Page 3 of Keeping Astrid

Did I imagine it? Was I so scared that I imagined the whole thing?

Astrid immediately disregarded the thought. No way had she conjured it all up. Why else would the men have come pounding down the street and peeled away from the curb as though the hounds of hell were chasing them, if they hadn’t done something?

What if they come back?

A shudder rippled down her spine at the thought that she could be in danger staying where she was. Had she turned away quickly enough so the guy hadn’t been able to get that good of a look at her?

Wait. What about the man?

Maybe he was hurt. Someone who needed her help. Someone who could be saved.

Forcing her feet to move, despite the fear still pumping through her system, she headed toward where her vehicle sat. She approached the area with caution. Why wasn’t anyone standing out on the street?

Maybe they didn’t want to get involved. Or thought someone else was looking into it. Or guns going off in the neighborhood was a regular occurrence that they didn’t think anything of it.

The second she walked past the large brick wall of the building that abutted the parking lot, she saw him. Sprawled in the middle of a vacant bay, her car no more than thirty feet from where he lay. There were two other cars parked in the lot, but they’d been there when she arrived and their owners could be anywhere.

Dragging her phone out of her back pocket, her fingers shaking as she dialed 9-1-1, she approached the man, both of his arms splayed out to the side. He wasn’t moving, and even in the dim lighting, she could make out that his chest wasn’t rising or falling. How could it when there were two holes in the middle of it and the front of his shirt was stained red from the blood he was losing?

Her stomach turned, and she swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. If she hadn’t lost the contents of her stomach in her stinky hiding place, she wasn’t going to now.

Turning her back, she hit connect and waited for an operator to answer.

“9-1-1 what is your emergency?” The voice was polite and eased a little of the terror that had curdled within her at seeing the dead man.

“I-I-I.” Astrid swallowed and then cleared her throat. “I’d like to report a shooting. There’s a man dead in the parking lot in Skid Row, just past Fifty-Third Street.”

“Are you hurt?” The operator asked.

“No.”

“Okay, I’m dispatching a patrol car there now. Would you like me to remain on the line until they get there?”

What Astrid really wanted to do was get the hell out of there, but she couldn’t. The man wasn’t known to her, but she couldn’t leave him lying alone until the police came.

“It’s fine. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”

Astrid disconnected the call and rushed over to her car. Once in, she closed and locked the doors. Had she just made a too-stupid-to-live move, like so many people did in horror movies? Had she left herself wide open to being the next one shot?

For the second time that night, Astrid wished she were anywhere but where she was.

Chapter Two

Callum “Growler” Taylor adjusted the tie so it wasn’t choking him.

How the hell did anyone wear these things regularly?

At least it was only for the evening and he could go back to wearing jeans and a button-down shirt in the office—this time, at least.

He slipped on the jacket and rolled his shoulders. He was still getting used to wearing civilian clothes. The only time he ever wore a suit jacket was when he was in his dress whites for a formal occasion. Now those whites were hanging at the back of his closet, along with the fatigues he used to wear daily and when he went on a mission.

Would he get rid of them? Maybe. Maybe not. They represented a part of his life that shaped him into the man he was. There were good memories and bad memories associated with them. He had especially good ones the last couple of years when he was part of SEAL Team Tango. Those guys were like his family now, unlike any of the other men he’d served with. They’d created a unit and one he was grateful to have been part of. Being with Fort and the others had taken him in the direction he was now taking his life.

“And you’re going to be late if you don’t get your ass into gear,” he muttered as he tugged on the tie again.

He and Kyle “Ox” Matthews were headed to a concert to provide security for a country star who was doing a solo tour. The venue had asked them to help out, even though he had his own team of bodyguards. The performer was young but had hit the music scene with a big bang a year ago and was now capitalizing on that success. Rumor had it, he had plenty of underwear, panties, and boxers thrown at him on stage.

Yeah, he wouldn’t be doing that tonight. Not only was he on the job, but he couldn’t think of anything worse than throwing a pair of used underwear at someone. What did the guy do with it all?

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