The Setup
Friday Night, 7:15 PM
Santos pulled up to an old warehouse district to surprise Ramirez on the east side that was being converted into trendy restaurants and high rise apartments. She’d changed outfits four times before settling on red skirt, a black leather jacket, and high knee boots. Comfortable but looking like she was going on an under cover mission. Professional but approachable.
She was definitely overthinking this.
She pulled around to the back of the warehouse where there was a light shining over a door.
Santos smiled despite the butterflies in her stomach. Ramirez also known as Hurricane Tongue would make their first date into police academy training.
She parked her car and walked toward the building. The area was dark other than the light that was shining above the warehouse back door and inside was a staircase. That led up to a restaurant on the third floor, but the building was mostly empty beside the renovation.
Santos: “Ramirez? This better not be some kind of cop humor because I’m not in the mood for—”
She heard footsteps behind her. Finally.
Santos: “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you stood me—”
She turned around, and her police instincts kicked in immediately. Something was wrong. The shadow figure was the right height, the right build, but the way he moved…
Santos: “Ramirez?”
Man: “Not quite, Officer Santos.”
Henderson. Marcus Henderson. The supposedly reformed murder/drug dealer they were investigating. The case that had brought Ramirez to her precinct in the first place.
Santos’s hand went to her hip, but she’d left her backup weapon locked in her car—stupid, stupid, STUPID—luckily her backup to the backup piece was in her ankle holster. She started to reach for it, but Henderson was faster.
He swung something—a pipe, and hit her on the side of her head. Santos stumbled, her vision blurry, and was trying to fight back and calling for help at the same time.
But the darkness was closing in.