Prologue - Midnight, December 3, 1933
I jerked my steering wheel right.
My bumper connected with the rear end of Donoghue’s car. His Chevy went left, fishtailed, then found the edge of a ditch.
The little coupe turned sideways and flipped—grass, gravel, and dirt flying into the night like water being slung off a pinwheel.
I stomped my clutch and brakes. The rocks under my tires complained, but my Ford came to a sideways stop.
My headlights pointed at Donoghue’s wreck. His car had rolled to a stop at a forty-five-degree angle with the driver’s side door in the air. His rear tires turned listlessly, and smoke poured out of the car’s engine bay.
I sucked in a breath. My heart was beating my sternum like a drumhead.
“Surely, he didn’t live through that,” I whispered to myself as I wrung my steering wheel.
The driver’s side door flopped open. Donoghue slithered up out of his car and fell into the street face-first.
His normally crisp, clean three-piece white suit was coated red. Blood dripped from his temple and dirt plastered his face.
The fifty-three-year-old man pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. His sea-green eyes trailed up to my windshield. A small grin arced his face.
My blood went cold. I jerked my transmission into neutral, stomped my parking brake, reached over into the passenger side seat, and gripped the handle of my warm Colt 1911.
I threw my driver’s side door open and stepped out into the cold night air. I stormed up to Donoghue and kicked his head sideways.
He collapsed and rolled over. Blood poured from his nose.
He opened his clenched eyes and looked up at me. His smirk was finally gone. “That all you got, bitch?” he growled in his heavy Irish accent.
I ground my teeth and stomped on his face.
I let him grovel and curse for all of two seconds. I then grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled his sorry ass up onto his knees.
I came around to his front.
His eyelids slid open. I looked down at him.
In all my time, I’d never seen so much cowardice in one man. And never had I felt so devoid of life in one moment.
I chambered a round.
The metallic chink of the slide sent shivers down my spine.
I brought the barrel up to Donoghue’s forehead and held the grip with two hands.
“So this is it?” he muttered. “Done in by you of all people?”
My finger came down to the trigger. “I guess so.”