I Never Thought I Would See You Again

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I Never Thought I'd See You Again: A Novelists Inc. Anthology

I Never Thought I'd See You Again

Table of Contents

Title

Introduction past Lou Aronica

36 Hours by Allison Brennan

Facing the Mirror by Dianne Despain

Solomon'south Paradox past Kelly McClymer

Play it Once more, Sam past Deb Stover

Christmas Eve at Alison'southward Diner past Janet Tronstad

Persephone'due south Granddaughter by Alyssa Twenty-four hours

The Greek, the Dog, Shangri-La and Me past Janet Woods

A Streetcar Named Expiry by Greg Herren

The Belfry by Mary Hart Perry

Fabian's Wake by Laura Resnick

Katy'south Place by Barbara Meyers

Backdraft by Kathryn Shay

Considering of You by JoAnn A. Grote

Skipper and I by Ann La Farge

The Merely Girl in the Globe by C.B. Pratt

Tide Alter by Shirley Parenteau

Title

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Whatsoever resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely casual and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

The Story Plant

Studio Digital CT, LLC

PO Box 4331

Stamford, CT 06907

Jacket design by Barbara Aronica-Buck

Impress ISBN-13: 978-ane-61188-079-3

Eastward-book ISBN-13: 978-1-61188-080-9

Visit our website at www.thestoryplant.com

Visit the Novelists Inc. website at world wide web.ninc.com

All rights reserved, which includes the correct to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatever except equally provided past US Copyright Law. For information, address Studio Digital CT.

First Story Institute Paperback Printing: July 2013

Introduction by Lou Aronica

When nosotros began to think about creating a follow-upward to our start anthology, Cast of Characters, those of united states of america on the Novelists Inc. board at the time considered a number of options. Should nosotros choose a item genre? That didn't experience right, considering, while all of our members are novelists, what they write is so diverse. Should nosotros choose a particular setting? That might work, merely information technology would mean excluding writers uncomfortable with that setting, and it didn't seem appropriate that anyone exist disqualified for such an capricious reason.

Ultimately, we decided to go back to third course. Nosotros'd offer a writing prompt. The sort of thing an unproblematic schoolhouse teacher might assign to go kids to express themselves: if I were a farm fauna … or the matter I love most about schoolhouse is …. Since we were dealing with seasoned, highly successful writers, nosotros causeless we could go with a more sophisticated prompt and that we could wait considerably more than sophisticated results.

I gave this quite a bit of thought, merely one morning the phrase, "I never thought I'd see you again" came to me. I resonated with information technology immediately. A few days later, I was sitting with the other Ninc board members at our annual briefing and I tried it out on them. Their response confirmed that I'd hit on something. One board member said the phrase immediately made her think of a honey story. Another heard a note of threat in the phrase and imagined a story of suspense. A third saw possibilities in the magical.

This was exactly what nosotros wanted, a prompt that would be open to wildly different interpretations that would also connect the stories with a cadre emotion. I never thought I'd see y'all once again. I'd like to believe that an paradigm or scene flashed in your own caput as you read that line.

I promise you find these offerings fascinating. These are very fine storytellers working at the tops of their games. If you'd like to acquire more almost our organization (or even join if you're a novelist with at to the lowest degree two full-length publications to your credit), you can find us at www.ninc.com.

Lou Aronica

June, 2013

36 Hours by Allison Brennan

Allison Brennan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of twenty thrillers and numerous brusque stories. A five-time RITA award nominee for All-time Romantic Suspense, she also won the Daphne du Maurier Award for Best Suspense for Fear No Evil. RT Book Reviews has chosen her books "pulse-pounding" and "wonderfully circuitous" and said that Allison is, "A chief of suspense — tops in the genre." Lisa Gardner said, "Brennan knows how to deliver." Allison lives in Northern California with her married man Dan and their five children. Visit her website at www.allisonbrennan.com for more information about her books.

When I was given the prompt, "I never thought I'd see you over again," Affections Saldana came to me fully-formed. She was feisty, strong-willed, and street smart but I had no idea what her story was. Was this a romance, where she never idea she'd never encounter her boyfriend again and he pops in to assistance her? No, it didn't experience right. Angel is only fifteen. What about her alcoholic mother? Where was she and how did Angel end up in juvenile hall? No, not that either. Her best friend is missing, was Marisa going to return? Nope. So something just clicked. I thought of all the kids who never knew their fathers while growing up, including me. Each one has a different story. Angel'south dad walks into her life to aid her — when she didn't even know he'd been keeping tabs on her in the showtime place. "I never thought I'd encounter y'all once again" goes both ways for male parent and daughter as they come across for the first fourth dimension in ten years — while running from people who want Angel expressionless.

Chapter One

Angel Saldana knew she was in danger the infinitesimal the assistant warden told her 2 detectives had arrived to escort her to a group abode.

She was sitting in the waiting room, reading a paperback thriller she'd stolen from the back of the team motorcar that had brought her to juvie this morning. Information technology'd been on the floor, no place for a volume, and she didn't effigy the cop would notice. The volume was about some guy named Reacher who was just walking downward the highway, minding his own business organisation, when he got arrested for a crime he didn't commit. The cops didn't know annihilation until the Reacher guy set them straight, and they still sent him to prison house for the weekend. He'd practically solved their unabridged case, and they just ran around like idiots. Angel could and so relate. Here she was sitting in juvie against her will all because she was trying to do the correct thing.

"Angel, the officers are here to take you lot to the home," the assistant warden, Lambert, said.

Not her home, simply the dwelling. A

group abode. She'd been stuck in ane before; they were virtually worse than juvie.

"The district attorney's role feels you'll be safer elsewhere."

Safer? Inappreciably. But at least outside the building she'd have a risk of survival.

But if she ran, her deal was off. Wasn't that what they chosen a Take hold of-22? Expressionless if she runs, expressionless if she doesn't.

Angel had agreed to prove against Raul Garcia, the caput of the G-5 gang, because she didn't really take a choice — wrong place, incorrect time, all trying to help a friend stay out of trouble. The minute Angel found out that Marisa was dating Raul's brother George, she'd warned her to stay far abroad. But Marisa hadn't listened to Angel when they were 5, why'd Affections think she'd listen to her at present that they were fifteen?

Affections was more worried that something had happened to Marisa. She hoped she was just in hiding, that she'd simply chickened out of testifying against the Garcias. But Angel hadn't seen or heard from her in three days.

Assistant District Chaser Kristina Larson assured Affections that she wasn't in any trouble, equally long as she told the truth Mon morn. Telling the truth wasn't going to be the trouble. Staying alive for the next thirty-six hours? The jury was out on that one. Angel had asked Larson nearly Marisa; she said the cops were still looking for her.

That didn't make Angel feel any amend.

Lambert continued. "I hope you tin can stay out of trouble this time, Angel. You're a smart kid. Too smart for this shit you get yourself into."

Trouble was relative. Lambert simply knew Angel by her record and the 2 stints she'd already done in juvie. Being picked up for vandalism for keying the Bastard'southward automobile after he'd pinched her on the ass for the hundredth time. (His proper noun was Mr. Bernardo, but Angel preferred the Bounder. Call a spade a spade, right?) For truancy when she didn't go to school, protesting that the Bastard was still pedagogy fifty-fifty after Affections reported his grabby easily to the assistant principal. And then the fourth dimension she got arrested for joyriding past curfew without a license. (Where'southward the joy in picking upwards her drunk mother from a bar?)

The problem Angel was nigh concerned about was the kind that hurt. Or, considering that the Garcia family was involved, the kind of trouble that killed.

"You're not nether arrest," Lambert said. "This is for your protection."

"I know." She almost wanted to take her chances here in juvie.

Don't exist a dumbass — there'south no fashion out of here.

What she actually wanted was to go domicile, simply no way they'd let her practise that when her mom was in rehab (again) and everyone who was anyone (anyone bad) seemed to know she was going to testify against Raul Garcia. Affections had asked Kristina the lawyer if she could go home with her for the weekend, and the ADA seemed so flustered and surprised that Affections had backed down. Angel realized the woman was nice because she needed something; when all was said and done, Kristina Larson was a ladder-climbing lawyer, and she was notwithstanding Affections Saldana, a half-Hispanic, one-half-whatever, juvenile delinquent who merely happened to go skillful grades and ace standardized tests.

Some genius y'all are, Affections. You certainly know how to pick your friends.

Lambert handed Affections her backpack that had been confiscated when she'd arrived this forenoon. She stuffed the stolen paperback into the forepart pocket. An older plainclothes detective stood in the doorway. He looked her up and downward, surprised. "This is Saldana?" He frowned at a binder in his hand.

"Yes," Lambert said.

"Information technology'south the hair," Affections said with a false smile. "I got bored with dark-brown."

She'd bleached the underside of her hair, and then dyed it fire engine cherry-red. Added a couple blonde highlights on top and became a dissimilar person. At the time it seemed like a good idea, simply unfortunately, the radical color made her stand out. Offset take chances she got, she'd exercise something less dramatic to blend into a crowd.

The cop raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Possibly it wasn't just the hair. The nose stud might have done it. Or the two Chinese characters tattooed on the back of her neck that meant strength. She certainly wasn't out to print this cop or anyone else.

Lambert signed the paperwork and the cop escorted Angel out of the edifice. It was already dark, not surprising because it was January. She'd bolted from her apartment and so fast after Marisa disappeared and the creeps showed up that she hadn't grabbed a jacket. Everyone thought L.A. was all sun, all the time, just Jan and February got damn cold when the sun went down. In that location might even exist pelting this weekend. Terrific. At least the conditions suited her mood.

The cop said, "I'thou Detective Jim Fri." He nodded to the other plainclothes cop leaning against the hood of the sedan. "That'south Detective Martinez."

"Hola." She gave Martinez a partial salute. "Can I convince y'all guys to swing by In and Out? I'k starving." Juvie food was a step upwardly from garbage, but she'd been and so nervous that she hadn't eaten.

"Sorry," Friday said.

"Jim Friday." Angel smirked. They didn't accept cable in her apartment and she'd spent ane summer watching reruns of sixties television set shows. Annihilation was meliorate than the soap operas her mother devoured like the vino she drank. Mister Ed, Bonanza, Adam-12. Dragnet made her laugh, though she didn't think information technology was supposed to exist funny. "Anyone telephone call you Joe?"

Martinez laughed spontaneously and Fri scowled. She grinned as she climbed into the backseat. The ii cops sat upwards front end.

"Don't start," Friday muttered to Martinez as his partner turned the ignition.

As before long as the auto left the juvie compound, Affections breathed easier. She wasn't out of the wood yet, but she was no longer locked up. Angel knew the San Fernando Valley inside and out and was confident she could detect someplace to hide if the group abode state of affairs was messed up.

"Where are nosotros going?"

"Reseda," Fri said.

"My apartment is in Reseda — remember nosotros could swing by and get some of my stuff?"

"No." Martinez glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Don't you call up it's unusual that you have a police escort? We don't unremarkably become about transporting juvenile delinquents from lockup. Information technology's either corrections or social services."

"I'yard not a delinquent."

Martinez snorted. "I saw your file."

She stuck her tongue out at him in the mirror and leaned dorsum.

Fri said, "The DA'southward office is taking all precautions, considering."

"Considering I have a target on my back."

"If there was a real threat, they'd put yous in a safe firm. This is simply a precaution."

"Whatev." Of course there was a existent threat. Angel had always steered articulate of the gang and drug scene, though information technology wasn't easy. Between her apartment and school, past the time she was running through multiplication tables Angel knew every street name for meth, coke, pot, heroin, and anything else grown, cooked, or manufactured to get someone loftier. When Marisa started dating Raul'due south brother George, she'd brought the drug gangs to their doorstep. Affections should have told her to have a hike, only loyalty — best friends forever — won. Marisa and her parents were the only stable people in Affections's life. They'd lived in the same apartment building for every bit long as she could recall. Marisa'southward parents taught her Spanish and fed her when her mom didn't buy food — which was often.

"Why'd you lot do it, Marisa?" Angel mumbled.

"What?" Friday said from the rider seat.

"Nothing."

Because it was Sabbatum evening and traffic was moving, information technology didn't accept long to cross the Valley. The group home off Vanowen looked like every other ranch firm congenital in the fifties. The front was generally physical with a pocket-sized square of lawn, a three-human foot high chain link fence that might go along a Chihuahua caged and not much else. A white van in the driveway had Los Angeles County Grouping Facilities Management painted on the side.

I and then do not desire to exist here.

"These people know I'm not in trouble, right?

"They know you're a fabric witness and we'll exist picking you lot upwards at seven 30 Monday morning to escort you to the courthouse."

"My own chauffeur service," Angel said.

Martinez turned off the motorcar and stared at her. "Your oral cavity gets y'all in trouble, doesn't it chica?"

She shrugged.

"Don't cause problems," he said.

She gave him her almost angelic grinning. "Who me?"

Fri got out, opened her door and said, "Watch your step."

She got out and and then hesitated. Simply a moment.

Angel had survived xv and a half years considering she had sharp instincts honed in the womb. Every synapse told her to duck. She didn't know if information technology was the van, if she saw it move, or if information technology was a sound, but something was wrong and Angel trusted her gut.

As if Friday could read the expression on her face, or mayhap she'd said his name, or mayhap his own cop instincts had kicked in just a moment too tardily, he turned, his hand on the butt of his gun.

The van's side door slid open and Angel flattened her body on the basis as soon equally she saw the glint of a weapon under the streetlights.

She rolled under the cop car the second before gunfire started. Semi-automated weapons, the kind that weren't legal and probably never had been, broke the silence with a roar. She slid to the other side of the car, the underbelly scratching her leg, the rough asphalt scraping her arms and stomach. When she was articulate, she one-half crawled, one-half ran across the street.

She heard shouts and screams behind her, and one of them yelled in Castilian, "She's across the street!"

Then she heard, "Bitch! Get back hither, punta!"

Similar she was going to stop for him or anyone else who was shooting at her.

The gunfire stopped and the van came to life, the headlights bright.

A flare-up of energy, her survival gene, had her sprinting. She should exist a damn Olympic runner, she thought every bit the van squealed backside her.

She had to go off the street and into hiding. Her flat wasn't far, maybe a mile abroad, but they probably knew where she lived.

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I Never Thought I Would See You Again

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