Page 21 of Night Justice

Thankful for the dimmed lights and crowd of people, she spotted a server and grabbed a glass of champagne before downing it.

“It was that bad?”

It took all her self-control to keep her composure and not spit her drink everywhere. When she turned, the pink-haired elegant lady was rubbing elbows with her and looked at her with amusement in her eyes. “Unless I’m wrong and you’re the kind of girl who orgasms on command, then this is a celebratory drink.”

Orla blinked, unable to decide between laughter and outrage. Laughter won. “Nothing happened, so it’s more of a drink to celebrate my frustration and hope it fades. I don’t know what I was thinking. My head isn’t in the right place, I guess.”

Her new companion smiled. “Yeah, I know the feeling. I haven’t had a steady play partner for a while now and I’m just glad some of my toys plug directly into the wall or I’d be spending a fortune on batteries.”

Orla let out a booming laugh. As she scanned the crowd, her eyes went to the pink-haired lady’s companion, Sam, chatting with two men. As if sensing her gaze, his head turned, and they locked eyes. Again, his green eyes acted as a sudden punch in her chest. “If that’s the case, your companion should do something about it.”

“Oh, the man you are ogling? We’re not an item. I came with him as a favor. The poor guy couldn’t stand to come alone. I’m Sloane, by the way. Sam and I both work for Noctem Consulting. It’s more a work date than an actual date.”

Orla would’ve been offended by the remark if she didn’t know it was partly true.

“Oh, honey. If you were completely obvious when you were dancing with him moments ago, I’d be making advances on you now.”

It took a moment for Orla to reroute her thoughts, so she understood what Sloane was saying. “I’m flattered, but after a few attempts in college, I came to the conclusion cocks are my thing, even if men can be real dicks sometimes.”

This time, it was Sloane who chuckled. “I like you. College is indeed the place to experiment, and I have to confess I’m the type of woman who falls for a mind first, and not a set of genitals. And I would’ve gone for Sam if he wasn’t a work colleague, but that goes against my principles.”

Said man was shaking hands with the men he’d been talking to and turned to make his way through the crowd in their direction when a loud boom caused the glass in the venue rattle until it exploded inward, showering the crowd with shards of glass.

Instinctively, Orla, like everyone inside, dropped down at the sound of gunfire. When she peeked up, the only people she saw moving were the security personnel. From their number, and how they were divided, she supposed their only focus was to protect Mr. Black and Mr. White—whoever he was—which meant everyone else had to fend for themselves.

Sloane crawled closer to her and hitched up her skirt up to reveal a gun strapped to her thigh. “You okay? Take cover and get out of here.” Was she a bodyguard too?

Orla saw men dressed in black making their way inside. Masked and heavily armed, their appearance didn’t bode well, and the crowd sensed it as well, as everyone scattered, their yells and screams deafening.

She heard a man screaming her name and was unable to pinpoint his location or identity. Scrambling back toward the wall, ignoring the glass biting into her palms and knees, Orla saw Sloane firing. It was almost surreal when her handsome companion, Sam, did the same. From the corner of her eye, she saw Damon making his way to the other side of the room, guns also blazing. He looked at her, but there was no way she could reach him. Bullets hit moving bodies, and it felt like a bad action movie. The attackers were all masked, and even though she didn’t know their motive or intent, they had no problem killing anyone that got in their way.

Quickly ditching her high heels, Orla watched as the masked men advanced toward Mr. Black, who had retreated with his bodyguards behind the bar. She heard a man shout as he was taken away kicking and screaming by the criminals. For the briefest of glimpses, Orla recognized Mr. Black. There were people lying down and blood on the floor. In the distance, she could see people running, disappearing through the trees. The police would be here soon, and the situation would inevitably turn into a standoff.

Eyes on the attackers, she tried to remain as invisible as possible as gunfire sounded around her, making her way behind the doors to the kitchen.

Her vision blurred then, the panic she’d kept at bay returning full force along with her PTSD symptoms. Her brain knew she had to remain sharp, to keep going, but her body wanted to dissolve into a puddle of fear. The noise outside the door was becoming deafening, reminding her she was far from safe, and that was what finally forced her to get up and move.

There was nobody in the kitchen; the staff had probably scattered as soon as the gunfight started. She passed the door where she’d left Damon earlier, knowing it was a dead end.

When she saw an exit sign as she turned a corner, she almost collapsed again. She was about to push the door open when an insistent buzzing caught her attention. It came from a door marked private. When it didn’t stop, she pushed the door open to investigate. She needed to make sure no one was injured inside and needed help.

The room was small and looked more like a storage area than an office despite the desk and file cabinet in the corner. A couple of coats were tossed on top of the desk, but she couldn’t locate the source of the sound before it stopped. She pulled at one of the woolen coats and a phone fell to the floor. She picked it up noting it was set to silent—the sound she’d heard must have been the phone vibrating against the desk. Thinking it might come in handy as she’d left her clutch in the main room, she put it in her pocket. She was ready to run when she noticed a black metallic briefcase. Again, it didn’t look cheap, and Orla wondered if it belonged to Black or White.

Common sense told her to leave it behind, but the reporter in her told her she’d regret it if she did, that whatever it contained was important. She warred with herself for several seconds. Taking something that didn’t belong to her went against the grain, but with everything that had happened in the last several minutes, it could be the clue she was looking for. It could also hold the key to why the masked men had wanted Mr. Black. Finally making a decision, she, she picked it up and sprinted outside.

The frosty grass beneath her feet felt like spikes, but she didn’t slow. She had to reach the line of trees first, get out of the open as quickly as possible. The noise dimmed in the background, slowly replaced by the increasing murmur of the city and distant police sirens. It was inevitable that one of the escapees would have the good sense to call the cops, although she suspected the majority of them would’ve rather kept the entire incident silent due to their less than stellar backgrounds.

Instead of running toward the main bridge heading directly downtown, and where most of the police would come from, she followed the Lakefront Trail along the water toward Saint Joseph Hospital. At this time of night, the chance of being noticed was slim, especially with the firefight continuing behind her.

The more she ran, the more certain she was she hadn’t been followed. Where was Damon? Was he okay? And that woman, Sloane? And Sam? Compared to the attackers, those three had the best chance of survival in her opinion. Had she been the only who hadn’t brought a gun to this shindig?

After a few minutes, her lungs on fire and with the increasing certainty she was alone, Orla arrived where the trail met Lake Shore Drive. She could’ve followed the main road, but instead decided to use the path that went under the overpass alongside the canal, staying out of sight as much as possible. Her feet were numb from walking on the cold asphalt, but it didn’t matter. The only safe place was her apartment, and once she’d made it through the tunnel, she’d be able to call a cab. Concealed under the overpass, she stopped for a minute to catch her breath and remove her wig and shiny dress before stuffing them into a trash can. She donned the coat over her underwear and buttoned it, thankful for the warmth it offered. Grabbing the briefcase, she saw a shadowy figure blocking her route to safety. She paused mid-stride and looked around, unsure which direction held the greatest threat.

The man looked large, and in the darkness, Orla couldn’t see his expression. The space wasn’t wide so sprinting around him wasn’t an option.

Her body was at the end of its adrenaline reserve, and she knew it would shut down on her soon. She needed to get out of there, get in a cab and go home where she could crumble in safety and privacy.

Her hand tightening on the handle of the briefcase, she was ready to defend herself as she confronted the man who didn’t move. “Get out of my way.” Glad her voice was loud and steady, she waited for him to respond, but he remained silent and her heart rate spiked.

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