Today has been the absolute worst day of my life. Well, aside from the day I lost both my parents in a house fire when I was six. Not that I remember any of that night, nor much of my childhood before I arrived at my foster home twenty—one years ago.

This morning started with me spilling a cup of scalding hot coffee down the front of my only clean uniform, which meant I had to wear the grubby one I’d worn the night before and hadn’t yet washed. Made me feel as though I smelled of greasy hamburgers and girl funk all day.

Then, my on—again, off—again boyfriend, if I could even really call him that, broke it off with me during my lunch break. I could hear the voice of a giggling woman in the background. His latest conquest or ten. I’d thought he might have been cheating on me, but for some reason I had hoped there was more to our relationship. Perhaps it was because I was tired of playing the field. And in all honesty, the sex was awesome. No complaints there. Now I wondered if it was because he was sleeping with every woman who hit on him at work that he was so good in the sack. Another downside was that I’d be seeing Trey at work tomorrow night. And of course, he’d be all smiles and how do you do’s, playing me, while playing the field.

Grinding my teeth, I stared out through my windshield to the open, dark road and remembered what my jerkface boss at the diner I waitressed at said to me a half hour ago, prompting my bad day to become epically worse.

“You know, Simone, if you’d just be a good girl and give me what I want, I can easily ensure you a fifty—cent raise on your next check. And there will be more where that came from.”

Of course, this was after he’d done a little grab ass, going under the stupid pale pink uniform skirt they made us wear. When I turned around and slapped him across his smarmy face, he claimed he was going to complain to the owner that I was the one harassing him sexually, when it was the complete opposite. That slimy freak hit on anything that moved, making not only the other waitresses uncomfortable, but even going so far as to bother the female customers. Ones who coincidentally never came back for a repeat performance.

After I slapped him, I took off my apron, tossed it in his shocked face, and screamed, “I quit!” At least that’d felt good.

At the time.

Now I was down yet another crummy—paying job, but I needed the money. I couldn’t pay for the business classes I was taking online at the community college if I didn’t have money for the tuition. The money I made bartending was my primary source of income where every penny I made went to rent, bills, and gas. On Sundays I helped the local florist Mama Kerri was best friends with for some quick cash under the table, but it wasn’t going to keep me doing anything but treading water. And living on the outskirts of Chicago in a safe neighborhood with great access to the city was not cheap. I’d get a roommate, but I already lived in a one—bedroom shoebox. If I did that, I’d be living on my own couch. The waitressing job I just quit brought in the money I needed for tuition and food. A lot of times I took home wrong orders or extras the cook set aside for me. I had three jobs and still could barely afford the crummy life I’d built for myself, but I wanted more. Hoped for more. Worked hard to achieve more.

I sighed heavily into the stale interior as I drove. More than anything, I wanted to live. To have a life where I could walk into a store one day and buy an outfit and not worry about what bill I wasn’t going to pay in its place. Maybe go out to dinner once in a while. Stop mooching off my foster mom and my sisters by way of free food and clothes. To this day I still took my laundry over to Mama Kerri’s, so I didn’t have to use up my hard—earned tips on quarters at the laundromat.

“I am so lame,” I grumbled. Not that anyone one could hear me. The radio in my car didn’t work and I couldn’t afford to fix it or get a fancy new CD player. One day, though, when I had my degree in business administration and could finally make something of myself, I’d get a shiny new car. One that didn’t require ten Hail Marys and five Our Fathers in order to get it started every morning.

Seeing a gas station up ahead, I hit my blinker and drove my hand—me—down, four—door, fifteen—year—old Honda Civic up to a pump.

Digging through my purse I found a crumpled up twenty—dollar bill. “Woo hoo!” I did a little chair dance as I opened my wallet and grabbed the two fivers I’d received from a couple of nice people who had tipped me more than expected this evening. Thirty whole bucks on gas…AMEN!

Knowing I didn’t have enough in my bank account to use my card, I dashed into the store, waited my turn in line, and spent my last thirty bucks on gas for my car.

“Thanks, brother.” I waved and headed outside.

While my gas was pumping, I pulled out my phone and scanned the texts.

From: Sonia

I have a dinner in the city next month. Want to be my plus one?

I cringed as I read the message again, thinking of a way I could get out of it. I definitely didn’t want to get all dolled—up prim and proper to go to another one of my sister’s boring political dinners. Sonia was my only living blood relative and also happened to be a state Senator. Yep. The real deal. She managed hundreds of people and an entire state and has been doing so for the last four years. Youngest Senator there ever was. And here I couldn’t even hold down a job at a crummy diner that paid minimum wage.

Skipping over her message I reviewed the next from my foster sister Addison, Addy for short.

From: Addison

Will be in town this weekend. Coming back from a photoshoot with Blessing. She’s down to hook up too. Let’s party!

Now that sounded like fun. Hitting the clubs with two of my foster sisters was exactly what I needed to lift my mood. With fast fingers I responded with a Hell, yeah, and moved on to the next message. Trey. Ugh.

From: Trey

Hey babe. Sorry about earlier. Still friends?

I rolled my eyes and snarled under my breath, ignoring

his text too. God, I hated men like him. They broke your heart but wanted to stay friends? What was that? Then again, it’s not as if I was crying in my ergonomic tennis shoes over our breakup either. The kind thing to do would have been to let him off the hook. After the day I’d had, I was not interested in doing the kind thing, or even the right thing. I was going to let him stew in his crap a little longer, because in truth, the punk ass deserved it.

Making that decision had me feeling a bit more upbeat about everything. Not much, but a little.

The pump clicked that it was done refueling. I replaced the pump, grabbed my receipt, closed the gas cap, and moseyed into my car. As I turned around and got into my seat, I saw the cashier waving both his arms in the air. Weird. I squinted and noted he was making a “come here” gesture.

Whatever it was, I did not have the time to deal with it. So instead I waved wildly and smiled, slammed my door, and motored off into the night toward home. I needed sleep, tequila, and the other half of a burrito I saved from my Chipotle run yesterday.

Mmm. I could already taste the meat, rice, and bean—filled goodness that would hit my belly soon. A little squirt of lime, maybe some sour cream…heaven. My stomach growled and I pressed harder on the gas.

I got about ten minutes away from home, and a good five miles from the gas station I’d just left when suddenly sirens started blaring. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw red and blue lights flashing behind me. Unfortunately, the car was focused on me and not trying to go around.

Dammit to hell in a handbasket!

What next?

I inhaled full and deep as the tears started pricking the back of my eyes. I could not afford a speeding ticket.

Please, Lord, let him give me a verbal warning. Please, please, please. If you do, I’ll go to that stupid dinner with Sonia and take one for the sisterhood.

Careful as could be, I hit my blinker and shifted over to the side of the road. The area was a bit creepy and located in the industrial part of town where not a lot of people spent time when it wasn’t daylight hours.

Doing my best to keep calm, I employed the yoga breathing technique Mama Kerri taught me. Through the years our foster mom taught us weekly yoga, all eight of us “sisters” in a circle of unity as she called it, breathing and holding hands.

The tears still fell as I rolled down my window and checked my side mirror.

A tall, dark, male form was silhouetted by the single red and blue flashing light. The kind you see on an unmarked cop car. The man approached slowly. He had his gun out and down at his side. He was wearing dark slacks and a sportscoat but that was about all I could see. My entire focus was on the gun hanging at his side.

Were they supposed to have their guns out for a routine traffic stop? And why wasn’t he in a cruiser? Why was he in a suit and not a uniform?

Oh my god! Did he think I was a criminal? I mean the car used to be in Sonia’s name, but she gave it to me when she traded up. For a few seconds I filtered through tons of memories trying to figure out if her name was still on the car or my own. No, it was me. I paid the registration fee this year. Yeah. I nodded to myself as the officer got closer. “Ma’am, hands to the steering wheel,” a low and very deep voice demanded.

Shoot. I knew that. Everyone did nowadays.

I placed my shaking hands on the wheel and turned my head to the side and out the window a bit.

“I’m sorry, Officer. I mean…”

“Ma’am, please step out of the vehicle.” His voice was direct and brooked no argument.

“Um, why? I didn’t even know I was speeding. I swear. I have a lot on my mind and I just got fired from my job… well technically, I quit because my boss was harassing me and grabbed my butt and…”

“Ma’am. Now. Out of the vehicle,” his request came again.

“But? Why? I—I…is this normal?” My voice cracked.

“I have reason to believe you stole this car and are carrying illegal paraphernalia in it. Please, do as I ask and get out of the vehicle. Keep your hands visible at all times. Do not reach for anything inside the car.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought I might have a heart attack.

Drugs. Stolen car.

What the heck was happening?

“Officer…” I glanced down at the shiny gold badge clipped to his belt, but it didn’t look like the normal badge a regular cop wore. The letters F—B—I glinted off the headlights from his car. “Really, this is a mistake. I am the rightful owner of this car and I don’t have drugs, nor have I ever done them.” I moved my right arm out toward the glove compartment. “I can show you my registration and…”

“Out. Of. The. Vehicle.” He ground the command out. “Okay, okay. Um, I have to unlatch my seat belt.”

“Do it. Then hands up.”

I did as he said, trying the latch twice before I could get it to release. As he required, I put my hands up into the air, reached for the latch, and pushed the door open. It squeaked so loud I shivered at the sound; all of the doors made that sound. It had been doing that for a full year and I didn’t know how to make it stop. Trey, my useless no—longer boyfriend, didn’t even try to fix it. No—good loser. Another in the con column that was Trey Barker.

My hands continued to shake, and tears fell down my cheeks as I stood with my hands up. “Close the door,” he demanded.

I did as he asked and squinted against the light.

“Now follow me. One foot in front of the other,” he instructed as though he were speaking to a child.

“Are you arresting me?” A deluge of tears fell down my cheeks as my chest constricted and my stomach plummeted.

“Ma’am just follow me. Closer.” He waved his non—guntoting hand as he walked backward.

“I don’t understand. This is so crazy. I didn’t do anything wrong. I swear! It’s my car and I don’t have drugs. You can check it.”

“And I will, when you’re safely sitting in my car.” “Oh my God! You’re arresting me!” That’s when I lost it.

I punched my hands into my hair, tugging on the long, beachy golden waves until they were hanging off my now heated neck.

“This is unbelievable! The absolute worst day of my entire life. And my parents died in a fire! At the same time!

And I had to go to foster care with my sister. And this day, oh my God. Sonia! My sister…no, Officer, you cannot arrest me. You do not understand what this will do to my sister. She’s the…”

“Ma’am! Get over here now!” The officer grated through a super scary rumble pushing me into immediate action.

When I got closer, he latched onto my wrist and tugged me close to his body. My chest slammed against his and I placed my hands to his muscular biceps. I stared up into the darkest set of eyes I’d ever seen. Like a black cup of coffee, yet with little golden—brown flecks at the center. His skin was an olive tone, his jaw cut square, framed by cheekbones that were sharp slashes as though chiseled into fine marble. He had dark brown hair that was longer on top and shorter at the sides. If I had to guess, I’d put him in the dark Italian stallion category or Greek god.

He was beautiful.

One of his hands moved to my waist where he squeezed, and he dipped his head so close to my ear I could feel his warm breath against my cheek. “We received a report that someone crawled into the back of a blonde woman’s red old—model four—door Honda Civic at a gas station. First two

letters of the license plate are A2.”

“W—what?”

“I need to check your car. Fast. If it’s not you, another woman could get hurt.”

“Oh my god! I did get gas.” I held onto his biceps so hard I may have left nail imprints.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” he murmured, and I closed my eyes, taking in his woodsy and fresh linens scent. It helped calm me instantly.

Until we both heard the familiar metal creaking sound against the quiet of the cool night.

I whirled around and saw a thin, tall man standing next to my car, a full ski mask covering most of his face aside from cutouts around the eyes and mouth.

Before I could do or say anything, I was grabbed around the waist and spun behind the cop as the guy in a mask lifted his arm, pointed a gun, and fired off two shots.

The officer took two to the chest as I screamed. He fell back against me as two more shots were fired. One must have whizzed past him because a blooming round of fire ripped through the side of my bicep on the arm that I’d placed around the officer to hold him up.

He fell backward and I went down with him.

I screeched in pain as I slammed into the asphalt, my hip smarting while taking the brunt of our combined weight. My hand scraped along the rough black surface, abrading the skin, but I didn’t care about that. As soon as we fell to the ground, I looked up to see the criminal slam the driver’s side door and take off in my car, tires squealing.

Focusing on the officer, I checked for a pulse and found a steady beat.

Okay, okay, okay. You can do this, Simone. I felt the officer’s cheeks and patted them a few times. “Wake up, wake up. Please. He’s gone! Wake up.”

Nothing happened. I stood up and looked around. There was no one to speak to and I couldn’t leave him lying in the road to get run over while I searched out help.

My phone was in my purse in the car that was now a getaway vehicle for a bad guy I did not want to think about.

I settled the officer on his side and rushed over to his vehicle. I saw something that looked like a laptop and panel of electronic things that I had absolutely no idea how to work. Except one item looked like a walkie talkie on a cord with a button like regular cops had. I picked it up and pressed the button.

“Help me. Help me, please. My name is Simone Wright—Kerrighan. The officer that pulled me over has been shot. Send help, please!” I said on a rush and let go of the button.

Instantly a female voice came through the car’s interior. “Ma’am, you’ve got dispatch. I’m sending a unit and an ambulance. Are you hurt?”

Which was when I realized my arm was blazing white hot fire, and blood was leaking down past my elbow. I lifted it to see how bad it was. There was a big, long gouge from the front to the back of my bicep like I’d been grazed or sliced, but it wasn’t a hole. Still it seemed pretty deep and there was an awful amount of blood.

I hissed and pushed the button and spoke. “Um, I might have been shot too in the arm but I’m okay. He’s breathing and I felt his pulse but he’s unconscious. I don’t know what to do!”

“You’re doing just fine. A unit is two minutes from your location.”

“Please hurry. The bad guy stole my car and got away.” The tears fell again, and my nose ran like a faucet. I lifted the skirt of my stupid diner outfit that already had crimson staining it and wiped my nose.

“Just tell the officer that arrives what happened, and we’ll take care of it.” The woman’s voice sent a layer of calm rushing through my system.

I dropped the walkie talkie thing when I saw the man’s leg move through the car window.

“Don’t move!” I hollered and jumped out of the car, rushing to his side. I bit back a curse as I fell to my knees on the raw asphalt and placed my hands to his cheeks. “You’re okay. Help is on the way. I called them.”

His eyes opened and closed several times as though he were waking from a long sleep.

“Where were you shot?” I looked at his chest but didn’t see any blood escaping from him.

“Vest,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

I frowned and then realized he was referring to one of those bulletproof vests. He must have been wearing it under his dress clothes.

“Yay!” I said stupidly and regretted it instantly.

His eyes squeezed together as though he were in great pain.

Off in the distance I could hear sirens approaching. “They’re almost here, just be still.”

“Where is he?” He coughed and winced.

“The bad guy? He took off in my car. We’re safe now.” I held onto his cheek and prayed he’d open his eyes and keep them open.

My prayer was granted a moment later when he opened his beautiful brown eyes. “Name?”

“I don’t know who he was! I swear!”

He closed his eyes for a moment and then gifted me a small, yet still pained, smile.

“Your name, gorgeous?”

I sucked in a harsh breath. God, I’m so stupid. “Simone.

My name is Simone.”

“Simone. Pretty. Agent Fontaine,” he murmured.

“Um, thank you,” I said, and the officer seemed to have

lost the battle with being able to keep his eyes open or to stay conscious for that matter as he passed out again.

The paramedics and cops descended en masse on us. I stayed close enough to see them cut through his dress shirt. Not one, not two, but three golden bullets wedged into the vest covering his broad chest.

They did a few medical things with a cuff, a pen light, a breathing mask, and then propped him up and put him on a stretcher.

“Can I go with him?” I asked needing to see him safe and sound after he’d thrown himself in front of a madman with a gun and saved my life.

“Honey, you need to be seen to as well. Yeah, you can come in the ambulance and I’ll get you bandaged too.” A short woman with a pair of glasses inspected my arm. “Gauze!” She held her hand out and her partner put a roll of white bandages into it. She promptly wrapped my bleeding arm. “Flesh wound. Just a graze. Still, you’ll need stitches. Though looks like you were lucky.”

No. I wasn’t lucky. That’s the last thing I’d ever been in my entire life.

“Is Agent Fontaine going to be okay?” I recalled the name he gave and realized he’d said Agent and not Officer.

“We’ll know more when we get him to the hospital. Looks to be okay. The vest did the job, but we don’t know what type of internal injuries might have occurred.”

I bit down on my bottom lip and followed her into the ambulance.

“Miss, we need to get your statement,” another burly officer holding out a notepad asked.

“Oh my god! Yes, you have to go after the guy that did this. He stole my car. My name is Simone Wright—Kerrighan and I drive a red Honda Civic. I’m sure you’ll find the details in the system.” I finished off by giving him my driver’s license number which I’d memorized.

“We’ll meet you at the hospital, ma’am, to get the rest of the details on what happened here. Get fixed up first. The information about your car will be very helpful. Thank you.”

I nodded and the cop shut me into the ambulance with my fallen savior.

Within moments we jetted off down the road. The paramedic had removed the agent’s vest and was feeling around his taught, muscular abdomen and chest.

I made sure I was close enough that I could hold onto the man’s hand as I closed my eyes and prayed that he’d be okay and that they’d find the man that did this.

When I was done, I opened my eyes to find him looking at me. His beautiful eyes focused directly on my face.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered and pressed the back of his hand to my cheek needing to feel his life source directly. “Thank you for saving my life,” I choked out, barely containing the emotions roaring through my system.

He didn’t say anything, just squeezed my hand and closed his eyes, a soft smile on his beautiful lips.