CHAPTER ONE

Only one thing can drag me willingly out of the air-conditioned clinic and into the humid heat of a Miami night. A shiver runs through me in a flash of goosebumps at the abrupt temperature change, gone as quickly as they came.

Bright light beckons from across the road, the outside tables of the Cuban coffee stand full of chatting people. The murmur of voices blends with the tinny sound of salsa played by small speakers.

The moment there’s the tiniest break in traffic, I dart across the blacktop, immediately starting to sweat. My long, brown ponytail whips around to tangle in the stethoscope still dangling from my neck, and I toss it back over my shoulder and peel off the stethoscope to shove it into one of the pockets of my aqua scrubs.

When I reach the sidewalk, the rich smell of coffee overpowers the car exhaust, pulling me forward as I hurry up to the wide serving window. The drink menu’s short, with only four items. But who needs anything more when the coffee’s this good?

My eyes flick over the temptation of churros, but I make myself order a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. It’s better brain food for the night ahead. Standing at the counter, I eat quickly, eager to get home.

I finish it off with a single shot of Cuban espresso, the tiny thimble of rocket fuel topped with a golden froth made of sugar foam instead of milk. The coffee probably contains my entire suggested sugar intake for the day, but I tell my medical brain to shut up. This espresso will get me through a long night of cramming for the advanced anatomy and physiology exam I have tomorrow.

I need the extra time. I should have been hunched over the desk in my tiny apartment over an hour ago, but right as I was about to leave, a frantic mother burst through the clinic’s doors, carrying her small son with a broken arm. The doc left already, so I was the only help Rosa, the nurse practitioner, had. His mother was too upset to comfort him, so I held his shoulders and crooned a little lullaby Mami used to sing me while Rosa set the bone. As soon as I started, he stopped sobbing, staring up at me with brown, liquidy eyes that widened with fascination. Rosa got him splinted and wrapped up in a Velcro temporary cast in record time, but it meant I ended up staying late.

So worth it. Little Javier’s smile had been completely worth it.

I take a sip of heaven and sigh. It’s hot, teeth-achingly sweet, and absolutely perfect. Pure caffeine and sugar rolls across my tongue, and I lick sugar foam from my lip, layering even more sweetness over the bitter bite of the strong black espresso. Another two sips, and it’s done. Compared to drinking huge cups of Starbuck’s coffee, the tiny demitasse never feels like enough volume, but it’s sure plenty of caffeine.

The stimulant and sugar go to work quickly. My heart’s already pumping as I spin around to head to my old beater of a car, which I had to park several blocks away. Miami, ay! What can I say? Too much heat, too many cars, and the best coffee in the world. It equals out in the end.

The bright light of the coffee window fades as I hurry down sidewalk darkened by broken streetlights. This isn’t the best part of town, and most of the little businesses are closed for the day, which is another reason I don’t usually stay this late.

“Chica bonita,” a male voice sing songs from the dark depths of the alleyway up ahead. A flare of red brightens as the embers of a cigarette flame to life on an inhale, outlining the flash of a face I don’t recognize.

I walk faster, heart starting to pound for a completely different reason than caffeine. What do I do? Ignoring him will either work or make it worse, same with talking back. It could go either way, so fifty-fifty I’m screwed, no matter what I do.

I get about halfway across the opening and start to relax. Looks like ignoring him is the right call.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!”

Or not.

He steps out into my way. Tall and thin, he looks even younger than my twenty-two, with a scraggly dark beard sprouting in uneven patches across his tan jaw. He sounds second or third generation like me, his English unaccented.

I come to a halt, eyes darting. There’s no one else on the sidewalk. A few cars wiz past, but they’re big-city drivers—most won’t stop to help a stranger.

“You think you’re too good to talk to me?” His eyes rake me up and down. I wear the new style of form-fitting scrubs that show off my hourglass curves, but they’re nothing compared to the halter tops and mini-skirts of the outfits typically worn in this heat, let alone the tiny bikinis found at the beach.

“Not too good,” I say. “Too tired. I’ve been working all day. Why don’t you head to a club and find a tourist ready to party? South Beach is only a ten-minute drive across the causeway.”

He steps closer. “It costs money to party, especially on South Beach.”

I hate the spurt of fear that goes through me. Who does this pendejo think he is, trying to mug me? What gives him the right? Anger sparks to life, burning in my chest. I don’t get angry easily, but when I do …

“Look, chico ,” I throw the masculine version of the word back at him, “whatever this is, I don’t want any of it. I don’t have more than twenty bucks on me, and I’m not wearing fancy jewelry.” The old crystal necklace Abuelita gave me doesn’t have any value beyond sentimental, and I never wear my gold-hoop earrings to the clinic.

He shoots a nervous glance at the alley, and that’s when I hear the scuff of other footsteps. Mierda. He’s not alone.

“Get her wallet,” a male voice whisper-hisses from the alley.

I yank my phone from my pocket, sliding my thumb over the fingerprint reader to unlock it. 9-1-1 might only be three numbers, but it still feels like it takes forever to type it. “I’m calling the cops.”

No way they’ll get here in time, but maybe the threat will make these pendejos disappear.

Instead, scraggly beard lunges forward and knocks the phone from my hand. It hits the stucco wall of a closed beauty salon with the crunch of shattering glass. Then he’s on me, one hand shoving at my shoulder.

I take a forced step backward, and my foot lands in a hole. My ankle twists in a hot flash of pain. Carajo! It’s a bad one, definitely a sprain instead of a milder strain. I’ll need to elevate it, ice it, and wrap it well. God, how will I get to my exam tomorrow? Can I get crutches from Rosa before she leaves the clinic for the day?

Hands grab my shoulders and yank me upright, cutting across my thoughts. Fingers scrabble at my hip, finding the stethoscope and tossing it aside.

“Where’s your wallet? ”

“I don’t have one.” My driver’s license, credit card, and cash fit into little slots on the back of my phone case, but I don’t tell him that.

He shoves me toward the dark alley.

I take a step, and agony flares up my leg, making my breath freeze in my lungs. They always say it’s good for doctors to know what their patients are feeling. It adds empathy.

If only these pendejos had some.

“Help!” I yell. “Please help!” All I want to do with my life is to help other people, heal them. Surely, someone will come to help me.

“Shut that puta up,” the second guy snaps.

A sweaty palm slaps over my mouth, and I bite down. The hand moves just enough that I pant out one more, “Help!”

Bright light flicks on overhead, and music begins to play, the same lullaby Mami used to sing to me. That’s got to be the weirdest addition to a security system ever, but I’m not going to complain.

The guy holding me jerks, his head snapping back. “Co?o!”

Ignoring the strangeness of the song, I grab onto anything that will help. “You’ve tripped the sensors,” I blurt, the guy’s hand having slipped enough for me to get the words out. “The cameras are going to see everything you’re doing, which means the cops can find you.”

“I’m outta here!” The other guy takes off running .

Scraggly beard stares at the light, which drops lower, becoming a silvery ball of brightness shot through with little licks of blue lightning.

I squint upward. Okaaaaay. That’s no security light. So what is it?

He shoves me toward it and bolts.

My weight shifts onto my bad leg, and my ankle twists again, unable to support me. As I plummet, adrenaline floods my system, sending my heart racing. Mierda, this is going to hurt!

Instead of hitting hard pavement, I fall into light and music.