No Going Back (Nora Watts #3) - Sheena Kamal Page 0,2

wound. A bullet struck him in the lung. Various complications have left him in critical condition. Nobody knows if he will make it, but the country seems invested in his recovery.

A young black man lost to senseless violence, says the host.

Far too good-looking to die so young, implies his cohost.

The authorities have apprehended two young gang members who, it is suspected, went to Nate’s house with the intention of killing another person. He was a casualty in someone else’s vendetta. They think the female singer on the hook and the second verse was the real target of the hit. It annoys me, but they’re right to speculate. She was the target. Nate Marlowe got in the way of a bullet meant for her heart.

I know this because the mystery woman on the record is me.

I check the urge to look behind me because the instinct is getting ridiculous now. It almost got my cavities inspected back at that station.

Toronto is an ugly city, I think, as we drive through it. Better-looking than Detroit, but it can’t compare in any way to Vancouver, which is the city where I parked my dog, Whisper. She’s in good hands, but they’re not mine, and I can feel her longing for me through the miles that separate us. I can’t wait to return to her, even going so far as to imagine our reunion and that silky patch of fur behind her ears.

What I don’t imagine is the reunion that I’m about to have with Bonnie.

My daughter.

Jesus.

Here goes.

2

A hitch in the plan. There’s a traffic jam in Toronto that’s put us behind schedule. What a surprise.

In addition to the existing afternoon parking lot that is the downtown core, apparently the British royals are in town, where the latest power couple allegedly fell in love. Folks have lost their minds, they’re so excited. Crowds gathering just for a glimpse of two people. Attractive people, but still. No amount of beauty is worth the crush of bodies on the street and the general lack of respect for personal space.

Finally, we arrive at the bus station. As I disembark, a group of elderly women walk by wearing the most garish little hats I’ve ever seen. Someone near me whispers that the hat monstrosities are called fascinators, but that’s just ridiculous. I don’t see a fascinating thing about them.

Distracting, yes.

It’s because of these women in the hats that I lose sight of the mother and her two children.

As I move through the station, I keep an eye out for the young family. For a moment, I think they’re gone, but then I see them up ahead. The mom pauses by the door to take a phone call as the crowd surges past them. The baby is in a carrier strapped to the front of her body, and the boy is holding her free hand. The pacifier slips from the baby’s mouth, and she lets go of the boy’s hand for a moment to put it back in.

It happens so quickly.

The boy moves away, and in a split second, he’s out the door. I sprint through those doors and see Toque Man, with his hood up now, pulling the boy across the street. There are so many people around. Now that I’m outside, I shout for help. For the man to stop. People turn and stare, look to where I’m pointing. A few of them catch on and start running toward the boy, too.

The man drops the boy’s hand and takes off. He turns a corner and is out of sight. I turn the corner, too, but see nothing but a throng of people in the way. I don’t know this city well enough to anticipate where he would have gone, so I head back.

When the first bystanders get to the child, he’s crying.

By this time, the mother is outside, too. She’s holding the baby and running toward her son. There’s a look of intense relief on her face, but even from a distance I can see she’s still frightened.

I watch as she’s reunited with her child, as some of the other bystanders try to explain to her what they saw. A couple of people remember that I’m the one who sounded the alarm and gesture toward me, but I move back, toward the edge of the crowd.

A jogger in skintight running gear is staring at me. “Aren’t you the one who—”

“No,” I say.

I’m not sure if she believes me, but thankfully she shrugs and turns back toward the