“What the hell? This can’t be right.”

The numbers just didn’t add up. I leaned back in my leather chair and rubbed the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.

I knew what was wrong but didn’t want to accept it. K Industries was my baby, my brainchild. I’d put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into my company.

At twenty-eight, I was considered young to own my own construction company, but I’d built a solid reputation for quality work.

And materials.

And that was where the problem was. I'd specifically ordered stainless steel for the new complex K Industries was contracted to build.

It was what the customer wanted and what I promised. But instead, someone purchased galvanized steel and fixed the books to say it was stainless steel.

Both protected against rust developing, but stainless steel was stronger—and more expensive. Someone was stealing from my company and using inferior materials.

I thought I had a pretty solid team. I trusted all of my employees. Some I had known for years, and our crew was like family.

Plus, I was very careful when hiring new employees. I always performed background checks, thoroughly checked references, and had drug screenings before anyone was hired.

My newest employee had only been with the company for six months. Still, he’d come highly recommended but couldn’t purchase materials, especially without access to my books.

Obviously, someone was going behind my back and trying to hide their actions. But who? And why?

I slammed the ledger closed and was about to lock it in my desk, then thought better of it. Today was Friday, and no one would be in the office until Monday.

Until I knew who was skimming from the company, I’d better keep the company records somewhere safe, where only I knew where they were.

I grabbed my backpack from the floor and plopped it on the desk. I always carried a backpack with water, snacks, a change of clothes, and other odds and ends.

No fancy briefcase for me, thank you very much.

I had to remove a pair of jeans to make room for the ledgers. After zipping it shut, I slung it over my shoulder and headed to the door.

I punched in the security code to set the alarms, then shut off the lights.

I was a bit surprised it was so dark and quiet when I went outside. My watch showed me it was 10 p.m., meaning I had been pouring over the books for five hours.

My plans for the weekend would have to be canceled now. I needed to figure out what was happening, but I also had to go over the construction site and have the galvanized steel ripped out and replaced.

The problem was that once I started replacing the steel, the person stealing from K Industries would be alerted. Which meant I needed to find out who he was first.

Damn, it was dark out tonight. Only a sliver of moonlight barely illuminated the mostly vacant parking lot. Besides my truck, there were only two other vehicles.

K Industries’ office was part of a small business plaza, so three other offices shared the parking lot. I was surprised anyone was left besides me at this time of night.

At least it was a nice night, not too cold or warm. But that was pretty common for the Los Angeles area. People moved here because the weather was usually consistent.

I was about to unlock my truck when a noise captured my attention. I paused and looked around. It sounded like a wounded animal crying.

I shoved my keys back into my pocket, hiked the backpack over my shoulder more securely, and walked toward the noise.

The sound got a little louder and seemed to be coming from a compact red car at the far side of the parking lot.

It was probably a cat or dog, but there were sightings of coyotes sometimes, so I had to be cautious. Wounded animals were unpredictable.

I heard another moan and frowned. This one sounded more human than animal. I started walking faster.

When I got to the small car, I saw nothing at first. But I could smell blood. There was no mistaking that coppery, metallic scent.

And if I could smell it without seeing a victim, it must be bad.

Still expecting to see an injured animal, I was shocked to see a human lying on the ground when I walked around the other side of the car.

I dropped my backpack and rushed to the man’s side. It only took me a second to realize the man who lay bleeding to death was Michael, my foreman.

“Michael!” I called out and knelt next to him.

It looked like he’d been shot in the chest. He laid there in a pool of his own blood, and I swore I could see it pumping out of his chest with every beat of his heart.

Without even thinking, I immediately pressed my hand over the wound to try and stop the bleeding. “Michael, can you hear me?”

A moan was the only answer I received.

While keeping firm pressure over the gunshot, I fumbled for my cell phone and finally retrieved it from my jeans pocket.

I dialed 911 and yelled, “A man’s been shot,” before the person had finished saying, “What’s your emergency?”

“Hurry,” I exclaimed and rattled off the address. I knew CPR, or at least I did. I couldn't remember a single thing in my panic for a second.

“K-kyle,” Michael choked out, his eyes open now.

Oh shit! My panic rose, and my hands shook. Michael’s eyes were glassed over, and it was as if I were watching the life flow out of him right before my eyes.

“Shh,” I told him. “Save your strength.”

I’d dropped my cell phone when Michael started talking, and I could faintly hear the operator asking if I was still there. I ignored it because I’d already given our address and knew help would soon be coming.

“I-m s-s-sorry,” Michael gasped out.

I pressed harder on the wound, desperate to stop the blood from leaking out of his body. “It’s okay,” I told him, even though I had no idea what he was talking about.

“C-c-cold,” he said with a shiver. “So c-cold.”

My blood froze in my veins. That wasn’t a good sign. It meant he was bleeding out and would die if he didn't get help soon.

“Be careful,” Michael said, then his eyes closed, and I heard what people called "the death rattle."

His breath seemed to clatter out of his lungs and then stopped, his chest unmoving.

Shit! No, he couldn't die. I had to do something!

I started CPR, finally remembering the procedure, but as I pressed on his chest, more blood seemed to pump out from the bullet hole.

I yanked my backpack to my side, unzipped it, and pulled out a hoodie. I rolled Michael on his side and placed the hoodie underneath his back, pressing it to the wound while I kept the pressure on the front of his chest.

“Come on, man,” I said and tried to do more chest compressions. “Don’t quit on me now!”

There was no movement, no reaction from Michael. I knew he was dead but didn’t want to accept it. I couldn't accept it. Not only was he an employee, but he’d also been a friend for the past five years. He couldn't be dead.

A noise suddenly caught my attention, and I jerked my head up, my eyes darting around the dark area. I hadn’t heard any sirens, so I knew it couldn’t be medical help yet.

And then I saw him. A man wearing a dark suit was walking about fifty feet away. My heart thumped with hope, and I jumped to my feet, waving my arms.

“Over here,” I yelled. “Hurry, he’s hurt!”

The man’s head swiveled, and he changed direction to walk straight toward us.

“Hang on, Michael,” I said, glancing down at his prone body. I winced. He was lying so still, his face already pale and lifeless looking.

But I didn't want to give up. Perhaps the man could help me keep pressure on the wound while I performed CPR until the ambulance arrives.

People could be revived if too much time hadn't gone by, and I had to have hope that with this man’s aid, we could help Michael until medical assistance arrived.

I dropped back down to my knees to apply pressure to Michael’s chest. But just as I leaned over him and bent my head so I could listen to see if he was breathing at all, I heard a loud bang.

Startled, I jerk my head in the direction of the sound. What the hell? The man supposed to help us was pointing a gun at me!

I was so shocked that I sat there, my mouth gaping open. Was I seeing things? This could not be happening!

Even as those thoughts crossed my mind, the man aimed and shot the gun again. This time, I actually felt the bullet whiz past my head as it smashed into the car window, sending shattered glass everywhere.

I ducked out of reflex as bits of glass rained down on me.

Move, damn it! I need to get out of here. But where do I go? I glanced at my truck, but the man was now between me and it, getting closer.

Staying low, I ran around to the opposite side of the car, seeking protection. I was sure he could hear my heart thundering hard and loud in my chest.

I was a sitting duck in this nearly deserted parking lot. In the distance, I heard sirens, but I doubted they'd be able to get here before I was shot dead, like Michael.

My only option was to make it to the office buildings and find cover. And then decide what to do from there.

It was slow going as I half crouched and ran, looking behind me every couple of steps. Thank God the man didn’t see me yet. He was still walking toward Michael’s body.

A small bank kiosk became my goal because it sat between me and the office buildings. It would provide some protection.

Hidden behind the wooden building, I glanced back toward where I’d left Michael’s body. The man in the suit had reached him and now stood over him, the gun hanging at his side.

But then I noticed another man, also wearing a dark suit, approach the first. I started to call out a warning, but they began talking to each other, and I shrank back.

“Did you get Kendricks?” the second man asked.

My eyes widened. They were talking about me! They knew who I was. Had I been the target all along, and somehow Michael had been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

“He’s around here somewhere,” the first man said. “He can’t get far on foot, and his truck’s over there.”

The man pointed the gun at my truck and shot out a tire. Where the hell were the police? The ambulance?