Page 8 of Hearts Of Darkness

With a shaking finger, I hit the green button before it rings out. Right away, my mom’s voice is filtering down the line.

“Hi, honey, did I wake you?”

“No, I was just chatting to—”

“Oh jeez, I’ve just seen the time.” She sounds weird and distracted.

“Mom, what is it?”

“I’m so sorry, Evie…” Her voice turns into a sob. “It’s Dad. There’s been an accident. I thought you should know.”

Shit, shit, shit.I fumble for the light switch, my heart pounding like a drum. I’ve been dreading this call for weeks. I’m the daughter of a DEA special agent, and the streets of Miami are a war zone right now. Two gangs are fighting over territory, and my dad and his team keep getting caught up in the crossfire.

The same evening that I was abducted, he was on duty about half a mile away. He was following a tip-off and lost two colleagues in the ensuing gun battle at a local nightclub.

Twenty-eight dead.

That number still shocks me.

Twenty-eight lives lost needlessly, twenty-eight lives destroyed, twenty-eight families wounded forevermore by the events of that night.

Up until three days ago, I’d been covering the story for my paper. Now, I can’t look at my laptop. I can’t concentrate. I barely eat. But outside, the war is raging on just as fiercely.

One family, the Garcias, are chancers and risk-takers—determined to gain power and notoriety by any means necessary. Their rivals are the Mendozas, with connections to the notorious Santiago Cartel from South America, who rule the southern states with an iron fist. The Santiagos are faceless strangers. Men who prize their anonymity above everything.

You could say I have a vested interest in all of this. I hate narcotics with every fiber of my being. I’ve seen what they do to people, what they did to my brother. I’ve been fighting my own private war against the illegal drugs trade in the US for years. Trying to expose the ringleaders and bring them down, one newspaper article at a time.

“What sort of accident?” I manage to croak. “Is Dad going to be okay?”

Mom stifles another sob.

Crap, it’s bad.

“He’s been shot, Evie. I’m at the hospital. They’ve just taken him down to the operating room.”

“Oh my God. I’m coming straight there. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

I hang up and dress in record time.

Not Dad. Not my wisecracking lion-hearted bear of a father who never misses a football game or the chance to tellhis only daughter how much he loves her.

This can’t be happening. I won’t let it. If I force my mind into a state of vacant limbo, I can ward off all the painful thoughts that are closing in on me.

I focus on zipping up my boots and grabbing my car keys and cell, and for the first time in three days my focus shifts to someone other thanhim.

I reachthe E.R. at around four a.m. Dawn is still evading the skyline above the big gray building in front of me. The temperature is cooler than I find comfortable. I pull my denim jacket tighter around my shoulders as I lock the car and hurry toward the entrance.

The sliding doors drift open as I approach. Inside, the lobby is a chaotic mix of people and gurneys, a discordance of noise and sharp unfamiliar odors. Twilight hours are never defined in a place where the sick and injured have no schedules.

A distant bell rings, and a young nurse pushes past me in the direction of the noise, her green eyes opaque with tiredness. The security guy surveys me wearily and jabs a finger toward the front desk. I slide my gaze away and take a step in that direction. The bright lights are forcing me to focus. My fears are threatening to consume me again.

Dad has to be ok...he has to be ok...he has to—

“Evie?”

I don’t recognize Mom at first. She’s a Southern Belle, the very definition of grace and composure, but tonight’s events have distorted those virtues. Worry isetched into the soft lines around her mouth and forehead, her eyes are red-rimmed, and her make-up is non-existent. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her in such a bad way.

“He’s out of surgery, Evie. He’s in recovery.”

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