After Midnight by Kathy Clark Page A

then walked the few blocks to the exact spot the agency had specified. Then they had waited.
    A dozen or so cars had stopped and the drivers tried to hit on her, but Jameel had told them, in crude terms, to get lost. At first it had been kind of funny, but the longer it went on, the more uncomfortable she had become. They had been told to interact only with the police, but she tried to stay in the role so that when the cameras were rolling, she would be a convincing prostitute. “Think
Pretty Woman, Pretty Woman, Pretty Woman,
” had been her mantra to get her through that first hour.
    Jameel had laughed and joked with her. There had been no sign that he was carrying a gun, although she shouldn’t have been surprised at that. He had told her little about his personal life, but she had gotten the impression that his childhood had been pretty rough and that he had grown up on the streets. But he wasn’t one of those gangbangers who flashed their weapons and challenged everyone with attitude and foul language. No, Jameel wasn’t like that at all.
    It had all been fun and games until the cops showed up. At first they had just been playing their parts. Jameel had even winked at her after Sam arrived, as much as saying, “Showtime!” It wasn’t until the second cop arrived that everything changed. She hadn’t even recognized the Jameel who had been shouting curses. No one had been more surprised than Kate when he’d pulled his gun.
    In the back of her mind, she had still been hoping it was all part of the act. Maybe he had been given lines or specific directions that she hadn’t. But then the gun had gone off and the cop had gone down. And the blood. It had been everywhere. Kate had seen prop blood and this was definitely not that. The real thing had a distinct smell, sort of metallic and sweet. It was a smell she’d never forget.
    As if she could ever forget any element of that night. When she first saw Sam, she was sure he was an actor, too. He was tall and gorgeous in his perfectly fitted uniform. She could see the intense blue of his eyes even in the dimly lit street, and her heart had done a silly little flip-flop when he looked at her. Of course she had flirted with him. It was part of her job. But it was also because she had been attracted to him.
    It wasn’t until Jameel shot Larry that Kate had known this wasn’t an act. Someone had gone wildly off script, and there was real danger. The blood was real, the bullets were real, and people were dying. When Jameel pointed the gun at Sam again, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he intended to kill him. She had reacted automatically and desperately, hoping to knock the gun out of Jameel’s hand. She hadn’t even noticed that reporter guy in the cop car until she heard the gunfire and saw the shock in Jameel’s eyes as he realized he’d been hit.
    He didn’t get knocked back several feet like in the movies. Instead, he had staggered a couple of steps, looked down at his chest, then melted to the ground like a balloon that had suddenly lost all its air. The splatter of his blood on her bare skin had been warm and wet and had really freaked her out. But the sight of Sam on the ground had frightened her even more.
    She thought he was dead, too. It wasn’t until his eyes had fluttered open and he looked up at her that she was encouraged that he might have a chance. She was trying to decide what to do to help him when she heard the sirens. For some reason she had panicked, knowing what it would look like and not wanting to be in the middle of the media storm that would surely follow. With one last glance at Sam, she took off, knowing he would be well taken care of soon—much better than anything she could have done.
    She had needed to visit him in the hospital to affirm that he was going to be okay. She didn’t really trust what she read in the paper or saw on the news. When she found out he wasn’t an actor—that he was really a cop—she felt doubly bad.