PART 1 The first shot came through the window at thirty-seven minutes past midnight, and Delia Okafor did not scream. She wanted to. Her body made its case very clearly — every nerve firing, her heart doing something that was not quite a heartbeat but more like an argument between heartbeats. But Delia had been a single mother for eight years and had spent the last four working collections for a medical billing company, and both of those jobs had taught her that screaming was something you did after you…
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