men into my brain. I didn’t mean to, but when I committed, I really committed.

“I didn’t say anything! Please,” stammered the man with his hands up.

The other didn’t speak, and he raised a gun. I didn’t mean to gasp, but I did. The sound was soft, barely audible.

The shooter turned sharply, and the gun lowered for a beat, then he raised it toward me.

I had never before looked down the barrel of a gun.

My heart stopped just long enough that my head started spinning, and my face felt cold.

Then I sprang into flight, running down the sidewalk as fast as my legs would carry me.

I heard two gunshots and the gurgling wails that must have come from the other man in the alleyway. My stomach lurched, the sour bulge of bile on the back of my tongue. I pressed the back of my hand over my mouth, knees aching from the force of my feet slapping against the pavement.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I could hear him.

Fast, heavy footfalls behind me. He screamed at me, telling me to stop, or he’d kill me, then resorting to saying he just wanted to talk.

It felt like he was so close that he could touch me.

I darted across the street without thinking, nearly stumbling as I hit uneven sidewalk.

He shouted something else, words I didn’t hear. I rounded the corner and ducked into a side yard, squeezing between a fence and a garage. The broken chainlink snagged my flesh underneath my shirt, but I didn’t stop until I was two blocks away and couldn’t hear him anymore.

I stopped, panting. My vision pulsed with panic and adrenaline. I put a shaking hand to my side, feeling blood ooze under the fabric.

“Shit,” I whispered, taking one last look back before sprinting the rest of the way to my apartment. When I finally reached it, I locked the door behind me and slumped to the floor, trembling.

I should have called someone immediately. I should have stayed calm.

Instead, I curled up next to the door and sobbed because it seemed like that was the logical response to witnessing a murder and almost getting shot, too. Twenty minutes passed before I could breathe right again. I rose on my shaking legs, entering the bathroom to clean up the cut on my side.

“Tetanus,” I muttered to myself. “Luckily, I’m up to date.”

Of course I was, because at least once a year, I stepped on a nail or cut my hand on something.

It’s the little positives, the silver lining of being a klutz.

I washed the wound with a cloth and then slathered it with nearly an entire tube of triple antibiotic.

I slapped on a bandage and called it good.

Then it was time to call the police.

My voice was steady when I explained what I saw…

sort of. I didn’t mention how close he’d come.

I didn’t mention the man’s eyes when he turned and spotted me.

They said they’d send someone out to my residence.

I expected them to ask me to come down to the station but instead, another twenty minutes later, someone knocked on my door.

It was a young cop: tall, crisp uniform, serious face, looked like he was probably a lot of fun at parties (not). I should’ve written down his name and badge number – that’s what they always tell you to do when you’re faced with a police officer. I didn’t even think about it in the moment, though.

He smiled as I opened the door, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I was a pretty good judge of character, I prided myself in knowing whether or not a person was trustworthy…

and I didn’t trust this guy as far as I could throw him.

I naturally distrusted anyone I was told I should trust.

“Miss… Eden Black?” he asked.

I nodded, hugging my arms to my chest as though I could protect myself.

“I’m here to take your report. Mind if I come in?”

I hesitated. Something in me… shifted. There was a flicker of unease in my stomach I couldn’t quite explain, but I stepped back to let him inside anyway. I had always been a fucking people pleaser, even when I knew better.

The officer stepped inside and scanned the apartment as though checking for exits or threats. Maybe both. His eyes finally landed back on me, and something about his gaze set off alarms in my skull. What was with this guy? He really did give off movie villain vibes.

“You live alone?” he asked casually.

I nodded. “Just me and Regret.”

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I faltered, face flushing. “My cat. Stupid name, he came to me with it. He’s staying at the coffee shop right now… but…”

Great, I was rambling.

He gave a tight smile and pulled a small notepad from the breast pocket of his uniform. “Right.”

I hovered awkwardly by the kitchen counter, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. “Do you, uh… want to sit?”

He waved it off. “Won’t take long. Why don’t you just walk me through what happened?”

So I did. I told him about closing the shop and taking the shortcut down the alley.

I told him about the two men, and I mentioned the gun and the shouting.

I even knew the make and model of the car that had been there, and I remembered part of the license plate.

I told him that I could describe both men in detail.

He pretended to write in his little notebook, but I knew he wasn’t.

His pen didn’t make the little dragging squeak that hurt my teeth.

When I got to the part about running away, and hearing the sound of gunshots, he held up a hand.

“Just to clarify,” he said, cocking his head slightly, “you didn’t actually see the shooter pull the trigger. Right?”

I blinked. “Well, no, but…”

“Then you didn’t witness a murder. You thought you heard gunshots. You saw two men arguing. One of them had a gun. That’s different.”

My stomach tightened. “But the guy raised his gun. And then I heard…”

“You heard something. That’s not the same as witnessing a crime, and what you heard could’ve been anything. Fireworks. A car backfiring.”

“In an alley?” I asked, a little sharper than I meant to.

His tight smile faltered. “You’d be surprised.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Was he gaslighting me?

No, that wasn’t fair. He was probably just doing his job, being thorough and all, but something about the way he looked at me made my skin itch.

I stifled the desire to be pissed, to argue and insist, because this was another man with a gun, and I didn’t want to cross a second one tonight.

He flipped the notepad shut and tucked it away.

“We’ll check traffic cams and contact you if anything comes up, but I wouldn’t worry too much. You’re probably just shaken. It’s not uncommon to… fill in the blanks, you know?”

“I’m not filling in anything,” I said. “I know what I saw.”

His gaze seemed to harden. I hadn’t mentioned that there were no traffic cams on my street, but I couldn’t explain how a cop didn’t know that information if this area was in his jurisdiction. I mirrored his furrowed brow and narrowed eyes.

A tense moment passed between us.

He spoke again, this time softer but no less cold. “I understand. It’s been a long night. Try to get some rest. Maybe skip the shortcuts for a while, yeah?”

He moved to the door before I could respond. One hand hovered just above the knob, and then he glanced back at me.

“Be careful, Miss Black.”

It wasn’t a threat, but it wasn’t not one either. I could tell.

He let himself out, and I stood there for a long moment, listening to the echo of the lock clicking shut.

I walked to the far window, the one that overlooked the street, and waited until I saw him exit the building, just to make myself feel better.

He strode across the sidewalk to his unmarked car and paused, looking up as though he knew I would be there.

I flinched, but it was too late to hide.

He smiled and tipped his fingers to the brim of an invisible hat.

Suddenly, my apartment didn’t feel safe anymore.