Page 5 of Shielded Secrets

That wasn’t true. I felt like I needed to be able to check in on the petite blonde I hadn’t forgotten. Kelly Garnet wouldn’t leave my mind, and I knew it would be absolute hell to miss out on the chance to stop in on campus for limited surveillance and spying there.

I smiled, hoping I could figure out how to avoid bed rest or the idleness of recovery. With a dismissive shrug, only lifting my good arm that wasn’t still bandaged from the surgery, I resolved to return to her sooner rather than later.

A couple of days.That was all I’d allow to recover from this gunshot wound.

Because I’d be damned if I had to lose all the remaining opportunities to see the woman I hated to leave behind.

3

KELLY

If I could make it until Wednesday, this hellish week would be over. The hardest days—and nights—were when it all overlapped with little time to spare. From classes to labs then back to lectures, I was expected to be present. After all the reading and studying, then working at the admin building, and then wrapping it all up at the bar where I mostly bussed tables and acted as a dishwasher. They hired me to tend the bar, which was the only vacancy for work they had at the moment, but I liked running the dishwasher and just picking up dirty stuff instead. Other girls on the staff browbeat me away from being an actual bartender because they wantedallthe tips.

I was fine with that. It gave me less of a chance of having to speak with strangers. Just me and the noisy, huge dishwasher in the back. And that was fine with me. Sure, I had to walk around the crowd and pick up glasses and whatnot, but that didn’t mean I had to actually talk to anyone.

Wednesdays were always the hardest. After a full day of classes, homework, and the student aide job, I was pooped by the time I got to the bar.

Tonight was no exception.

“Kelly!” The bartender slapped the counter and shot me a dirty look. “I thought you were bringing me more glasses!”

Nodding, I hurried toward the back to get that rack and also drop off more dirty stuff on my tray. I took the corner too fast, though, almost colliding with another bartender bringing a case of beer out.

“Hey! Watch it.”

I sighed, rushing around him and trying to keep up with the fast-paced demands. Being shouted at and ordered around didn’t faze me anymore. And I wasn’t inclined to speak up or tell them to cool it.

By the time my shift was over, though, I sat on the stool next to the rattling and steaming dishwasher and flexed my feet. These shoes were too tight, and I swore I’d work myself down to the bone if I kept up this rate of working and hurrying around.

“Oh, I can’t wait to get home and sleep,” I muttered, waiting for this last run of the dishwasher to clear.

“What?” A bartender walked by my station. She raised her brows, catching my complaint. “Did you actually say something?”

I’m not a mute.I’d only said something because I thought I was alone, though, so I didn’t reply to her. Turning around and giving her my back, I gave her the cues to back off.

Before I was drugged and knocked out, I wasn’tthisantisocial. I didn’t have the best or most stable background. My childhood was one rough experience after another. And those weren’t excuses for why I strictly minded my own business now.

It was because of how I’d almost become a number. A statistic. One among many other girls who’d been drugged and/or raped on campus. Something about that day changed me, and I wasn’t sure how to snap out of this collective fear of, well, everyone.

At last, I was given permission to leave. The manager was a jerk, but even he couldn’t find something to keep me here for longer.

I trudged out of the bar, glad the rain had stopped. While I would be dry walking to my apartment, the recent precipitation had iced over and left a slippery surface on all the paths. That was why I moved slowly and cautiously, my arms loose and out in front of me as I went.

It didn’t matter how tired I was, I still wanted to hurry to the relative safety that I could enjoy in the teeny studio apartment I’d managed to snag. Warring against the need to pick up the pace and the warning to not slip, I grew more frustrated on the walk home. I was tired of these freezing cold nights. I was exhausted from the long days and nights of all my responsibilities overlapping. And I was so overwhelmed with the oppressive loneliness that filled my heart, mind, and soul.

Out here in the dark with minimal street lamps lighting the way, I felt so terribly isolated. No one else was stuck walking. Cars zoomed by with the smart people driving to wherever they needed to go. Even the damp chill in the air got to me, somehow freezing me further and making this nighttime trek darker, icier, and more forlorn.

Until I heard sounds that indicated I wasn’t alone. Not at all. Too focused on looking down at where I placed my feet, I missed the commotion up ahead. Toward the side, between two short buildings, two people struggled. The faint shapes of arms andlegs moving clued me in to a fight. Grunts and thuds of flesh hitting flesh reached my ears.

Now that I’d noticed them, I hoped to steer clear of the scrimmage and avoid any possibility of involvement. It was too soon, too close to the trauma I’d faced for me to want to be anywhere near them.

“Fucker,” one man said as he pulled out a knife. The blade glinted under the red exit light anchored over a door there in the alley.

Oh, shit.

I froze, skidding to a stop as I paused on the path.

I knew that voice. I recalled that harsh tone.

---