Two dark silhouettes stepped out of a shadowy passage ahead. Seven inches of metal reflected the dim light of one of the few working street lamps. 

Cat shrugged and flexed her fingers. The side streets of Frangeles late at night were no place for a girl on her own. That was what Joaquin had always said, and Joaquin’s advice had usually been good.

But Joaquin was dead now, and Cat no longer cared. She wore shorts, boots, and a loose-fitting shirt. Her pockets contained a multicard, a lighter, and a lipstick she hadn’t used for years.

There was nothing to gain for the occasional street rat but trouble. Trouble everyone could easily have avoided—she by sticking to the main roads, them by staying out of her way.

The man with the blade stepped forward. “All you got, now!” 

Yeah, exactly. Cat’s foot kicked the knife from his hand. Two quick strikes took the air out of his lungs, and a sharp hit with the edge of her hand almost shattered the other thug’s lower jaw.

She assumed the playful tiger stance and waited.

Her opponents glanced at her, made up their minds, and hurried away. 

Once they had disappeared, Cat straightened herself and continued on her way.

Something made her pause before an old warehouse entrance.

The door stood invitingly ajar. She listened before she entered, but couldn’t hear anything. Her curiosity won.

The empty floor gave her no clue, either, so she slowly advanced along one side wall toward the rear end of the almost dark hall. A few cubicles there might once have served as office space, but now they were as deserted as the rest of the building.

Or that was what she initially assumed. Upon a closer look, the first cubicle wasn’t entirely empty. The floor was covered by a motionless body in a large puddle of fluid.

The man had to be dead. Nobody could still be alive with half of his throat torn out.

Cat didn’t give in to the upcoming feel of nausea but fought it down, refusing to add to the mess on the floor. She didn’t have to remember Joaquin’s advice in order to be cautious around a fresh victim.

The killer might still be close, hiding in a shadow or behind the next cubicle wall. Reflexively, she reached to her hip, where her gun holster used to be—in her former life.

She shook her head. No more.

Without a gun, it would be hard to fend off a determined killer. Her chances, if any, lay in close combat. So she decided to check out the next cubicle.

Empty.

The third and last one was empty, too, but with an open window. On its ledge she found a small drop of blood.

She couldn’t tell if it was the victim’s blood or the killer’s, but he had to have left this way.

Cat relaxed a little. Unless she dared to follow through that window, she should be safe, and she didn’t feel reckless enough for such a stunt. Not my business anymore.

Flashing red and blue lights tore the large hall from darkness and announced the arrival of those whose business it was.

Cat stepped out of the last cubicle and waited. There was no point in trying to leave now.

When the first torch found her, she closed her eyes against the light and slowly raised her hands.

“Freeze,” a dark male voice commanded.

She obeyed, waiting for the policeman to cross the hall.

When he arrived, his torch still pointing at her face, she said, “Please.”

He took the torch down, now highlighting her chest, and she opened her eyes and smiled at the handsome young man.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Catherine Mallory. I found that dead body in the first cubicle.”

He glanced sideways. “What dead body? Why didn’t you call the police?”

“That dead body with the ripped-out throat, and I didn’t call you because I don’t own a com.”

Now he shook his head. “Who doesn’t own a com?”

“I don’t. Now, please, may I put my arms down? As you can see, I’m unarmed and cooperating.”

He nodded. “Yeah, okay—you know you’re on private property?”

She put her arms down and shook them. “I know. The door stood ajar, and I—I don’t know if I heard something or what else it was, or just curiosity, but I had to check it out. Old habits, I fear.”

Now he grinned. “So you made visiting abandoned buildings a habit?”

“No. I made checking for looters a habit. Eleven years Metropolitan Police, six years homicide squad, Senior Detective until I quit.”

“Uh-oh-sorry, I didn’t know—”

“How should you? I have no badge anymore.” Before he could dig deeper, she said, “I didn’t enter the first cubicle. No need to contaminate the scene, okay? Why don’t you call the forensics now, officer?”

“Sure—uh—I’ll have to ask you to accompany us to the precinct later, for your report, if you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind. I’ve got no other appointments tonight.”