“They’re street girls,” she said. “They don’t use phones most of the time.”
I looked at Irene and she shrugged. “I still don’t have a phone,” she said.
Luiza smiled a little. “You spent time out there?”
“Years,” Irene said. “We really do want to help you.”
For one moment, Luiza’s smile got bigger, but then it slowly faded away as she deflated and leaned back against the couch. She crossed her arms and looked down at the floor with a sullen frown, and her entire demeanor suddenly shifted.
“I don’t know what I can do for you,” she said. “I was just some Healy whore.”
“Don’t say that,” Irene said. “We want to hurt them. Get some revenge for you and the other girls they took advantage of.”
“Not for me, you don’t,” Luiza said. “I’m not a part of this.”
“Kira said you wanted to help,” I said, glancing back at Linc, who frowned deeply.
“Yeah, well, maybe Kira doesn’t know as much as she thinks she does.” Luiza glared up at me. “Maybe you people should go.”
I opened my mouth, surprised at the abrupt shift, then turned to Irene. She seemed as taken aback as I felt, but she stood up and held out her hands in a plaintive gesture.
“If you change your mind, get in touch with us,” Irene said. “Talk to Kira.”
“I don’t think I will,” Luiza said. “This was just a mistake, you know? The Healy family doesn’t take this sort of thing lightly. You people should just get out of here right now.”
I felt a suddenly twist of something. It was instinct, undefined, nonspecific, but it was triggered by Luiza’s sudden urgency. Minutes ago she seemed happy to keep talking, maybe a little nervous and uncomfortable, but she wanted to get involved and help out at least.
Suddenly, she’s totally different, like learning that Irene spent time on the streets just like her changed things.
I stood up and grabbed Irene’s wrist. “Let’s go,” I said, tugging her behind me.
“Hurry up,” Luiza snapped, like she was angry.
That sent a chill down my spine.
Linc gave me an odd look as I hustled past him with Irene in tow.
“What’s wrong, boss?” Linc asked. “Why we running? That girl might know more.” He slammed her front door shut behind him as I walked past into the street and toward the truck.
Omar stood up straight as we approached, hand scratching the back of his head.
“You done already?” he called out.
“Get in the truck,” I said, pointing. “Get it started. We’re leaving.”
“Cam,” Irene said. “What the hell’s going on? Why are you rushing out of here like that?”
I hesitated then, and wondered if maybe I was overreacting. Sometimes I paid my gut a little bit too much attention and people thought I could be erratic and crazy. But no, I heard the urgency in her tone, and it happened the second she felt a slight connection to Irene.
That had to mean something.
“I’ll explain later,” I said, pulling her around to the passenger side. Irene stepped up onto the sidewalk and started around behind the bed—
And that was when the van came hurtling around the corner.
Omar said something as he got out of the truck, the stupid bastard. “Get down!” I yelled, and grabbed Irene, pulling her against me. Linc dove behind the red sedan parked behind my truck, but Omar was caught out front.
The gunfire ripped a hole in the air around us. The smell of burning powder, the rattle of bullets on pavement and metal, it wrenched my ears to pieces. Irene screamed beneath me, but I couldn’t hear her, I couldn’t hear anything.
I pushed Irene down into the pavement to make sure she’d stay put before diving for the passenger side. I got the door open and grabbed my gun from the glove compartment. A bullet ripped through the door and narrowly missed my face, lodging itself in the speaker to the right of my ear.
Cursing, I threw myself back and to the side. I came up and returned fire over the hood of the truck. Omar was down, body riddled with holes, bleeding like a gushing river from his chest and mouth and nose and eyes. I shouted for him, the noise lost in the shooting. Three men crouched in the back of the van, the door slid open, and I managed to hit one in the chest. He fell backwards, and the van door slammed shut.
The smell of burning rubber drifted up as the van fishtailed, hit a car on the opposite side of the street, and started away. Linc shot at them, shouting curses the whole time. I turned back to Irene and she stared at me with wild, terrified eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked, kneeling down next to her.
“I’m fine,” she said, looking down at herself with surprise.
I ran around the truck and crouched down beside Omar. He was still alive, breathing shallowly, gasping and gurgling on his own blood. I took his hand and held it, and his eyes rolled toward me, but he didn’t move. He tried to say something, and it only came out a croak.