Page 43 of Death in the New Year

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

“Some. I’ll live.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“You didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, about what I said. I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were at fault for this. No one knew he was there.”

“Thank you for saying that. Do you want to sit with me for a while?” she asked, filled with hope.

“I-I don’t think I can, Khloe.”

“Jonas, what did I do wrong? I thought we were friends. I thought we were getting to know one another, and then you deserted me on the dance floor. Since then, you’ve avoided me like the plague. Please tell me if I’ve done something.”

He moved two steps forward and stopped again, shaking his head.

“It’s not you. You’ve done nothing wrong, Khloe. I just need to figure out some things on my own, and, well, then we can talk.”

Khloe stared at him a moment, then looked down at her hand again. Maybe this wasn’t the right place for her.

“I may or may not be here when you get ready, Jonas. This might not be the job for me after all. I love these people and all they’ve done for me, but that doesn’t mean I have to stay where I’m not wanted.”

“Khloe,” he started.

“I’m tired, Jonas. I’m tired and hurting. Can you close the door when you leave?” She turned her head toward the wall, hoping to hide the tears from him. It didn’t work. He saw them, he heard her sniffles, and it gutted him. He was causing her pain. Pain that she didn’t deserve, that wasn’t her fault.

Turning, he headed toward the door and began to close it. Seeing the glares of a dozen angry men, he stepped back, shut the door, and turned to her.

“I don’t think so.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“He’s here and he’s close,” said Trak.

Up ahead, the crowd parted, silence moving over the noise and chaos. Wilson looked above the heads and spotted the cause.

“A woman. She’s bloody,” he said, running toward her. The girl fell into his arms as he kneeled, looking at her wounds. “She’s been stabbed multiple times.”

“Where?” asked Zeke. “Where were you?”

“P-Pat O’Brien’s. Alleyway,” she said with her chattering teeth. Zeke stood and scanned the crowd, hoping to see their man.

“We’re headed to the alley,” said Jean. “Get him!”

“There!” said Trak.

He spotted the stocking cap and the terrible fake tuft of blonde hair and began running toward him. He turned, seeing the face of his pursuer, and began to run. That’s when Trak knew this man was a skilled runner. He tossed the cap aside and took off down Bourbon, dodging the crowds as he and Zeke followed.

Splitting up, they each took a side of the street and ran toward their target. He was not going to get away with this one.

“Two dead girls in the alley. One is twenty-three, the other twenty-five. Multiple stab wounds and a head wound from blunt force trauma,” said Jean.

“The other victim is alive, but barely. She’s lost a lot of blood,” said Wilson. “Zeke and Trak were pursuing down Bourbon. Whiskey and Bull? You need to hit the other end of Bourbon and work your way up. Alec, Tailor? Your team has to come from the sides. Cover Royal and Dauphine. Code? Find that bastard on camera. Do not let him get away.”

Once the third woman was taken away in the ambulance, the men began working their way in the direction of Sizemore. He was covered in blood and had thrown his wig and cap to the side. He should be easy to spot by someone.

“Hey, cops found his car. Trunk is covered in blood. It was in the garage at the casino. He’s got no transportation now.”

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