Worth a Shot

by Cari Z

  “Thanks.” She pulled back far enough to kiss me one last time, then stepped away entirely. I wrapped my arms around myself. “Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  I smiled for her. “Yeah, babe. I know. Love you too.”

  Miranda howled as Katie drove away. If my throat hadn’t been so sore, I’d have joined her.

  * * * *

  Thank God I’d had the weekend off to patch myself up, make sure I was being monitored as promised, and had set up an appointment with a therapist I’d seen for a while when I’d first moved out here. I was tough but I wasn’t Supergirl, damn it. By the time I went back to work on Monday I looked almost normal, although I wore a scarf around my neck to hide what remained of the bruises. Mendoza noticed anyway, of course. He spent a few minutes petting Miranda’s belly while I settled in at my desk, but his eyes stayed on me.

  “You party too hard this weekend, Sam? You look beat.”

  I had to bite my lip to keep from breaking into overly hysterical laughter. Beat, indeed. “Yeah, um.” I could have lied, but Mendoza wouldn’t have bought it. “Actually, it was a rough weekend. An old boyfriend of Katie’s showed up, he…he broke in and he was really upset she wasn’t there, and he had me pinned for a while. I’m okay!” I said quickly when Mendoza’s expression went flat, as if he was considering picking up a tire iron and heading for his low-rider. “Just a few bruises, but it really shook Katie up. She ended up…” I swallowed hard. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it should. “She left town. Didn’t want his friends to be able to come after her.”

  Mendoza stood up. “Katie’s gone?”

  “Yep.” I shrugged fatalistically. “At least I get Miranda in the divorce, right?”

  “Sam.” Mendoza stepped close enough to grab, and opened his arms. It was just what I needed. I leaned into his embrace and pressed my head against his chest, holding on tight. Tears welled in my eyes, but I didn’t let them go.

  “Shit weekend,” Mendoza murmured after a moment and I chuckled wetly.

  “Utter and complete shit.”

  “Sorry your girl left you, Sam.”

  I sighed. “It was the only way she could be safe. I’m not angry at her.”

  “You sure?” He pulled back at me and cocked his head to the side. “’Cause it’s okay not to be okay with this.”

  “I know.” I nodded. “But I think I am.”

  “If you say so.” He let me go and I leaned back into my chair. “Lunch is on me. Lemme know what you want later.”

  “Thanks.”

  I really did think that I’d be okay. And as days, then one week, then two passed, I mostly was. My physical wounds faded, the nightmares I’d imagined interrupting my sleep never occurred, my sessions with the counselor went well. I did end up throwing the couch away, but I got another. Miranda adjusted to living solely with me, and I adjusted to living by myself. I couldn’t quite handle looking for another housemate quite yet. Soon, but not…not yet.

  Not in a month. Not in two months. As hard as I tried, I wasn’t able to let go of the feeling of wrongness that permeated my house. I wasn’t able to move on and date other people either, even though I knew it was stupid to pine, it was stupid to keep waiting for something that was never going to happen. Katie was gone, and I had to understand that. I did understand it. Mostly. I just didn’t feel it yet, and the longer I stayed in one place, the more I came to understand that I wasn’t going to be satisfied living here. Not anytime soon, at least.

  It took staring at the map of the world pinned to my living room wall for the umpteenth time in one day to realize what I wanted to do. There was a line of pins stretching from Chicago to Santa Monica, the historic Route 66 that both Katie and I had wanted to travel. It was like a lightning bolt had struck the top of my head.

  Road trip. I was getting the fuck out of here.

  Chapter Four

  Renting the duplex for six months was easy, done in less than a week. Mendoza offered to be my property manager and take care of anything that came up in the place, and I had enough savings to take that time off. I didn’t ask him to keep my place in the shop open. Business was business, and racers were going to need their cars painted whether I was there to do it or not. It was okay. It was a little weird, how okay it all was. My life seemed lighter with every day that passed.

  Miranda and I left Denver three weeks after my lightbulb moment, towing a tiny, close-topped trailer behind the Camaro. I took the boring-as-shit route to Chicago via Nebraska, and tried desperately to stay awake through all the fields of nothingness. Once we got to Chicago, though, it was on. Classic Route 66, here we came.

  I took pictures. It was habit, and now that Katie was gone I didn’t feel curtailed any longer. I snapped photos of gravestones with the name Funk proudly chipped across the front in the tiny town of the same name, and spent way too much time in the Route 66 Dream Car Museum. I went antiquing in Halltown and spent two nights in the revamped, art deco Boots Motel, which I just loved. I took it slow, snapped way too many pictures of my dog, and shared everything on the Internet because, damn it, people needed to know this was awesome. The best comments were from Mendoza, who was the only person I knew who could use the smiley emoticon and still have it come off as unimpressed.

  Kansas was…well, Kansas, but Oklahoma had a little more to offer. Arcadia had a weird round barn, and a hillbilly barbeque place—not being insulting, that was the actual name—and it was easy to kill some time before I got into Oklahoma City.

  Company found me in the little town of Yukon, in the only diner the place had to offer. I was sipping a beer and contemplating the merits of the grilled cheese salad—it was an actual thing on the menu, I couldn’t make that up—when someone gently touched my shoulder. “Hey.”

  I was hallucinating. I was dehydrated and hallucinating, or this beer was waaay stronger than I’d thought. I stared up at her, and she looked down at me, and for a few more seconds total silence reigned.

  I pinched my own thigh. “Ow.”

  Katie smiled. Her hair was different now, blonde instead of brown, and she sported what I was willing to bet was a spray tan because her complexion just didn’t jive that way, but otherwise she looked just the same. “Nope, you’re not asleep,” she told me.

  “Just checking.” Still a little dazzled, I kind of half-waved her over to the other side of the booth. She sat, but didn’t look at the menu. She just kept looking at me. “How did you find me?”

  “I followed your Instagram.” She tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “Like a trail of breadcrumbs.”

  “That’s… Wow.”

  Katie winced. “Creepy?”

  “I was going to say ‘awesome,’ actually.” I reached toward her hand and she took mine instantly. “You can’t live here, though.”

  “Why not?” She looked around with slightly mocking eyes. “It’s got so much going for it.”

  “Like grilled cheese salads.”

  Katie glanced down at the menu. “I think that’s actually and salad. Grilled cheese and salad.”

  “That makes way more sense.”

  The waitress came over and took our orders after dropping off some iced tea for me and a water for Katie. The ease our conversation had started with sort of evaporated during the interlude, and now we were left holding hands and staring at each other with so much to say, but no clear way to say it.

  “So where do you live?” I finally settled on. “Or can’t you tell me that?”

  “No, I can tell you that. They moved me to Los Angeles.”

  I whistled. “Big city.”

  “The easier to disappear in.” She tugged on a lock of hair. “Just one more bleach blonde in a city with a million of them.”

  “Uh-huh. And how do you like that?” Because she didn’t sound thrilled.

  Katie shrugged. “I go to class, I live in an apartment, I work at a frozen yogurt shop.” I made a face and she giggled. “It doesn’t taste that bad.�
��

  “Still not ice cream, but go ahead. Tell me how wonderful it is.”

  “I can’t.” She shook her head. “Because it’s not wonderful. It’s lonely and it’s too hot and I miss our dog and your bed and your naan and, God, I miss everything about you.” She squeezed my hand. “Everything. I kept following you on social media even though I knew I shouldn’t, and when I saw what you were doing, I just. I had to come and see you for myself.” Her hand spasmed, not a deliberate squeeze this time, and she pulled it back. “And now I think maybe it was a stupid thing to do, because it isn’t fair of me to force myself back into your life like this.”

  “Do you hear me complaining?” I demanded.

  “No, but, Sam…”

  “You want to give me a chance to actually reply before you put any more words in my mouth?”

  Katie took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  Just looking at her sitting there, steeling herself for the worst, made my heart leap. I had missed her, missed her terribly. I’d done my best to batten down my hatches after what had happened, but missing Katie was still an open wound inside me, and seeing her now eased the terrible ache that I’d somehow grown accustomed to. “You know what I think we should do?”

  “What?” she asked timorously.

  “I think we should finish this trip together. How’d you get here?”

  “I have a rental car.” She made a face. “It’s a Passat.”

  “Meh, passable but hardly enjoyable. We’ll turn it in tomorrow, and you can ride the rest of Route 66 with me. It goes straight to your new hometown, so it’s quite convenient.” My voice warmed as I got a handle on the idea. “We’ll sleep in terrible, kitschy motels and eat at diners and stop by every ridiculous attraction the road has to offer. It’s going to be so much more fun with you.”

  “And what then?” Her eyes were bright but otherwise she wasn’t giving anything away. “You’ll hang out for a while, then drive back to Denver?”

  “Maybe.” I wasn’t willing to rule out anything. “Or maybe I’ll like it in L.A. There’s a lot of work there, at least. And maybe Agent Jones won’t run me off on sight—”

  “She won’t, she’s not even there—”

  “And Miranda will learn to like the apartment—”

  “I can get a better place.”

  “And maybe everything will work out so that you and I can try again.” I reached both hands across the table. “Or maybe it won’t, but we’ll never know if we don’t try. And, babe, you literally met me halfway, so…”

  “So.” Katie took my hands. “You’re saying it’s worth a shot.”

  “Exactly.” It might be kind of crazy, but so much of my life already was. At least this crazy I could pick with my eyes wide open. “It’s definitely worth a shot.”

  Also available from Pride Publishing:

  Shadows and Light

  Cari Z

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Rafael stalked the High One through the misted streets of Clare, the Bright City, though not so bright now as night laid claim to her. He had been watching this High One for two weeks, following him and learning his ways. The creature was skilled and confident, otherwise he wouldn’t have come into the Lower Half without a cadre of guards. He was too confident for his own good. Rafael felt nothing inside himself except savage satisfaction when he considered what he was about to do. The murder of a High One was a serious undertaking and, of all the assassins of the Lower Half, he was the only one to have succeeded. Time and again he had succeeded. Tonight would be no different.

  They left the last of the inns behind, heading toward the wharves on the outskirts of the vast island city. Going to check the shipments of whatever elder he served, Rafael knew. This one was a warrior, a challenge. He moved with ease and carried the rapier at his side with the air of a practiced killer. Rafael had watched him fight, watched him kill. A decided challenge, but he relished it. The streets leading to the wharves would be inhabited with nothing but drunks and whores at this time of night, and they knew better than to interfere in business beyond their concern, which this was about to become. Rafael moved noiselessly along the rooftops, closing on his target. Closer, closer… He judged the distance and leaped suddenly, no flash of shadow or flare of light to give him away. Yet somehow the High One still sensed him.

  It was the last possible moment the man could have dodged the savage kick, and he didn’t get away completely. Rafael’s foot caught his shoulder but not his spine and the High One spun to the side, favoring the injury but drawing his sword lightning fast as he turned back to his attacker. Rafael was impressed. A blow to the spine would have incapacitated the creature long enough for him to pierce his heart or remove his head, but the shoulder would only distract him for as long as it took to heal. Rafael moved fast to keep up his offensive, his slender sabers slicing through the long metallic cloak that hid the upper half of his target’s visage. He had intended to cut the High One’s face, perhaps blind him, but the creature truly was talented, or lucky. Rafael’s blades grazed one cheek and severed the leather thong holding the cloak back. It fell shimmering to the ground, exposing his target’s face.

  It was the same as all the other High Ones’ faces. The change the magic wrought on them gave them invulnerability to the ravages of time but leached the uniqueness out of their flesh, rendering them all the same sickly pale color, incandescent in the dim orange flare of torchlight. His face was slender, as so many were, and unremarkable in its beautiful normalcy. His eyes were nearly white, pupils the only break in the viscera’s pallor, and his hair was the same glittering silver as the cape that lay crumpled at his feet.

  The only difference with this High One was his competency with the blade. Even as he dodged Rafael’s sabers, his own rapier flicked out, almost invisible in the faint light, seeking to impale. Rafael rolled forward, unable to stop his momentum but wanting to continue to press, and barely missed the wickedly fast point as he flew beneath it. He levered a cut at the High One’s legs but the creature leaped into the air and slightly back, recovering his space and avoiding the cut at the same time. Rafael’s eyes narrowed. Challenging indeed. He struck again, pressing the High One back. It took all his skill to keep his two blades in play. The High One was smart and switched his target from Rafael’s body to his hands, trying to disarm him.

  This was taking too long. Soon the creature’s shoulder would recover and he’d be on the receiving end. Rafael was fast and very skilled, but High Ones had advantages of magically enhanced strength and speed and the weight of lifetimes of practice. Surprise had to be on his side for the fight to end fast, and his endurance wouldn’t keep him up forever. He’d have to take some chances. Thrusting his right blade at the High One’s face, he dropped his guard on the left side. The rapier came out, pricking, seeking him, but too slow. He had distracted the creature with his first strike and now swept his saber across the man’s thigh, biting easily into flesh and muscle.

  It was a pyrrhic victory. The High One recovered and rerouted his own blade down. The point plunged deeply into Rafael’s left hand, sliding between thumb and forefinger. He gasped and jerked it back, losing his second saber as he did so. The pain was excruciating but he had been trained to deal with that, even without the healing magic of a High One flowing through his blood. He dropped back and pulled his heavy-bladed athame from his belt.

  They stood still for a moment, each surveying the other. Rafael grimaced internally—he could barely grip the athame. The High One was bleeding but, if he could continue to draw this fight out, he’d surely win. Rafael could outrun him, but he’d never run from a fight. There was no honor in abandoning his purpose. He existed to kill their kind. If he had to die trying, that was better than living with the memory of failure.

  The High One flicked his eyes toward the knife. They narrowed minutely, and he looked back at Rafael with grim curiosity. “How does a low-born cur such as you handle the athame of a master?”

  Rafael
smiled despite himself. “Perhaps I took it from one of your friends.”

  The High One snorted derisively. “The athame burns in the hands of one not meant to wield it. Not even a man as clearly insane as you could withstand the pain that long.” He took a half step closer, his gaze darting between the knife and Rafael’s face. Suddenly his eyes widened with dawning comprehension. “The prodigal child.” A savage smile split his face in two. “The apprentice whom our master turned away. He will enjoy hearing of your death firsthand.”

  The High One lunged suddenly, his sword a dazzling arrow of light. In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten his wound, and placing all of his weight upon the injured leg caused it to buckle slightly. It was all the opening Rafael needed. He parried the rapier with his saber and brought his knife upward in an underhand swing. The blade passed through his target’s body, lodging beneath ribs and almost close enough to tickle the heart. The High One gaped in shock, his lungs suddenly unable to draw breath. He fell to his knees, grasping at the knife even as his pale, magic-filled blood gushed out over his fingers.

  Rafael shoved the creature face down onto the ground. Straddling the still-gasping corpse, he pulled the High One’s personal athame from his own belt. It did burn his hand, but Rafael welcomed the pain. He briefly checked the insignia on the hilt. It was true. They had shared the same master. The pain that blossomed in his heart was far worse than what he felt in his hand, and Rafael forcefully drove the blade through the back of his target, penetrating his heart and punching through the chest wall to scrape against the cobblestones. The High One shuddered violently, once, then truly died.

  Rafael released the hilt of the athame, wincing at the crackling of his blackened palm, and retrieved his own blade from the front of the body. He took a moment to bathe his injured hands in the creature’s blood, still incredibly potent with healing magic, then wiped his blade clean and replaced it in its sheath. He stood up and put his sabers away, then looked for a long moment at the body of his enemy. The creature had known of him. They had shared the same master. If things had gone differently for him five years ago, they might have―