Skin Deep by T. G. Ayer

especially with the number of ex-convicts treated within the rehab programs.
    Losing registered patients meant losing revenue and Heide was no doubt concerned she may lose the subsidies the center received for each patient who attended a formal session. Heaven forbid such a thing should happen under her watch. It occurred to me it was quite the miracle I was still around.
    I grabbed my backpack; the solid presence of the bow beneath the rough fabric comforted me as I locked up and headed out of the building. Teeth gritted, I tried to banish the vision of Heide's face floating in my memory. She'd made it clear on numerous occasions I was too young for such serious work. But Clancy either had a lot of clout or knew which of Heide's buttons to push to get her way.
    I needed to prove I was not a threat to the center.
    For myself.
    And for Clancy.
    ***
    My run-in with Dr. Heide, more like Dr. Jekyll actually, left me fuming. I bit my cheeks, administering another expletive a crushing death.
    I scanned my visitor head to toe, unable to decide if his visit pleased or annoyed me. In the end, the tripping of my heart confirmed him as a welcome sight. I was grateful he hadn't been any earlier. Then he would’ve walked in to my oh-so-demeaning run-in with Heide.
    "Hello." An awkward silence followed, as if words failed him. Or he had forgotten what he came to say.
    I silently filed away mental notes and ran through the sequence of the previous night's events—the version I'd discussed with Westin, of course.
    "More questions, Agent Westin?" I skipped my greetings and flushed guiltily. I met his eyes nonetheless. I was raised to be polite, and it seemed social etiquette held importance to him too. He scowled in rebuke. "No Agent Carnarvon today?"
    "Yes and no." Granite eyes pierced mine as he answered both questions. "Just routine. And I need your signature to confirm your statement." He patted the folder tucked under his arm. He wore a dulled black leather jacket—the one he'd worn last night. Seems we made the same fashion choices. "And Jess had some other investigations to do."
    A bullet slammed into the brick façade of the building behind me, sending tiny shards of brick and mortar flying like lethal rain. Westin shoved me to the ground, scanning for the origin of the shot. The shooter either sucked or meant the shot as a warning. Heart thundering in my throat, I lifted my head, needing to get a bead on the creep. The heavy metal of my bow poked uselessly into my back.
    "Stay down." He emphasized his words with a second shove to my left shoulder. The same shoulder still aching from last night's bullet wound. Stars spun at the edge of my vision and I bit down on a feral growl of pain. Glad the wound had sealed overnight, I lay horizontal on the concrete, lacking both the energy and inclination to do anything else but will the discomfort away. It hurt like the blazes. The agony was curiously edged with a second palpitation of my heart. Within the melee, and beneath my misery, my mind and body registered the impact of Logan's body against mine. I tried to hold on to some of the blazing heat for as long as I could.
    Westin pulled his gun from the holster inside his coat, jumped to his feet and ran for the vehicle the shot had been fired from. Another shot issued and shards of brick sprayed onto my head, this time close enough to convince me they shot to kill. My heart jumped, fear filling me as images of Logan lying face-down in a puddle of blood swarmed through my mind. Gears squealed and the sedan sped off. Too fast for a bipedal chase. Something Westin seemed to concede to as he slowed his chase, pausing in the middle of the street, gun drawn and aimed at the getaway vehicle.
    I marveled at his grace and athletic power. His youth did not detract from his obvious skill. While lying on the concrete, pain still making my head spin, I gawked like a schoolgirl drooling over her first crush.
     
    ***
     

Chapter 14
    Logan aimed his