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who could help. He'd never make it down the stairs and to the car faster than Trent could
accelerate.
His nemesis' smile was pure evil. "Safe, for now. Unlike some other people I know."
A loud bang split that air, then fire burned through Noah's arm. His world collapsed in a
splintering of wood as he crashed through the railing, dropping twenty feet. He hit the metal
Dumpster lid with a resounding thud that knocked the wind out of him.
Ten years disappeared in a flash and he was lying, broken and bruised, on the hood of a car
outside a cheap hotel. The car's alarm wailed piteously as the curious stood by and watched. No
one lifted a hand to help. His panicked eyes rose, searching for the leering face of the john
laughing on the balcony, then frantically glanced down, expecting to see a partially severed leg
caught in the broken glass of the windshield.
The Angel of 13th Street - 89
"Good riddance, sucker!" Trent shouted, peeling tires as he sped away, bringing Noah out of his
daze. The iron bands unwound from his chest, letting him breathe again. Both legs were still
attached, and only a ruined landing stood above him. I'm Noah Everett, I'm thirty years old, and I
haven't just been thrown out of a window... he chanted like a mantra.
"Oh, my God!" Mary screamed. "Someone call nine-one-one!"
Boots pounded on pavement and suddenly Kevin's face came into view. "Where'd he get you?"
"Upper arm near my shoulder," Noah hissed through gritted teeth.
The beefy hands that so brutally wielded a meat mallet were surprisingly gentle as they peeled
Noah's jacket and shirt back. Kevin grunted. "Just a flesh wound. Can you stand?"
"What?" Mary cried, outraged. "You can't just move him!" Her face, from the nose up, appeared
from across the lid of the Dumpster. "I got his tag number."
"It doesn't matter," Kevin replied, in a commanding tone Noah had never heard before. "I'll bet a
dollar to a doughnut that car is stolen. We've got to move -- now! The guy in the car didn't have a
gun; our shooter's still out there." With that, he shoved his hands under Noah's arms, pulling him
off the Dumpster and helping him to the ground. Turning to look at the curious crowd of
spectators, he screamed, "Idiots! What part of 'our shooter's still out there' didn't you
understand?"
Scared faces turned toward each other, then bodies scattered.
"Get him inside," Kevin ordered, handing Noah over to Mary, who staggered beneath the weight
of Noah's arm. "I'm going after our perp." Pulling out a gun Noah didn't even know he had,
Kevin disappeared around the building.
Mary, eyes wide, didn't move. Noah ended up dragging her back into the now-deserted bar to the
sound of sirens wailing in the distance. "I didn't know he was cop; did you know he was a cop?"
Noah asked.
Snapping out of her trance, Mary replied, "Ex-cop. He was shot in the line of duty and lost his
nerve."
"Can't prove it by me," Noah said, impressed at the man's decisive actions. If this was how he
was burned out, Kevin had probably been one hell of an officer in his prime. Noah grabbed a
handful of paper towels and attempted to staunch the bleeding of his arm. It had already slowed
to a trickle.
Suddenly, realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Trent had Jeremy! The white car! Oh, shit!
"Mary, Jeremy's been taken. I can't stay and talk to the police. You give a statement; I've got
something I've got to do."
The Angel of 13th Street - 90
Ignoring the approaching sirens, Noah ran to his truck, hoping to make it to Ramsey Street
before it was too late -- if it wasn't already.
The Angel of 13th Street - 91
Chapter Twelve
"C'mon, c'mon!" Noah implored the gridlocked traffic, beating his hand helplessly against the
steering wheel. Adrenaline raced through his veins as he pictured what Jeremy could be suffering
right now at Trent's hands. He forced himself to shut out the images. He needed to focus on the
present, not get distracted by might-bes.
Either Trent had ignored orders, or Willie had changed them. Why?
The sun was setting and the snow was falling in earnest, blanketing everything in white and
playing havoc with rush-hour traffic. Noah willed himself to stay calm, knowing panic wouldn't
help Jeremy. Then he saw it -- the white car with the crumpled, blue-streaked fender at the other
end of the alley, just as gridlocked as he was. Two and two added up. It would mean a ticket, but
Noah didn't care. Barely taking the time to turn the truck off, he jumped out and took off on foot,
leaving the doors unlocked. Thieves were welcome to any of it. All he wanted was Jeremy back.
A few minutes ago, he'd been desperately praying for traffic to move; now, he prayed it wouldn't
as he tore down the alley after the white Chevy. His scarred leg screamed in protest. He cleared
the neck of the alley and hit a patch of ice, arms wind-milling for a split second before he fell
hard, knees and hands stinging from the impact. Fire shot through his injured arm. "Shit, shit,
shit, shit," he hissed through gritted teeth, willing the pain to end. Once it subsided to a tolerable
throbbing, he tried to stand on the slick sidewalk, watching helplessly when the light changed
and the car sped away. Clutching his injured bicep, he hobbled after the car as fast as he could. It
was hopeless -- there was no way to catch it before it disappeared again.
The white car stopped just a few feet later at another traffic light. Noah had never been so
grateful for rush hour in his life. As he ran, eyes locked on target, he saw the trunk lid easing up.
The headlights from the car behind reflected off a pair of glasses, and then a familiar, slim figure
climbed out, huddling against the side of the vehicle. When the car pulled away a moment later,
Jeremy shot to his feet, dodging and ducking across four lanes of traffic.
Noah changed directions, trying to intercept, when a yelling cab driver cut him off, laying on the
horn and blocking the way. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the man screamed. "Get
your ass outta the road!"
Wasting no time to answer, Noah slid around the cab, leaving a bloody hand print on the hood.
In those few short seconds, he'd lost sight of Jeremy again. Frantically, he searched the
storefronts, peering into windows, calling, "Jeremy!" That only caused a blue-haired old woman
to stare at him with frightened eyes. She probably thought he was a lunatic.
He was just about to backtrack to the truck for his cell phone when he caught a sudden
movement out of the corner of his eye, allowing just enough time to brace for impact.
***
The Angel of 13th Street - 92
Once the initial shock wore off, Jeremy had a chance to think and study his surroundings. He
was in the trunk of a car and, judging from the traffic noises and repeated stops, they were
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