Law & Crime
Papá siempre decía: "La palabra crisis es sólo otra forma de decir oportunidad".
I hit something.
I have no idea what it is. All I know is that my bike slams to such a sudden stop that my butt comes off the seat and my feet leave the pedals. But I continue to grip the handlebars because I have the crazy idea that if I just hang on, everything will be okay.
The guy had his hands around my neck and was slamming my head against the floor. I guess he couldn't decide whether he wanted to strangle me or bash my brains in. Either that, or he'd just got tired of killing people the usual way.
Black smoke bites my lungs. I gasp to get a breath. As I turn away from the police car, there's a whooshing sound and flames spill from the broken windows. People scramble back from the heat. It feels like my jersey is on fire, but it's not. The torched car, the cheering crowd; it's awful and scary and weirdly fun, like we're in a virtual world. But the smoke is real—very real—and all rules are off.
The door opened and two guys with ski masks on walked in. One walked straight to me. The other went straight to Lacey at her register. As they approached, I saw the guns come up. Lacey, Cam and I froze. The room suddenly went dead quiet except for the sound of hamburgers sizzling in the back and the buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights. I'd never even noticed the hum of the fluorescent lights before.
Justin looked over at me. Then he looked at the baby. But he turned and started up the old river road. "You said you just wanted to see her," he said.
"So I lied."
"Evie, you can't just take someone else's kid."
"I didn't steal someone else's kid, Justin," I said. "She's mine and I'm keeping her."
