Last Stop - Chapter 1

¡Idiota, idiota, IDIOTA! Why did I ever listen to Jay? My breath came in ragged, hot, painful gasps, the rain beating on me like wet admonitions as I ran for all I was worth.

Hot tears burned my cheeks, branding me with each step. Never trust a single source. Check and double-check all facts. But I hadn't! So running half-blind in this crazy storm on blasted high heels was my reward. I grimaced as a painful stitch complained in my side.

Everyone in the group was well aware that doing jobs not approved by the boss might come with blowback. But Jay had sworn his source was legit and that Pierson would never find out.

He couldn't have been more wrong! The moment I'd spotted Pierson amongst the partygoers, we were screwed. We might still have gotten out of there, no harm, no foul, if not for that smug-faced pendejo, Bobby.

I rounded a corner, the water collecting on the sidewalk from the deluge splashing my legs with every hurried step. The stitch stabbing my side grew more painful, but I didn't dare slow down.

There were bigger things to worry about than that traitor. I flinched as thunder battled against the dampening sound of the rain, my fear spiking. Every shadow or noise might be a harbinger of doom. I had no way to know if those searching for me were ahead of me or behind me. But I was one hundred percent sure that being caught would mean "The End."

I shivered, soaked through, the oppressive rain having already chilled my skin numb. Whether I was being hidden or hampered by the weather, I couldn't tell. Not that it mattered.

Pierson's information network spread like a web to catch unwary morsels of intel and spin them together for later consumption. His greedy fingers plucked at all levels of Miami and beyond. If he didn't have information on something, he knew how to find people who did—like the VIP whose party we'd crashed.

My life was over—there was nowhere I could run, nowhere I could hide that he wouldn't find me. The certainty of that fact hung like chains off my body, trying to freeze me in place. But I kept running, even as my heart tripped and lurched inside my chest. I couldn't bear letting it end like this. All we'd ever wanted was a chance to be free!

Daniela la tonta. A fool was exactly what I was.

One of my useless high heels caught in a crack. I gasped, struggling to retain my balance as it almost sent me flying face-first onto the wet concrete.

Breathless, the stitch in my side now a burning brand of agony, I leaned against a rough brick building for a second. At least the bullet graze on my arm was now clean and only lightly throbbing thanks to the cold rain. That minor wound was but a taste of what would happen if I got captured. Pierson wasn't typically the violent sort—not unless you crossed him. And not only had we inadvertently hampered our boss in his dealings, but we had embarrassed him. Something he would never forgive.

Throat burning, hopelessness nipping at my heels, I pushed away from the rough wall to get moving again.

The distinctive flickering light and buzzing sound of a neon sign made me glance across the street through the falling curtain of water. Was someone still open at this time of night? The lights beckoned to me, and it surprised me how easily I could make out the words in the middle of this torrent. The warm, glowing letters spelled "Last Stop." I would have laughed at the irony, but I didn't have the breath or energy.

Last Stop—yes, if I stopped moving, it would be the final thing I ever did. Yet the sign promised somewhere dry and warm out of the downpour. But as I took a wobbling half-step in that direction, I hesitated. If the business was open, rather than it being a case of some underpaid kid who forgot to turn off the sign, I might put those inside in danger just by being there. I got myself into this mess, so why dig my hole any deeper by bringing strangers into it?

A lightning bolt struck a transformer with a resounding boom. Sparks went flying everywhere.

¡Ay bendito! I swallowed a startled scream, throwing my arms up in a useless attempt to protect my head. The pungent stench of ozone crowded all around. Florida was the state with the most lightning deaths a year, and I positively did not want to become part of that statistic. My odds of survival were already zero. So why make them even lower? Come on, Dani, get a move on!

Still shaky from the transformer explosion and with my ears still ringing, I steered well clear of the still falling sparks as I crossed the now darker street. Though everything else around the area looked to have lost power, blanketing the zone in darkness, the place across the way was still miraculously lit. The beckoning letters seemed to glow brighter, again promising safety, warmth, and, best of all, escape.

I had a vague idea of where I was despite my mad dash through the streets constantly looking over my shoulder to check for headlights or figures running in the dark. Yet I was sure I had never heard of this "Last Stop," which was odd. Pierson always kept us informed of all the venues opening in the area, as they might lead to new spots for the wire mob, our group of pickpockets, to ply our trade. Tourist traps were our bread and butter.

When I reached the safety of the shop's awning, I stared at the storefront, positive I had never seen it before. The entire façade was made of dark wood, with the entry door set to slide sideways rather than open in or out. The slats at the top third were interspersed with vertical strips of frosted glass. Well taken care of, but weathered and faded.

A two-foot statue of some kind of furred animal, sporting a white potbelly and wearing a straw hat, sat on the right side of the sliding door. The statue wore a gentle smile and had wide, dark eyes that gave the impression they saw everything—both the good and the bad—and that he'd gleefully tattle on you at the first opportunity.

By the door's opposite side sat a dark red lacquered umbrella stand. A couple of normal umbrellas were nestled in it, but there was also one made of bamboo and what had to be some kind of treated paper. Surprisingly, a typical red and white Help Wanted sign had been taped to the wall above the umbrella stand.

Not being pelted by the rain anymore felt great, but a sideways wind suddenly drove a blast of water beneath the awning. The cold, wet fingers of the rain reached for me, making me shiver. Turning, I realized that both ends of the storefront had lights tucked under the awning, though I hadn't noticed them before. Anyone glancing in this direction would easily spot me standing there. ¡Coño! I needed to decide this second whether to go in or not, assuming it wasn't too late already.

"Welcome. Welcome."

My gaze snapped up as my heart jumped in my chest at the unexpected voice. I spotted a crow, of all things, staring at me from one of the awning's struts where it sheltered from the rain. I knew that they could mimic human speech, but hearing it firsthand was eerie.

Snippets of music whispered out from inside the place, though I had heard nothing coming through until that moment—"Stay" by Rihanna. Goosebumps peppered my arms. The weird statue's happy stare now seemed more pointed, which was loco. Hoping I wasn't making a big mistake, I slid the door open just enough to slip inside.

Blessed warmth hugged me like a long-lost abuela. My eyes closed of their own volition as I wallowed in it. The song I'd made out only seconds ago was gone now. Had I imagined it?

"Goodness," said an unexpected and scratchy female voice on my right. "You look like an escapee from a disaster movie."

My eyes snapped open as fear ate me from the inside, robbing me of breath. I spotted an elderly woman coming my way. Tuning out like that would get me killed.

Then I gasped in surprise, catching the reflection of my face in a round-framed mirror hanging from a wooden column near the end of a U-shaped counter. My bouncy, wavy brown hair lay flat, plastered to my head like limp spaghetti. The eye and face makeup I had so carefully applied for the evening's event was smudged or washed away, while the cheap mascara had left black trails down my face. My eyes widened, and my lips twisted as I realized I resembled something out of a nightmare.

The short, curve-hugging wine-red tube dress that had looked so good on me when I felt my apartment was soaked through and darkened into a ruddy brown by the rain. The hem was askew and had ridden halfway up my thigh. A drowned rat would have looked better.

As it was, I was dripping water all over the polished wooden floor.

'Ida, be a dear and go fetch some towels for the poor thing.' The new voice was crisp and clear, but rang out all around me rather than coming from a specific direction.

"Okey dokey!" The elderly, slightly stooped woman shuffled away down the narrow hall on the right.

Forcing my gaze away from the nightmarish reflection in the mirror, I examined the odd place. The walls were a dark mustard stucco with reddish-brown wood used for the moldings, panels, sliding doors, and the U-shaped counter. Another umbrella stand was on the inside of the door, as well as a large coat rack with a built-in seat. Wooden, barrel-back stools ringed the counter, and I glimpsed low shelves on the inside of it, full of plates, glasses, and dispensers.

Narrow hallways ran on either side of the counter, but something that might be a kitchen lay recessed behind the U itself.

A dark blue partition curtain, hanging from the ceiling between columns and reaching only halfway to the floor, separated it off from the front. Five vertical slits that went from the bottom of the partition to almost the top split the stylized white-capped waves depicted on the dark cloth.

Everything was neat and clean, but it suffered from wear. The corners were smoother than the rest of the trim, and the colors were faded. An established, long-standing business, then. Which made no sense at all. My fingers twitched.

Though I had heard two distinct voices before the woman left, no one else was in the room—except for the largest cat I had ever seen. She lounged on a cushioned, wrap-around shelf set three feet from the ceiling. The feline had deep green, emerald eyes and a gorgeous white and silver coat. The fur around her collar was so long and thick it looked like a stole. Stretched out, she had to be at least three to four feet long.

She was a reina—a pampered queen overlooking her kingdom. But how was she so big?

An answer came to my unvoiced question. 'A Maine Coon. Surely you've heard of the breed before?'

I blinked, my gaze darting around, but no one was there. I still couldn't tell what direction the voice came from, which made no sense. Wiping roughly at the water still dripping over my face, I blinked a few more times. Had I hit my head while running away? Or had I been hit by lightning after all? Was I currently dying in a ditch and just didn't realize it? Because this chica would be totally loca if I even thought of considering that the explanation had come from the cat.

"Here we are!" The old woman shuffled back into the room with several fluffy, folded towels cradled in her arms. She wore a muted pink housedress, a full white apron, bobby socks, and, of all things, bunny slippers. Her white and gray-streaked hair was pulled back into a bun, and a foot-long unlit Churchwarden pipe hung from the side of her mouth. Her thin face and prominent Romanesque nose hinted at beauty lost to time—much like the entire place. Yellowed teeth from too much tobacco showed in a pleasant enough smile, though her light brown eyes seemed unfocused as she stared at me.

"Gracias." I took the offered towels, but kept my distance. Though I couldn't say why, there was something not quite right about the woman. Keeping half an eye on her, I used one of the towels to briskly dry my hair.

"I'm off to get a mop!" she said in a sing-song tone and did a quick little jig like a child. "Be right back. Don't go anywhere!" And off she went. La vieja might be a few cards short of a deck.

I checked that the sliding door was still closed as thunder boomed loudly outside, reminding me with a jolt that I couldn't let my guard down.

I quickly worked to dry the rest of me as best I could, stepping toward the corner and away from the vicinity of the door to stay out of direct line of sight if it opened again. If anyone came inside, I'd have a moment or two to throw a towel over their head and dash back outside in the ensuing confusion. I surreptitiously stared around the room some more—a skill I had some experience in.

The counter, the kitchen, and the rest made it clear that the place was a restaurant. But I saw no bill of fare board or an à la carte or du jour menu—nothing visible about what they served or how much it cost. I had seen menus without prices before—always a big hint that I couldn't afford to eat there—but I had never been in an eatery with nothing of any kind. It was super weird.

My skin prickled as a stab of nervousness turned my insides. Something about this place was off.

The curtain partition moved, and a twenty-something guy—close to my age—then came out with a tray holding a tall, black ceramic teacup painted with several stalks of leafy bamboo, like the kind you'd find in a Japanese restaurant. He was about my height, which was too bad for him since, even with the blasted heels, I was considered short. Being vertically challenged came from my Latina roots—Boricua girls mostly came in small packages—but he looked to be a mix of some kind.

He was lean and compact like someone from Japan, but his slightly slanted eyes were the dark gray of a Scandinavian's. His black hair was styled in a smart cut that needed a trim. His black-rimmed eyeglasses had round lenses and were larger than usual, but suited him. The chef's outfit he wore was also black and appeared pristine, unlike the rest of the shop.

In my line of business, you learned to be observant and take cues from prospective targets. I didn't know if it was the fact that I was living on borrowed time or had been too damn close to the lightning strike or what, but nothing in this place was adding up.

The chef set the cup on the counter, gave a half nod in my direction and another at the cat, then silently returned to the kitchen.

My eyebrows bunched together. The guy hadn't said a word, moving with an economy of movement and silence that felt surreal. But hot steam rose from the cup, and that was all I needed to know before deciding to take it and bring it back to the corner.

Holding the mug was an almost carnal experience as glorious heat spread into my way-too-cold hands. I took a sip and shivered with delight as the heat ran down my throat and started thawing me from the inside. Being cold was not my thing. Dios mío, the warmth felt so good. I hugged the cup to my numb face and then finally took another sip. The flavor had a weird zing to it, so it wasn't green tea, but at the moment, I didn't care what kind it might be. All that mattered was that it was hot.

"Got the mop!" The woman called Ida shuffled back into view. "Got the robe too, like you wanted, Beauty." She held up and shook the mop in one hand, and waved a shiny, red, half-kimono robe with white flowers with the other. The long, unlit pipe still hung precariously from her lip.

Ida draped the robe over the back of the stool nearest me before she half-tried to trip me as she started mopping the floor. My feet hurt from all the standing and running, so I quickly kicked off my ruined shoes, which dropped me six inches. Even slouching, Ida towered over me. I sidled away, dropping off my empty cup on the counter and snatching the robe to put it on, before returning to my corner. My hands and feet felt alive again, tingling as they warmed up, and my core heated back toward normal.

"I'm really sorry about the mess," I said to no one in particular. My heart had calmed a little, though the flesh-rending fear still lurked close at hand, ready to take a bite at the slightest provocation. I might be out of the rain and dry, but no way was I safe. "I realize this will sound a little crazy, but with that storm outside and the lack of customers, would you mind locking up and turning off your sign and most of the lights for a bit? You'd truly be helping me out."

Gurgling like a five-year-old with amusement, Ida shuffled over to the entryway, turned the lock, and flipped a switch on the wall. The strips of frosted glass on the door turned dark on the other side. A trickle of relief had started to settle in my stomach when the lights outside came on again.

Shocked, my head swiveled back to the old woman. She looked at me over her shoulder, her face full of childish delight, her hand still on the switch. She turned it off, paused for a second or two for effect, then switched it on again, giggling under her breath the entire time.

The crazy vieja wasn't missing a few cards; she was missing half the deck! Flickering the lights off and on would only draw even more attention from anyone passing by. What was she playing at?

A flush of panic made me suddenly dizzy, and I started to reach out to drag her away from the switch if I had to. This addled woman would get me killed!

Ida, enough!

Like the lights, the old woman's face fell. Her lip stuck out like a petulant child's, but her hand dropped away from the switch.

As much as I dreaded going back out into the rain, staying here would be a major mistake. I reached for my emergency cash, which I kept tucked inside my strapless bra. "Can I buy one of the umbrellas?"

And why did they have so many? There was no one here besides the old woman, the cook, and the cat. So where had all the umbrellas come from? Was it some kind of marketing gimmick to make the place look busy and draw in customers, or something more sinister? Might I have unknowingly stumbled into some sort of human trafficking ring? My gaze was drawn to the odd-tasting cup of tea on the counter.

These people could have slipped anything into my drink, and I'd be none the wiser until much too late. And I had played right into their hands! Dani, come on! What's the matter with you?

If they'd drugged me, I wasn't feeling the effects yet. Well, this chica would not go down without a fight! The kitchen would have knives, and I could easily trip up the cook if he got in my way. Surely there was a back way out from there to the alley.

Calm yourself. You are safe here. The giant cat leaped from the padded shelf to the counter and sat, all in one graceful move. Her too-bright, alien green eyes never left my face. 'If you wish to leave, we will not stop you.' The words didn't fall into my ears, which was why I hadn't known which direction they came from. Instead, they rang directly inside my head.

'But be aware that if you do, you'll be rushing straight into death's embrace.'

Loco or not, there was no longer any way for me to deny that the Maine Coon had been talking to me all along.