she quickly dismounted, leaving the helmet hooked on the bungee. The golden phoenix glowed against the moonlight. Her heart was tearing apart as she freed herself of the custom jacket that everyone recognized and knew she wore—and that she loved—tossing it aside. Looking back as she started to run off, the regret was too much; dashing back, she ripped the helmet from the bungee and slammed it on her head before looking around and then upward for a fire escape. Finding one, and without pulling the ladder down, she jumped high, gripping the bar tightly while pulling herself up to the first rung and flipping her legs over her head and through the bars. Acrobatically, she then pulled herself toward her feet, flipping over the railing and climbing five stories until she found a broken window with an opening big enough to climb through. She ducked inside the empty office building.
Chapter 3
Memories
“Mommy, why my hair is brown and yours is yellow?” the small child, Romia, asked her mother. She had lightly tugged at the ends of it that hung long down her back.
Her mother responded, smiling down at her while picking the healthier box of cereal off the top rack of the shelf. “My hair is yellow because the sun made it that way.”
“Will the sun do that to my hair one day?”
Bending down, she kissed her on the cheek. “The sun will never need to. You are safe as you are. You are blessed and safe as you,” she added. “But if you ever feel as though you are not safe, you will simply ask the sun to make your hair yellow, and your eyes blue”—she bent down close to Romia’s ear—“when they are actually green.”
Romia thought about those words all day. She was a deep-thinking child who was affected by every word from her mother’s lips. Each word touched her deeply and lessons taught would never be forgotten—stored deeply, true—but never forgotten. Her mother laughed after speaking to her in the riddle-like fashion. She often spoke that way to her. Thinking back on her, Romia sometimes wondered if perhaps English wasn’t her first language, although she would be hard-pressed to figure out what other language her mother could have spoken, considering English was the only language she heard from her.
“Let’s see if Mrs. Thurston is ready to leave the store,” she said, moving her basket toward another aisle. They often shopped with the older woman who lived next door. Romia had come to view that woman as a grandmother. When her mother died, she wasn’t surprised to find her being one of the women helping to pack up her mother’s things. She was surprised to find that she wasn’t going to be living with her, but thinking back now, surely the woman was too old to care for a child her age. Even then she had to be around fifty.
Suddenly, her mother stopped as if frozen in time. She stared off into space and then spun on her heels, causing Romia to look in the same direction. At the end of the aisle stood a tall, dark, mysterious-looking man who was not even looking their way, yet her mother became instantly fearful. Romia could sense her feelings through her hand that tightly grasped her own.
“Sweetheart,” she said calmly in Romia’s ear after lifting her onto her hip, “we’ll wait in the car for Mrs. Thurston, okay?”
Romia looked at the groceries. “But what about—”
“Never mind that,” she answered, moving her quickly through the next aisle and out of the store. She continually looked back toward the door of the store until they reached the car.
“You were taking awhile. I got finished and came out to the car,” Mrs. Thurston said, smiling all the while.
“Wonderful,” her mother snapped quickly, unlocking the door for Mrs. Thurston to get in.
“Where is your fo—” Mrs. Thurston began to ask before Romia’s mother all but shoved her into the car.
She opened the back door and hoisted Romia inside. “Put on your seatbelt, sweetheart,” she said, sounding nearly out of breath, still glancing back at the store.
Romia obeyed.
They rushed home. Romia remembered her mother pacing most of the evening, yet breaking into a bright smile every time their eyes met. “I love you with more than all my heart,” she said.
This was but one strange memory Romia had of her mother. Some would come and go quickly, oddly. But this one would play over and over, the same way each time.
Chapter 4
Almost instantly, the light beams shone around the room and Romia could hear voices floating up from down below. “If she’s on foot we’ll never find her,” someone said. The sounds of sirens poured into the alley; there were at least four squad cars.
“I know, have you ever clocked her? She’s fast. I trained with her once and she was amazing. She—”
“Quit talking about her like she’s a superwoman,” another office said.
“I’m just sayin’…we’re not going to find her.”
Romia moved close in to the wall as the light flew across the room. “This is crazy,” someone admitted. “Did she really kill somebody?”
“Anybody see anything?”
“Who was the victim?”
“I hear it was another cop.” The voices continued until finally the sounds grew muffled and distant.
“Romia killed a cop?” The voices sounded like a crowd growing as the officers below scoured the alleyway. Without the ladder being lowered, they would be hard-pressed to assume she was in one of the buildings. Even if they reasoned on it, it would take a psychic to figure out she was in this particular building—unless she made a sound, which she couldn’t do now if she tried.
Finally, and suddenly, they were gone.
Stiff with mortification and shock, Romia didn’t move for what felt like hours. Standing in the darkness still wearing her helmet, she felt sick, nausea forming deep in the pit of her belly until finally, as if awakening from a half sleep, she slowly removed the helmet and set it quietly on the floor—afraid to make a peep. I’ll be okay here for the night, I guess, she thought, her eyes adjusting to the dark room lightened only by the reflection off the liquor store across street. Its neon sign showed bright down the alleyway as the night began to come alive. It was always that way in the Palemos at night.
Normally, Romia would walk the streets unbothered by the elements. She was fearless—especially when working a beat. She was a plainclothes cop, although most people knew her, so working undercover was generally a waste of time. Besides, a reputation like hers traveled fast. She was tough, but trustworthy. She had a lot of friends on the street. Tonight, she was counting on that, because tomorrow she needed to get some answers and get them quick before her brothers in the law came after her again.
Romia thought about Keliegh and what he must have gone through having interfered the way he had, allowing her to escape arrest. She needed to get a hold of him, but surely he was either detained or being watched. Maybe Tamika. Exhausted, Romia couldn’t even finish the thought. She sat on the dirty floor, burying her face in her hands. Closing her eyes, mentally spent, she leaned her head back against the wall until soon she dozed off, jerking fitfully every few moments.
Suddenly, she jerked fully awake. The presence of the shadowy figure brought her to full alert…That, plus the gun pressing against her forehead. “I can’t believe you’re asleep,” the shadow said, chuckling wickedly with a hint of disappointment in his tone. “I’ve been holding this here for at least a minute. I could have killed you ten times.”
“Once would be plenty,” Romia answered, bringing her leg up between the shadows legs with lightening speed, but he was faster, blocking her. She slapped the gun away only to catch a blow to the head from the opposite hand. Unfazed, she knew the hit had been pulled back. It was as if the shadow was sparring with her and had no plans to kill her. With the agility and speed of a puma, she jumped to a crouching position, blocking quick-coming blows until she maneuvered herself out of the