Colton had texted Monday morning asking if I could stop by the office today to look at the photos again, but when I got there, he wasn’t there. I tried not to take it personally as I was handed off to Detective Hart and taken into a private room, but it was hard. My stomach churned as Detective Hart spread glossy photographs across the scratched surface of the table.
I wanted to ask where Colton was. Hell, I wanted to whip out my phone and text him. Call him.
“Just take your time,” he said, sitting back in the metal chair. “There’s no rush.”
My gaze flickered over the photographs as my heart started pounding in my chest. I needed to focus. Priorities. Right now, what had happened with Colton wasn’t the most important thing going on.
The shooter was still out there.
Taking my time, I looked at each of the photos spread out in front of me. At first, they all looked alike—men in their upper twenties, bald with tats on the neck or just on their arms. I’d looked at twenty or so before Detective Hart added five more photos to the mix. I glanced over at them.
My heart stopped as I sucked in an unsteady breath. I reached over, picking up the third photograph, and held it close. There were three shots: full frontal and two profiles.
“Ms. Ramsey?”
For a moment I couldn’t get my tongue to work. Like it was glued to the roof of my mouth. My hand trembled as I stared at the face of the man I’d seen shoot someone—kill someone. My throat was dry. “It’s him.”
Detective Hart leaned forward, placing his forearm on the table. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” I cleared my throat. “That’s him.” Unable to look at the photo any longer, I handed it over to the detective. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “What’s his name?” I asked and then frowned. “You probably can’t tell me that, can you?”
He slipped the photo in a file. “You’d be correct. At least not right now.” Standing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “There’s just a couple of forms we need you to sign and then you’ll be on your way.”
Taking several shallow breaths, I ignored the unease twisting up my insides. Detective Hart paused at the door. “You’re going to put this man behind bars, where he belongs.” His smile was tight. “And you’ve probably saved his life.”
* * * *
Monday was weird.
I couldn’t focus on the new manuscript, not that anyone would blame me. I’d identified a murderer this morning and according to Detective Hart, I’d probably saved his life by doing so. Unless the mob guy Colton had mentioned got to him first.
Colton.
Throughout the day, I engaged in some major wishful phone checking. As if somehow I had missed his text or call. Of course, there were no missed messages. My stomach dropped. After identifying the shooter, I figured Colton would be in contact, even if it was in a purely professional sense.
Monday slowly churned into Tuesday. No calls. No texts. I could’ve messaged him, I realized that, but I was the one who messed up and I honestly had no experience in these things. Dating was so far out of my realm of understanding. Was I supposed to give him space? Give him time? Or was he waiting for me to reach out? Or was he just really busy? The latter made sense. He was probably trying to search down the shooter.
Sitting at my desk, I groaned as I leaned over, resting my forehead against the cool wood. I was such an idiot. I’d let that stupid, ugly voice in my head get the better of me. I was still letting it get the better of me, wasn’t I? Because why hadn’t I messaged Colton?
Messaging Colton would be the normal thing to do.
I lifted my head and gently lowered it back to the desk. Rinse and repeat. What was I doing, other than banging my head on a desk? Because that wasn’t weird or anything. Okay. I needed a plan. My heart skipped a beat when I lifted my head and saw my cell. I could text him, something small. I could totally do it.
Snatching up my phone, I tapped the screen and then the little green message icon. My pulse was kicking around as I hit Colton’s name and started typing out the first thing that came to mind. I didn’t let myself stop and think about it or let myself feel stupid for typing it out. The message was just four words.
I miss your crepes.
Okay. That was kind of a cute message and sort of stupid. A lot stupid. Before I hit send, I deleted the message.
I was such an idiot, geez.
I didn’t text Colton and I didn’t hear from him.
My life had been so crazy the last two weeks it was almost hard to believe that only that short amount of time had passed. I didn’t know how to feel about witnessing a murder, knowing one was dead, and the other one, the shooter, would soon be—hopefully—apprehended.
I didn’t know how to feel about a lot of things.
Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. When it came to Colton, I knew exactly how I felt. Crappy. I didn’t think his text Monday was an excuse to not see me. After all, after what happened, he would be busy, and since he normally worked on Tuesday, I wasn’t expecting a visit.
I didn’t get one either.
And he hadn’t texted or called. There was a part of me that wanted to listen to the small and probably more reasonable voice that claimed his lack of contact didn’t mean anything. He had to be busy, and I also hadn’t reached out to him. Mainly because I didn’t know what to say.
I still couldn’t believe I had asked him that question. If he was angry, which I knew he had been even though he’d said I hadn’t needed to apologize, it was within his right. Insinuating that he had some kind of ulterior motive to spending time with me and doing the things we had been doing was downright insulting.
I’d fucked up.
And as Jillian sat on the edge of my couch early Wednesday evening, watching me pace back and forth in my living room, I told her just how badly I’d fucked up while she sipped the latte she’d brought with her.
“So, that’s about it.” I dropped down on the couch, eyeing the cappuccino she’d brought me. It was all gone. “Not only does he probably think I’m a jackass, he also knows I have the confidence of a sewer rat.”
Jillian frowned from behind the rim of her cup. “I don’t think he believes you’re an asshole. He told you not to apologize.”
“That’s because he’s a good guy and he’s not mean to anyone. Even in high school he was that way. Standing up for the kids that got picked on and friendly to everyone, and this last week has taught me he hasn’t changed in that department.” I grabbed the empty cup and stood, unable to stay seated. I walked into the kitchen, tossing it in the trash. “If he thought I was a jackass, he’s not going to say anything.”
“That may be true, but I just don’t think that’s the case.” She placed her cup on the coffee table and waited until I returned to the living room. “And about the confidence thing? You shouldn’t be embarrassed by it.”
Stopping near the TV, I arched a brow as I folded my arms across my chest. “Lack of confidence is seriously one of the most unattractive things out there.”
Jillian rolled her eyes. “And it’s also seriously one of the most normal, common things out there.”
“True,” I murmured.
“I always thought being told you should be more confident, because confidence is sexy, was like getting a bitch slap in the face,” Jillian said. “Like ‘thanks for pointing that out.’”
I laughed dryly. “It’s weird, you know? I hadn’t even noticed this about myself in the last couple of years. I just sort of stopped thinking about myself as a woman. I know that sounds stupid, but that’s the best way I can explain it. I think…” I sat back down, resting my hands in my lap as I gave a lopsided shrug. “And I was always so comfortable with Kevin. It wasn’t something I ever had to think about, and I think the newness of all of this rattled me.”
“That’s understandable.”
A weak smile crossed my lips as I glanced at my phone. Colton should be off tonight, unless he was still handling the investigation. My stomach dropped a little. “I guess in a way it’s a blessing in disguise. At least now I know how I feel. I can do something about it.”
She twisted toward me. Thick brown hair slid off her shoulder as she tilted her head to the side. “Like what?”
I really wasn’t going to admit to the whole staring at myself naked thing. “Mostly I think I just need to be more aware of myself. Take some time for myself, you know?”
“You do work all the time,” she agreed after a moment. “I thought my dad worked a lot, but I think the only time you take off is when we get together.”
That would be an affirmative.
She peeked at me through the thick fringe of bangs. “Do you…want to change yourself?”
“Who doesn’t want to change themselves, just a little bit?” I laughed as I brushed my hair back behind my ear. “I mean, I could probably be a wee bit healthier. Stop drinking cappuccinos every day. But I’d rather be happy with myself than to really try to change everything about myself.”
“That’s good.” Her gaze lowered. “I wish I thought that. About myself, I mean.”
I frowned. “Do you want to change yourself?” When she didn’t answer, understanding set in. “Is that why you’re transferring colleges? To start over?”
Her shoulder rose in a halfhearted shrug. “I just want to…yeah, I want to start over, and I can. I will.”
Concern flickered through me. I reached over, placing my hand on her arm. “Is everything okay?”
Jillian nodded in response to the loaded question. The girl had never been very forthcoming with information, only dropping bits and pieces here and there. I knew she wasn’t close to many people, except…except a guy named Brock. He was some kind of fighter with her father’s organization. From what I had gathered, he’d been around her family for a long time.
And whenever she did talk about him, which wasn’t often, her face would always get this look of absolute adoration on it.
“Jillian—”
“I just don’t want to end up doing what my entire family does. Everything is about the Academy, and that’s not what I want to do. The only way I’m going to escape that is by leaving now. Anyway,” she said, pursing her lips as a thoughtful look crossed her face. “One of the things you never really see in a romance book is a woman who has self-esteem issues. I mean, I’m sure they’re out there, but they’re few and far between. Like they can have eating disorders, post-traumatic stress from sexual assault or mental abuse. They can be sold into sex trafficking and they can carry epic amounts of grief. We have female characters who have suffered every loss imaginable and ones who are scarred physically and mentality, but where in the hell are the average women? Ones who look in the mirror and cringe a little? Like, why are all those others acceptable to women, but reading or knowing another woman who has a low self-esteem is, like, worse than all that drama llama? Dude, I get reading for wish fulfillment, but you’ve got to have a little reality in the story.”
Brushing her bangs out of her eyes, Jillian exhaled loudly and then continued. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You’re normal. I’m normal. We’re not perfect and not having the greatest confidence doesn’t make you any less of a person.”
What Jillian said was so true.
Holy crap, the raw truth of it all floored me.
Women wanted other women to have high self-esteem and confidence. No one wanted to ever admit that their confidence was lacking, that they had a hard time looking at themselves in the mirror.
It was wrong that we weren’t able to have our weak moments. That we had to hide the fact that we were uncomfortable with our imperfections. That the journey to loving yourself doesn’t exclude recognizing there were days when you just didn’t want to see yourself naked.
And that there were worse things than having some confidence issues.
I glanced over at Jillian. This was one of those moments when I forgot that she was so young, because damn, she really could be a hell of a lot wiser than me. “You’re right.”
Her face transformed prettily when she smiled. “I know.”
I laughed. “And modest.”
“Whatever.” Leaning forward, she smacked her hands off her knees. “Do you want to go out?”
“Go where?”
“I don’t know. You live pretty close to the bar near Outback.”
“Mona’s?” I started to grin. “Jillian, I don’t think you’re allowed to go there.”
“I’ve been there before. As long as they don’t serve me, Jax is cool with it.”
My brows rose. “Jax?”
“He’s the owner. He’s good friends with Brock.” She stood.
I eyed her. “So…is Brock going to be there?”
“I doubt it,” she said. “He’s usually training now.”
For some reason I didn’t quite believe her.
“Come on. It’ll be good to get out.” She paused. “Plus, you know who’s the bartender there, right?”
It took a second to click. “Wait. That’s where Roxy works and she’s dating…”
“Colton’s brother,” she finished.
The tumbling in my stomach this time was something altogether different. “How do you know that?”
She rolled her eyes again. “Brock is really good friends with all of them and I’m a really good…listener. So, you want to go? I’ll be good and order a Coke.”
I shot her a look. “Wild child.”
Jillian giggled, and I had to grin because I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard her giggle. “So?”
Glancing at the clock, I saw it was still early. I’d planned on cracking open the new manuscript I’d received, but wasn’t I supposed to start taking more time to myself? And besides, if I stayed home, all I would do is end up staring at my phone, engaging in wishful thinking.
“Okay,” I said, standing up. “Let’s do it.”
* * * *
It had been about a year since I’d been in Mona’s, and while the bar had a dive feel to it, it wasn’t a creepy place. Jillian and I took our own cars since she lived in the opposite direction, closer to the city.
The moment I saw Jax, I remembered who he was. How could I have forgotten? Even though he was a few years younger than me, he was the kind of man who gave off the vibe that said he knew how to take care of things.
He was behind the bar when I led the way to a table. Since Jillian was underage, she couldn’t sit at the bar. Jax had the greatest smile and laugh, which he handed out freely. Right now, he was laughing at something someone was saying at the bar. Tipping his head back and letting loose a deep, infectious laugh.
“You just want a Coke? Anything to eat?” I asked.
Jillian was scanning the heads bowed over one of the pool tables. “Nah. Coke is fine.”
There weren’t a lot of people at the bar when I walked over to it, so the girl behind it quickly came to where I stood. I knew who she was. This was Roxy—Reece’s girlfriend. As she drew nearer, I saw that she had a streak of color in her brown hair that matched her purple glasses. Envy filled me. I always wanted to have a wild color in my hair, but I didn’t have the face or the personality to pull that off.
Her shirt read I’m like a self-cleaning oven, and under it was a happy little oven, and then below that were the words I’m self-sufficient, bitches.
I wanted that shirt.
“What can I get…?” Roxy’s hazel eyes widened behind the glasses. “Hey, how are you?”
Shocked that she recognized me, I floundered for a moment. “Good. I’m good. You?”
“Great. I haven’t seen you in a while. Wow. It’s been forever.” She leaned against the bar, grinning. “I wasn’t even sure you still lived around here.” The door opened and a group rolled in, heading toward the bar. “What can I get you?”
“Just two Cokes.” I paused. “And a menu.”
Roxy nodded. “Coming right up.”
I glanced over at the table. Jillian was staring down at her phone, her fingers flying a mile a minute.
“I’m giving them another minute, and if he’s not out, I’m going in,” I heard Jax say as he reached around Roxy, grabbing a bottle of liquor.
“For rescue?” she replied, her brows raising as she scooped ice into two glasses.
“Hmm,” he grunted, screwing off the lid.
“I have no idea what’s going on there. I thought they weren’t together,” she said, placing the two glasses in front of me. She grabbed a menu as she looked over her shoulder at Jax. “He needs to hurry up anyways. Reece has already texted asking where his brother is.”
My heart stopped. They were talking about Colton. Holy crap. Okay, there was a tiny part of me that hoped he’d be here but also was terrified of the fact if he was, because then that meant he wasn’t at work. And he hadn’t gotten in contact with me.
And I hadn’t gotten in contact with him either.
And it didn’t sound like he was alone.
“Here you go.” Roxy smiled as she placed the menu down.
I numbly handed over the cash, and had just picked up the glasses, along with the menu, when I saw him.
He appeared on the other side of the bar, and even from where I stood, I could see that his jaw was a hard line. My heart started racing. I tightened my hands on the glasses. Roxy said something, but I really didn’t hear her.
Then I saw her.
The tall blonde I’d seen him with before. She was as gorgeous as I remembered. Hair shiny and straight, well past her shoulders, and she was thin. Like I would probably hurt her if I sat on her level of thin. Blood drained from my face as I realized who this woman was. In my heart of hearts I knew it was her, his ex-fiancée.
Oh my God.
“I was getting worried about you,” Jax said, placing the bottle back.
Colton glanced over at him, and his gaze was icy as it moved past Jax and Roxy and then over me. He stopped. Literally stopped walking, jerking to a halt.
Our eyes met, and I couldn’t even think. There were no thoughts as we stared at each other. My heart…it felt like it stopped, just like him.
“Um,” Roxy murmured.
The woman with Colton said something. Her bow-shaped lips moved, but he didn’t react. Not at first, and then he did.
“Shit,” he said, and he turned to the stunning blonde, who had placed her hand on his arm. The touch was familiar, as if she had done it a thousand times before.
I whipped around, my skin tingling as I walked the drinks and menu to the table. I put them down before I dropped them.
“Are you ok…oh my God.” Jillian’s eyes doubled in size.
The twisting in my stomach made me nauseous as I flushed hot and then cold. “I think—” I shook my head, my cheeks burning. “God, I’m so sorry, but I really need to go.”
Jillian rose, sympathy crossing her face. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think something like this would—”
“I know.” A knot formed in my throat, and the ache pouring into my chest told me that what I felt for Colton was not simply like or attraction. “I hate to do this.” Pressing my lips together, I breathed out of my nose. “This is so embarrassing.”
“It’s okay.” She squeezed my arm. “Go. Just call me when you get there, okay?”
Nodding, I bent down and kissed her cheek, then I grabbed my purse. I didn’t dare look back as I headed for the door, and I knew even as I yanked it open, I was being such a coward.
My confidence sucked and I was a coward. Great. Winning combination. I didn’t remember much of the drive home and as I walked inside, I kicked off the heels and left them just inside the door.
After I texted Jillian, I felt horrible. I shouldn’t have bolted. I should’ve sat there and pretended like what the fuck ever. Tossing my phone on the couch, I pressed my palm against my forehead. The whole being an idiot thing was a running theme.
But Colton had been there with the same beautiful blonde. The fiancée—ex-fiancée, and Sunday, he had been kissing me, touching me, and telling me that I was beautiful and smart, and tonight he was with her?
What in the hell?
Anger surfaced, and I dug my phone out from between the cushions of my couch. I didn’t even know what I was going to do. Text him? Call? Throw my phone? All seemed like a viable option.
A knock at the door stopped me.
I turned around and for a moment I didn’t move. Despite the fact I’d just seen Colton with her, hope sparked deep in my chest, and how incredibly stupid was that? I doubted they just happened to run into each other. Then again, it had been purely coincidental that I’d even been there.
I shouldn’t have left.
The knock came again, and my feet came unglued from the floor. With my phone in one hand, I opened the door.
It happened so fast.
A shadow—a person—shoved inside, slamming the door against the wall. There was a glimpse of a band of dark ink around thick biceps. A scream built in my throat and ripped loose a second before pain exploded along the side of my head, stunning me.
I stumbled to the side, my phone slipping from my fingers and hitting the floor. A door slammed shut and a second later, the wind was knocked out of me as my back hit the floor. My lungs seized as I stared up.
It was him—the shooter.
Holy shit.
Had he pistol-whipped me? Wet warmth trickled down the side of my neck. The whole left side of my head throbbed.
A fine sheen of sweat dotted his forehead as he towered over me, a gun in his hand. “You couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut, could you?”
My heart lodged in my throat as I scrambled backward, my hands slipping over the wood floors. A flip-flop came off as I reached the edge of the throw carpet.
He followed me. “All you had to do was keep your fucking mouth shut. That was all. Now Mickey is dead and the son-of-a-bitch Vakhrov is gunning for me, all because you couldn’t keep your cunt mouth shut.”
My vision blurred a little as I tried to remember who Mickey was. It took a moment for my brain to process the fact that Mickey must be the other man I’d seen him with. “I… I didn’t identify hi—”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” He shouted, his finger twitching over the trigger of the gun he held. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t say shit? Because Mickey is dead and the Goddamn police raided my momma’s house yesterday.”
I scooted back against the wall, my heart pounding so fast I thought I’d be sick. This was so bad, so freaking bad I could barely process what was happening. The only thing I knew was that I was staring death in the eyes.
His lip curled, just like it had right before he’d shot that man. “Stupid bitch. Lift your hands.”
Swallowing hard, I raised my shaking hands as my thoughts raced. I had no idea how to get out of this. Could I reason with him?
His dark eyes held a certain glassy sheen to them and his pupils were way too dilated as he jerked the gun at me. “Stand up.” When I didn’t move, he screamed, “Stand the fuck up!”
Okay. I was standing.
Slowly, I pushed to my feet, losing the other flip-flop in the process. “We can work this—”
“Shut. Up.” He stepped forward. “What part of that do you not understand? There’s nothing—”
The muted sound of sirens silenced him. Hope exploded in my stomach. Had someone—one of my neighbors—heard my scream and his yelling?
I really needed to thank my neighbors. Bake them a cake or something. If I actually lived through this.
He heard the sirens, and in seconds, the whirling noise grew closer and louder. “Shit. Fuck. Damn.”
My wide gaze darted across the room, searching for some kind of weapon. Unless I could grab a lamp before he shot me, I was screwed, but I had to try something. Through the front window, I could see flashing red and blue lights beyond the curtains. The cops were here and I seriously doubted this guy planned on walking out of here alive or letting me go.
Sudden shouts from the front of the house erupted, and horror settled in as I recognized one of the voices. No. No. No.
A loud knock on the door caused me to jump, sending a wave of dizziness through me. “Abby? You in there?” a voice boomed through the closed door. “It’s Colton. Open the door.”
Before I could open my mouth, the guy lurched forward, slamming into me. The back of my head knocked off the wall. His hand clamped down on my mouth as he got right up in my face.
“Abby!” Colton shouted, and the front door rattled as he or something slammed into it.
The man’s breath stunk of stale cigarettes and booze as he pressed against me. “Fucking cops, motherfucking cops,” he grunted, pressing the muzzle of the gun against the side of my head. “You say one word, I will blow your fucking brains out right now.”
Right now, I thought dumbly. Versus later? A hysterical giggle climbed up my throat. The banging at the front door didn’t stop, but I no longer heard Colton. How was he here? If the police were called there was no way he would’ve found out that quickly. It didn’t make sense, but at this moment, it didn’t matter.
If Colton somehow got through that door, I knew this man would shoot him. My stomach hollowed in fear.
“We’re going to go out your back door, okay?” he said. “And you’re going to make sure I get the hell out of here. You get me?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I nodded. He was going to use me as some kind of shield, and I knew the moment he got outside, he was going to shoot me. It was either in here or out there, where he’d have a chance to shoot someone else—a neighbor, one of the cops, or Colton.
I couldn’t let that happen.
No way.
I might have the self-esteem of a sloth, but I wasn’t a coward. No. I survived my parents’ death. I survived New York City. I survived my husband’s death. I survived.
I was not a coward.
He grabbed ahold of my shoulder and pulled me away from the wall. With one well-place shove in the center of my back, he guided me through the living room. Someone was yelling at the front door again, but it wasn’t Colton.
“Keep quiet,” he urged, and when I didn’t move quickly, he shoved me again.
I stumbled into the small dining room table. The impact knocked over the heavy ceramic vase, spilling plastic flowers across the surface. The vase rolled toward me.
“Get moving,” he ordered.
My gaze zeroed in on the vase. It was within grasp. Right there. My heart rate seemed to slow. Everything slowed down actually.
“Goddammit.” He balled his fist in my hair and yanked my head back sharply. Pain tore down my neck, shooting into my back. “Get your fat ass fu—”
My brain clicked off as I grabbed the vase and spun around. The man cursed and he leveled the gun again, but I was fast when it counted. The gun went off just as I slammed the bottom of the vase into the side of his head. There was a sickening crunch and something warm and wet sprayed into the air and across my face. The gun went off again, just as wood splintered on the back door. It flew open just as the shooter crumbled to the floor.
Colton barreled in, dressed as he was at the bar, in jeans and a worn shirt. He had a gun aimed and his bright blue gaze took in the situation. Behind him, uniformed cops streamed in.
He took a step forward, keeping his gun on the shooter. “Abby?”
I was still holding the bloodied vase as I croaked out, “I’m not a coward.”