Minka #2
“Well…” Nervous, the shop assistant exhales a breathy sigh. “I was worried that time.”
“Steve! You home?” Cato arrives on the bottom floor and pounds his fist against the door. “You gotta open up and show me your face so the spicy and highly strung Chief Mayet can get off my case.”
“Shut the hell up,” I snarl. “You’re unemployed and school is out. If I wanted you to sit on the stairs all damn day so you could watch him, then I’d expect you to do it. Banging women in my apartment was never a part of the deal when we let you move in.”
“The difference between me and you, Doc.” He bangs on the door again.
“Is that I’d do it. I’d sit on the stairs because you asked.
You, on the other hand, can’t even go dress shopping for your best friend without bitching about it.
” He knocks a third time. “If you don’t answer the door, I’m gonna kick it in, old man.
I can’t walk away till Mayet knows you’re okay, so if you—”
“This old man was trying to relax.” Steve’s voice is like a balm on burned skin.
Like a cool bath on a boiling day. I hadn’t even realized how tightly wound my stomach was until it releases.
Or how anxious I was until it dissipates.
“If my heart so much as skips a beat and I promise to call 911 right away, will you leave me alone?”
“You good now, Mayet?” Cato’s grumpy tone hits me. Or perhaps disappointed is a better term. Or sad. Probably the last one. “Can I let the man rest now?”
“Yes.” I lower my shoulders, and with them, my brows.
A mild headache pounds at the base of my skull.
Dehydration, no doubt. And though my body demands I sit down, the corset in my dress says that’s not happening.
So I release a heavy sigh and wander to the window overlooking the street instead.
Traffic is backed up already, the end-of-the-day commuters humming along in cars they hope have air conditioning that’ll last the drive.
But then the power drops out again, and outside, the traffic lights simply fall dark.
That’s gonna suck for getting home.
“I’m completing a double major at college and maintaining a 4.
0 GPA, by the way. I’m at the stadium five days a week, practicing with the team, and I spend way more hours with Mia than any standard friend of the family.
I’m mediating my brothers, which is basically a full-time job.
And since Tim is moving into his house, Lix is wondering if maybe he’s readying to take a more active role in the family business.
He feels guilty, like he’s taking Tim’s seat.
Plus, Zora’s here now, which means he’s worried about missing a single second with her, but also worried if he loses focus, the family business may suffer.
And by the family business, he means his family might not be as safe as they are when he’s on top of it all.
Maybe I don’t have a nine-to-five like you do, Doc, but neither did you when you were in college, and just because you’re old and forget what it’s like to be nineteen, doesn’t mean I prescribe to your tight ass impossible standards. ”
“Cato… I’m—”
“I’m not a bad person because I like women, and I’m not lazy because it’s summer and school is out.
But then again, you’re not a bitch either.
That’s just the heat making you meaner than usual.
Telling the bastard son of a murderous prick that he’s unwanted every single fucking day gets a little old.
You might not give a shit about my feelings, since you like to pretend you have none, but I’m not a robot, and sometimes, I spend time with pretty women because they make me feel wanted. Joke’s on me, huh?”
Outside, the boom of one car hitting another tears my eyes up and through the window, then the screech of metal on metal, the tinkle of shattering glass, and finally, the guttural panic of a human in danger has me moving.
“Shit! Aubree!” I snatch the door handle and sprint onto the sidewalk as another car hits the first two, then a fourth hits the third.
“Mayet?” Cato’s tone turns sharper in an instant. “You okay?”
“Motor vehicle accident, multiple car pile-up.” I grab the bottom of my dress and rush into the street.
“I’m okay. But I gotta go.” I kill our call and dart between cars, shimmying out of the way just as a fifth—sixth?
—hits the one in front of it and pushes the others forward.
I fist my phone, knowing I have no pockets to use, and sprinting toward the screaming woman, I arrive at car number two, the one that started this mess, and find an older man slumped over the wheel, and in the passenger seat, his same-age wife screaming like her foot is stuck in a bear trap.
“Ma’am?” I reach through the open window and press my fingers to the driver’s neck. “Ma’am? What’s your name?”
“He just… And he…” She flaps her arms, her face burning a bright, hot red. “And then he…”
Aubree skids to a stop on the other side, her eyes meeting mine and her hands dropping to the door frame. “What’s happening?”
The woman starts screaming again. So loud. Ear aching, stomach clenching, lung compressingly loud.
“Chief?”
“Shut her up!” I shove the driver back and search for a pulse.
But he’s not sweating either. He’s not breathing.
His heart isn’t moving. “Acute MI.” I rip the door open, smashing my shin with the bottom corner and hissing when the pain registers in my mind.
But I lean in past the man who weighs an easy two hundred and fifty pounds—could be three hundred—and unsnap his seatbelt.
“Can I help?” Fifi skids to a stop on my left, her willow green eyes glittering with something other than disdain. That’s new. “Chief, what can I do?”
“Where’s Mia?” My back strains as I get under the man’s weight.
The compression of the dress’s corset, squeezing me to breathlessness.
Though, ironically, the quality boning supports my spine and core the way weightlifters use belts in the gym.
“You have to be with Mia.” I drag the guy out of the car and onto the stifling blacktop heat.
His feet remain inside the vehicle, tangled between the seat and the steering wheel. “Fifi, you have to be with—”
“She’s with Penny. What do you need?”
“Uh…” I lower onto the blistering hot road and fold over the old man, listening for breath sounds.
“Check the other cars and make sure everyone is okay.” I link my hands together and press them over his heart, and, revisiting the knowledge I could have sworn I would no longer need, I begin chest compressions. “Aubree! Is she alright?”
“Teddy?!” The little old lady races around the car. “Teddy! Is he okay?”
“Aubree!” I grab Teddy’s face and exhale into his mouth, expanding his lungs and pushing his chest higher.
“Ma’am.” Aubree latches onto the woman and jerks her around. “Lady! Stop screaming.”
I pull away and continue my work.
“What’s your name?” Aubree asks. “What happened?”
“D-Donna. My name is Donna Beecroft. He’s Theodore. We were just driving, and he was complaining about how slow traffic was. And then he…” She presses her hand to her chest. “He said ouch, and he grabbed here, and then we crashed.”
“How old is he? Medical history?”
“He turned eighty-seven last month,” Donna sobs. “Eighty-seven! He has high cholesterol, and he takes medicine for blood pressure.”
Well, that explains that. I lower and puff fresh air into his lungs.
“Chief?!” Fifi shouts from three cars down. “I think this kid might be dehydrated. She’s smaller than Mia and kinda lethargic looking.”
“Dammit!” I swing my arm back and hammer-fist Teddy’s chest. Then I hit him a second time and lower over him and pray for something. A pulse, even if it’s weak. Breathing, even if labored. “You need to continue here. Aubree.” I scoot left and make room for her to skid down beside me.
“Chief!” Fifi snarls. “Help, please!”
“He’s been without a pulse since I got to him.
Continue compressions. Someone needs to call an ambulance.
” I spin on my knees and catch the first set of eyes I can find.
A young woman, not a great deal older than Molly, clutches to her steering wheel with shaking hands.
“Call 911. Tell them he’s eighty-seven and suffering acute MI.
Not breathing. No pulse. Stay with him,” I tell Aubree, then I shove to my feet.
“Wait!” The old woman—Donna—grabs onto my arm with surprising strength, digging talon-like nails into my wrist and tugging my hardly healed shoulder.
Pain splices down through my chest and into my stomach, nausea like a beating drum to join the headache already in my skull. “You can’t just leave him!”
“She’s a doctor!” I tear my arm free. Then I point to Aubree. “She’s a doctor, too. Sit down, stop freaking out, or you might end up on the road beside him.” I twist and sprint toward Fifi. “What’s going on?”
“She was fine.” A man, aged somewhere in his thirties, with dark hair and brown eyes, whips his back door open and tears his child out of her seat. “She was fine!”
The little girl falls limp in his arms, her head lolling back and her arms dangling by her side.
“No!” He compresses her chest with his large hand, too heavy, too strong, as tears flow onto his cheeks. “Wake up!”
“Sir, no.” I snatch her up and make a beeline for Lori’s, and while I walk, I study her.
The long blonde hair cascading from a messy ponytail, and long, dark lashes kissing her cheeks.
Her shirt is soaked through with sweat, and her heart thunders recklessly against her neck. “How long has she been unconscious?”
“She was awake just a second ago,” Fifi runs beside me, dashing ahead and ripping the shop door open to let me through. “Her eyes were open, but she was dizzy and tired. He—the dad—he saw you tell me to help other people, so he flagged me down and said he was worried about her.”